#scientific reason of black hole

[bongreviewbd]

Black Hole: How the Smallest Black Hole is Created and its Scientific Causes

The concept of black holes is one of the most mysterious and fascinating topics in science and space research. A black hole is one of the most powerful structures in the universe, pulling almost everything into itself, even light cannot escape its gravitational pull. But the question arises, how small can a black hole be? In this article, we will explore in detail what the smallest possible black hole might be and how the scientific principles behind it work.

What is a Black Hole and Its Characteristics?

A black hole is a cosmic object that is so dense and has such a powerful gravitational force that even light cannot escape from it. Typically, black holes are formed when large stars reach the end of their life and explode, creating a black hole at their center. This process is known as a supernova.

The main characteristic of a black hole is its structure. At the center of a black hole lies a point of extreme density, known as a singularity. Surrounding the singularity is an invisible boundary, known as the event horizon. This is the region where the gravitational force is so strong that light itself gets trapped.

The Process of Creating the Smallest Black Hole:

If you compress an object with enough force, it can turn into a black hole. In this process, the object's mass is concentrated in one place, and the gravitational force becomes so strong that a black hole can form. For example, if the Earth were compressed to the size of a marble, it would become a black hole.

Scientists believe that there is no limit to the size of a black hole. A black hole can be smaller than a proton if enough mass is concentrated. In this case, the object becomes so compressed that its gravitational force becomes strong enough to trap even light, creating a black hole.

Black Holes and Gravity:

The key to creating a black hole lies in gravitational force. Gravity is a natural force that attracts objects toward each other. If an object is compressed, its gravitational force increases. For instance, if the Earth is compressed, the atoms within it will come closer together, resulting in stronger gravitational force.

This is how a small black hole forms when a large mass is concentrated in a very small area. The gravitational force becomes so strong that even light cannot escape from it.

Small Black Holes and Their Role in the Universe:

The idea of the smallest black holes has been a topic of discussion among scientists for many years. Many scientists believe that during the beginning of the universe, in the time of the Big Bang, numerous small black holes were formed, known as primordial black holes. These black holes may still be roaming the universe, and finding them is extremely difficult.

Additionally, scientists believe that the presence of small black holes can explain the thermal properties of the universe and the role of dark energy. The smallest black holes are deeply connected to cosmic radiation and the distribution of energy.

Conclusion:

The concept of black holes, especially the smallest black holes, is important for understanding the deep science and gravitational theories of the universe. To create a black hole, an object needs to be compressed in such a way that its mass is concentrated, and the gravitational force becomes infinite. This process helps scientists gain new insights into the structure, energy, and other complex features of the universe.

Research on the size of black holes and their smallest form will provide more comprehensive information about space and the universe. Future studies in this field will help answer various unknown questions about our universe.

Watch More: How to Cut a Sandwich Perfectly 🤔

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ব্ল্যাক হোল, ক্ষুদ্রতম ব্ল্যাক হোল, ব্ল্যাক হোলের বৈজ্ঞানিক কারণ, ব্ল্যাক হোল কিভাবে তৈরি হয়, ব্ল্যাক হোলের মাধ্যাকর্ষণ, ব্ল্যাক হোলের গঠন, ব্ল্যাক হোলের আকার, ব্ল্যাক হোলের সংকোচন, ব্ল্যাক হোলের সিঙ্গুলারিটি, প্রাথমিক ব্ল্যাক হোল, মহাবিশ্বের ব্ল্যাক হোল, ব্ল্যাক হোল মহাকাশ, সুপারনোভা ব্ল্যাক হোল, ব্ল্যাক হোলের তত্ত্ব, ব্ল্যাক হোল মাধ্যাকর্ষণ সম্পর্ক, ক্ষুদ্র ব্ল্যাক হোল, ব্ল্যাক হোল সংকুচিত, ব্ল্যাক হোলের প্রভাব, মহাবিশ্বে ব্ল্যাক হোল, ব্ল্যাক হোল ব্যাখ্যা, ব্ল্যাক হোলের ধারণা, ব্ল্যাক হোলের প্রক্রিয়া, মাধ্যাকর্ষণ বল, মহাজাগতিক ব্ল্যাক হোল, ব্ল্যাক হোল গবেষণা, ব্ল্যাক হোল সম্পর্কে, ব্ল্যাক হোল মহাবিজ্ঞান, মহাবিশ্ব এবং ব্ল্যাক হোল, ব্ল্যাক হোলের সৃষ্টি, ব্ল্যাক হোলের তত্ত্ব, ব্ল্যাক হোল এবং মাধ্যাকর্ষণ, ক্ষুদ্র ব্ল্যাক হোলের তত্ত্ব, মহাবিশ্বে ক্ষুদ্র ব্ল্যাক হোল, ক্ষুদ্রতম ব্ল্যাক হোল ব্যাখ্যা, ব্ল্যাক হোলের ভূমিকা, ব্ল্যাক হোল মহাবিশ্বের বিজ্ঞান, ব্ল্যাক হোলের প্রভাব, ব্ল্যাক হোল সংকোচন প্রক্রিয়া, ব্ল্যাক হোলের মহাকর্ষণ বল, ব্ল্যাক হোল কী, ব্ল্যাক হোল গঠন, ব্ল্যাক হোল মহাবিশ্বের শক্তি, ব্ল্যাক হোল এবং আলোর মাধ্যাকর্ষণ, ব্ল্যাক হোল কিভাবে কাজ করে, মহাজাগতিক শক্তি এবং ব্ল্যাক হোল, ব্ল্যাক হোলের ইতিহাস, ব্ল্যাক হোল গবেষণা প্রবন্ধ, ব্ল্যাক হোল মহাকাশের রহস্য, ব্ল্যাক হোলের প্রভাব এবং মাধ্যাকর্ষণ

[unusualtfs]

The Roommate Compatibility Program

this is my first time posting something like this to tumblr, hope it's an enjoyable read !

Arthur and Jimmy may have had the same last name, but that was the only thing they had in common.

Arthur Lee was, by all accounts, a nerd. When the Asian math major wasn’t dutifully taking notes on complex equations at his lectures or studying in silence at the library, he could usually be found holed up in his dorm, gaming until the wee hours of the morning. His only extracurricular activity to speak of was his weekly participation in the Chinese Student Union, if by “participation” one meant “sitting in the back of the room and not speaking to anyone.” His naturally pale skin was made even more so by a lack of sunlight, and his messy black hair resisted any attempt at styling. Short, shrimpy, and gay, he had clearly never seen the inside of a gym. In short, he was the exact opposite of his roommate.

Jimmy Lee was everything Arthur was not. Tall where Arthur was short, buff where Arthur was skinny, popular where Arthur was friendless. The straight white jock spent his days living out the all-American college fantasy — playing sports, pumping iron, and partying all night long. Of course, that hardly left any time for Jimmy to work toward his comms degree — but that hardly mattered, because everyone knew he was as dumb as a bag of rocks. His brutish Neanderthal features, extensive body hair, and blond buzz cut only added to that impression.

Maybe it would have been unrealistic to expect Arthur and Jimmy to be friends, but certainly no one could have anticipated the sheer antipathy that defined their roommate relationship. Arthur’s reasons for hating Jimmy were predictable — he was dumb, loud, and obnoxious; he left dirty clothes and sweaty exercise gear everywhere; and he stank up the dorm with his alpha musk. Jimmy equally couldn’t stand his prissy, prudish roommate. Arthur nagged him constantly, and he shot down all his invitations to work out or go out. Not to mention, he forbade Jimmy from getting laid while he was in the room, which was all the time. Nothing said unsexy like the presence of a judgmental Asian nerd hunched over his gaming PC at two in the morning.

Needless to say, it was not an ideal situation for anyone. So when a flier for the Roommate Compatibility Program was slipped under their door one evening, their interest was piqued.

Having issues with your roommate(s)? The Roommate Compatibility Program is here to help! Our trained experts use scientifically proven methods to ensure you and your roommate have a lifelong bond. 100% success rate, guaranteed!

In a rare moment of agreement for them, they decided they had nothing to lose.

That was how they found themselves entertaining a stranger in their dorm the next day. The man, who had introduced himself as “Mr. Thompson-Filipowski, from the RCP — but you can call me Mr. T.F. for short” had shown up out of the blue, giving them no time to prepare. So now they sat in their respective beds, answering Mr. T.F.’s questions as he appraised their living space thoughtfully. He wore a loud blue suit and had in hand a clipboard that he occasionally used to jot down notes, but otherwise he had no distinguishing features to speak of. Everything else about him, from his build to his skin tone to his hairstyle, was somehow impossible to pin down. He must have just had one of those faces.

“Thank you, boys,” he said after he was done interrogating them about their (lack of a) relationship. “I just have one more question for each of you before we can officially get started.” He turned to Jimmy first. “Jimmy, what would your ideal roommate be like?”

Jimmy had to think for quite a bit at that question. Finally, he responded in his vapid baritone: “Uh, I dunno… I guess he would just, like, be my bro.”

Mr. T.F. nodded, scribbling something on his clipboard. “Okay, excellent.” He turned to the Asian nerd next. “And Arthur, what about you?”

“My ideal roommate would be someone who’s, well, similar to me,” Arthur said, wincing at how his voice still cracked at every word. “Someone who shares my interests, and who I can spend time with, and… yeah.”

Mr. T.F. returned to his clipboard. “Right,” he said. “So, to summarize — Jimmy, you want your roommate to be your bro. And Arthur, you want your roommate to be similar to you. Is that correct?” There was a strange weight to his words, exuding the sense that something significant was carried within them, but Jimmy didn’t register this and Arthur thought it irrational, so both roommates ignored it. They nodded.

“Excellent!” Mr. T.F. said, the ominous presence now gone from his voice. “Okay, so often what we’ve found at the RCP is that roommate incompatibility is often a case of misapplied expectations. Often, our roommates do meet our expectations, you just need to keep an open mind about it. I’d wager you boys have much more in common than you think.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and Jimmy audibly scoffed at that, but they both kept listening anyway.

“For instance, looking around your dorm room, I can tell that both of you have a pretty similar fashion sense, wouldn’t you say?”

Arthur wanted to protest that all of the clothes strewn about belonged to Jimmy, not him, but the more he looked, the more he realized that wasn’t entirely true. That jersey on the floor definitely belonged to him, as did the baseball cap hanging from his bed and the sweaty white socks next to his desk. In fact, now that he thought about it, roughly half of the clothing he could see actually was his. Huh, he supposed he did dress similarly to Jimmy, then…

“I guess so,” Jimmy said as Arthur was distracted. “It’s hard to remember whose is whose sometimes because we dress the same and wear the same size, huhuh.”

As Jimmy spoke, his words became reality. He didn’t notice, but he shrunk down a few inches from his previously monstrous height until he was just under six feet — still respectable, but no longer anything more. Meanwhile, Arthur rose dramatically to meet him, until they stood at the exact same height. Since the two were equally small and shared the same taste in schlubby, sporty clothes, they essentially owned one wardrobe between them, borrowing and swapping constantly — although what looked tight and well-fitted on the muscular Ajimmy was loose and baggy on the lanky Jarthur. Curiously, the shirt Jarthur currently wore was the one item of clothing he wore that didn’t update itself to match his new reality; as such, it was now uncomfortably small on him.

Mr. T.F. continued, “And judging by the sports gear and gaming equipment in here, it looks like you also have similar interests, isn’t that right? Have you ever tried bonding over that?”

Again, it seemed Mr. T.F. was mistaken. Yes, their room indicated their respective interests in fitness and video games, but those interests were far from shared. Jarthur wanted to correct him, but then he had to reconsider. While he wasn’t into sports like Ajimmy, he certainly knew his way around them. He got as hyped as any other guy watching the Super Bowl, and he had fun whenever he was invited to play a quick game of basketball or soccer.

Meanwhile, Ajimmy was trying not to laugh at the implication that he liked video games. What did Mr. T.F. take him for, some nerd like Jarthur? But now that he thought about it… he did have fond memories of owning his bros with his mad gaming skills. He didn’t really want to call himself a gamer — he wasn’t into any of that anime or Nintendo kiddie shit. But Madden, CoD? Yeah, he fucked with those.

Imperceptibly, the dorm room shifted to match the roommates’ changing interests. Posters of popular players duplicated themselves from Ajimmy’s side of the room and pinned themselves into the wall above Jarthur’s bed. At the same time, the gaming computer vanished from Jarthur’s desk, swiftly replaced by a small TV between their beds. Well-used controllers popped into existence, one for each of them. The roommates themselves weren’t spared from the wave of changes, either. The tan leached out of Asjimm’s skin until he was quite pale, although not unhealthily so. Meanwhile, muscles made themselves known for the first time all across Joethur’s body. He was still lanky, but there was a definite sculptedness to his body that had never been there before, demonstrating his newfound appreciation of physical activity and straining his shirt even further.

“Yeah, all the time,” Joethur responded to Mr. T.F.’s questions. “I can destroy Asjimm at basketball in real life and in 2K,” he bragged.

“As if!” Asjimm retorted good-naturedly. “Next time, I’m kicking your ass, nerd!”

Joethur laughed. He may have had some problems with his roommate, but their shared competitiveness was not one of them.

“Ah, that’s lovely to hear,” Mr. T.F. said, checking a box on his clipboard. “The best way to become closer is to spend time together, after all. But that should be easy for you two — I’d imagine your class schedules are quite similar, since you’re in the same major.”

What was Mr. T.F. talking about? Joethur had never taken a comms class in his life, and Asjimm would certainly never be caught dead in a math classroom. But then Joethur went over his class schedule in his head again, and he realized that he did share most of his classes with his roommate. There was Accounting 101 on Mondays and Wednesdays, and Entrepreneurship every Thursday morning… In fact, aside from Joethur’s one math class and Asjimm’s lone comms class, their schedules were identical! But how could that be the case…?

“Well, I mean, yeah, I guess we do,” Asjimm said. His face twisted into a cocky smirk. “But just between you and me, it’s not like we bother to show up to class most of the time, right Joethyr?”

Everything suddenly snapped into place for Joethyr. Ausjim was right, of course — being a business major required confidence, charisma, and leadership skills more than anything else, and both Joethyr and Ausjim had that in spades. It certainly didn’t require studying or smarts, which was fortunate for Joethyr, as his brain was rapidly shrinking to match his meatheaded roommate’s. In fact, it was even smaller than Ausjim’s — he had scored highly enough in high school math that he was able to take an elective comms class for an easy A this semester, while Joethyr was being forced to struggle through calculus for a second time.

Records across campus rapidly rewrote themselves to reflect this new reality. Ausjim’s grades rose slightly, even as Joethyr’s GPA dropped from a 4.0 to a 2.0 — but whatever, C’s got degrees. In turn, the two roommates underwent their own changes. Joethyr’s unkempt hair retreated into his skull, leaving behind a slick fade. Moreover, the spark of intelligence retreated from his eyes, leaving them dark and hard. Ausjim’s hair experienced the opposite change, growing out into an impeccably groomed quiff that perfectly framed his face, neutralizing his unattractive Neanderthal features. His body hair also faded into nothingness, leaving him totally clean-shaven. The business classes he was taking had taught him the importance of presentation, after all.

“Yeah, bruh,” Joethyr agreed, now speaking in the same vacant timbre as Ausjim.

“Well, how do you boys spend your time then?” Mr. T.F. prompted. He was nearly at the bottom of his checklist — this far into the process, he didn’t even need to guide the roommates’ transformation. Their new personalities had largely subsumed who they used to be, and would be happy to fill the remaining gaps by themselves.

“Isn’t it obvious, bruh?” Ausjim said. “The gym — duh! Gotta get those gains!”

At his roommate’s proclamation, Joethy underwent a startling change. At last, his muscles ballooned all across his body until they were identical in size to Ausjim’s. No longer did he have to settle for merely toned — he was well and truly ripped. So dramatic was the change that his shirt was instantly torn apart, revealing his glorious pecs and washboard abs for the world to see. The Asian hunk subconsciously flexed as he thought about his answer to Mr. T.F.’s question, realizing something funny in the process.

“Hell, we probably even spend more time at the Chinese Student Union than class, right bruh?” Joethy nudged his equally jockish roommate.

The word “Chinese” resonated in Ausjin’s mind as he experienced sudden changes of his own. His lush hair was quickly thickening and inexorably staining itself midnight black. And as for the rest of his body, his lack of hair down there became much easier to maintain, as he naturally had less of it. Meanwhile, his facial features were shifting all at once — brow softening, nose broadening, eyes narrowing, lips plumpening. Eventually, they settled on what the rest of his body had already become — a carbon copy of his roommate.

“Yeah, bro, totally…”

At the word “bro,” the roommates’ final changes began. The physical refinements were over, but there was still work to do mentally. Ausjin’s brain was purged of the faces of his former family, their white features morphing into far more familiar Asian ones. Fond memories shifted as his mother’s famous meatloaf became her authentic dumpling recipe, and the destination of his childhood summer vacations was corrected from Europe to China. Through it all, he remained the dumb, popular jock he had always been. That was also true of Joethy, who could no longer remember being a lame, skinny nerd. Nights spent studying were replaced with nights spent partying, and members of an extensive social circle easily entered the parts of his brain that had never experienced true friendship. His memories of his family remained the same, however — with one key addition. The newcomer’s face was blurry, but the more that he focused on it, the more familiar it seemed. Almost like… his own face…? Or was it Ausjin’s face? That seemed closer, but… 

By Joethy’s side, Ausjin found his memories haunted by an identical face. The two jocks sat there in dumbfounded silence, both trying to recall who it was that featured so prominently in their memories. What was his name? Not Joethy or Ausjin, but rather… rather…

“Joey! Austin!”

Joey and Austin Lee snapped back to attention, refocusing on their strange guest.

Mr. T.F. chuckled, putting his clipboard away. “You boys zoned out there for a sec! It’s okay, I’ll get out of your hair soon. I just have one last question for you — are you getting along as roommates?”

“Well, of course we’re getting along, bruh!” Austin exclaimed.

“We’re basically the same person already!” Joey finished his twin’s sentence with a pure, dull guffaw.

Because it was true. Joey and Austin Lee were clearly cut from the same cloth: The identical twin Asian jocks were both brainless, buff, bisexual business-major bros. The only appreciable difference between the twins was their hairstyles. Austin fancied himself a pretty boy, spending hours by the mirror meticulously maintaining his gelled hair. Joey, meanwhile, rocked a utilitarian crew cut, confident enough to put his angelic face on full display. But other than that, they were totally inseparable — everything they did, from working out to gaming to partying, they did together. (Rumor had it that they even fucked together, only bringing a lucky girl or guy home when he or she was willing to share.)

“Great to hear that! Thanks for participating in our Roommate Compatibility Survey, you two — although I don’t know what results we were expecting from twins like you… Anyway, have a great one!” As Mr. T.F. exited the room, he allowed himself one last glance back at the Lee twins as they mindlessly bantered. Both of them had certainly gotten their wishes. Joey was exactly like Austin, and Austin was exactly like Joey, and they were certainly each other’s bros — in both senses of the word. Another success for the Roommate Compatibility Program.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Mr. T.F., the Lee twins promptly forgot he had ever existed, returning to their existences as paragons of young Asian American masculinity.

“So, what’s the plan for today, bro?” Austin said. “Hit the gym, then hit the streets?”

Joey smirked, admiring himself and his twin in the mirror. “You know me so well, bro!”

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 4)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 3, Part 5

summary: You get your laptop fixed... eventually.

warnings: smut!! (finally lmfao) masturbation, mutual masturbation, tiny bit of voyeurism, recreational drug use, dry humping, etc 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: caught up to where the og oneshot ends so i wanted to switch it up!!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.8k (still in shock i wrote all this lmfao, i'm strictly a <4k words kinda gal)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lips black and blue and gold.

You're frustrated. Bouncing off the walls, head spinning; and it's for a couple of reasons. 

First off: you haven't managed to find a laptop. Money you've worked damn hard for, and you can't really afford a new one. With moving around, you've burnt through quite a bit of your emergency fund. Enough to convince yourself you'll be just fine with a pen and paper in class, and the Google docs on your phone when desperate. It might actually force you to go to the library instead of half assing assignments the night before, you think. 

And there's your lab book, which you were smart enough to back up on your computer, but guess what? That's fucked; probably taken apart and sold for scraps by Miguel's mysterious friend , who you've conveniently never even heard of and–

"Just ask for an extension." He says, feet up on the sofa. Oddly enough, you've been doing that more often; spending time together. He's not holed up in his room as much, and spends time studying on the dining table, or pretending not to watch the soaps you've got on TV. 

"You're overthinking it. Explain the situation, chula, and it'll be fine." He doesn't even look up, just throws the statement in your direction like the lazy pass of a ball. 

You scoff, because he's right, and go back to overthinking. You think you can copy out the ruined half of your labbook by hand, and if you beg your OChem teacher for an extra credit project then–

"If I let you use my laptop, will you stop doing that?" 

"Doing what?" You frown as he walks over, and reaches to gently pull your hands apart. He turns your palms over, pointing at the raw edges of your fingernails. 

" That. " Mindlessly, you'd been picking at your fingernails, without even noticing. Looking up at him, he rolls his eyes. 

"...is that a yes?" You nod, hesitant, and catch the hint of a smile as he pads off to his room. 

When he returns, open laptop in hand, he thrusts it into your arms - and sits himself back onto the sofa. This time, he splays out facing you, avocado socks resting on your knee. You fight the urge to push him off, a small price to pay in return for his moment of kindness. He's been doing that more often now, slightly more touchy and maybe even… comfortable around you. Eyes flickering up towards him, you catch his. His brows knead together, and you return your attention to the screen just as quickly. 

You're going through the motions, more or less, logging into your college's portal and drafting up quick emails to send to your lecturers. But it's when you open up a new tab, that you see something at the top of the screen and pause. Mouse hovering over an incognito tab, hidden in a nest of referencing websites and scientific journals; it's there. Bold letters, in all caps: WOMAN POUNDED BY BIG BEEFY–

You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't. Once again, you look up at Miguel, and he couldn't care less; tapping away at his phone, only stopping to look at the TV. Nevertheless, you shift to hide the laptop screen from him. But you're not going to look, or anything. You know better than to take a look at your roommates porn habits, the stuff he drools over whilst he fucks his fist; a big, dextrous palm wrapped around his shaft. 

You've done it. Clicked on the tab and nothing's exploded, as of yet. You turn down the brightness, with some shame, as if to make the paused video less explicit. But the image stays, a woman folded under the weight of the man above – in the middle of bullying his fat cock into her pussy. It's amateur; hot and sweaty and sticky, with only the woman fully visible. You suppose your curiosity's been sated, but you can't help but think…

…the woman. She looks like you. 

Tilting your head, you can't help but see the resemblance. Not the exact same of course - but her hair is similar, body type, skin tone, eyes. It's not close enough to be weird, you guess, but it's enough that that thought stays - burrows into you like an earthworm into an apple. Scrolling down, you see other videos, with the same woman, other women that look like you - the telltale red bar of watched videos. Evidence, but not really, and it makes you heat up. Your mouth goes dry, and you look over to him: only able to concentrate on the hand he's got spread out at his belly, the brown flesh peeking out - and how it looks just like the one on the base of the woman's stomach in the video. 

"...everything ok?" He's looking at you, suddenly; and you attempt to click over to your original tab, discreetly. 

He doesn't seem to notice, padding over to your side and leaning into your shoulder. 

"Yeah, no, I just…" All you can manage is a nervous smile. "The screen froze, so…"

"Oh." He gives the track pad a swipe. "Seems fine to m–" 

He freezes up slightly, and you watch as his eyes flick up the screen. The laptop is eased out of your hands, and he gives a few quick clicks. By the time it's back in your lap, the offending tab is gone. Imperceptible, his jaw shifts. 

"...Should be okay now."

You hum, a little amused at the display. He's seemingly unfazed, his little slip up notwithstanding, and leans back to lie up against you. Obnoxious, he splays onto the sofa cushions, his weight practically smothering you as you fight to push him off. You think he likes it – it's the only possible explanation – and gets off from watching you squirm. He seems desperate for a reaction, a child pushing boundaries and pressing buttons to see what exactly makes you tick. 

And that's the second thing: it works . He's  more touchy, and just as insufferable – jumping at any excuse to be near you, it seems. Miguel has a tendency to hover, follow you around the apartment as you talk aimlessly, and you do the same. You sit by against the doorway to the kitchen whilst he makes dinner; he floats around the door to your room when you try to study. In fact, you've spoken to your roommate more in the past week than you have in the past month; about anything and everything. Sometimes, he actually tells you where he goes during the day; off to lectures of his own, another tutoring session or his basically-an-unpaid-job of an internship. In your words, it seems like with the shit they make him do at Alchemex, he may as well be a full employee: with way fewer perks and a distinct paycut. It's almost as if they're paying for my degree, he says with an eye roll, practically hanging off your door frame. 

He does that a lot, now: arms drawn upwards to lean from the oak trim. Especially during lazy mornings in - he'll hang on the frame, and move to tug at your heel, waking you up despite fervent protest. Ultimately, it's a kindness and you don't know how to tell him how much you appreciate it; as he wakes you up on time to get to the library in good stead. You're still waiting on that laptop, debating whether or not to bite the bullet; but for now Miguel obliges, letting you borrow his now and then. 

He's not nice, you think his tongue is much too sharp for that; but he is kind, giving you some grace you're not too sure you deserve. It's more than what you've been given in a relationship of 4 years, and you don't know how to feel about it. 

Well, you do. Your talk on the living room floor not so long ago flipped a switch and all of a sudden you're paying attention to your roommate; really, really looking at him. He is very, very pretty; with a tendency for lingering touches disguised as something else. And you're out of practice: horny, frustrated, stressed. With the way he touches you; a hand on your back to greet you, a squeeze of your shoulder to tease, bare legs across yours on the sofa; it's a lethal combo. 

And here you are, headphones on, prepping to take a dildo. Incredibly self-indulgent, but you need it . You don't quite have the emotional stability for a one night stand (you think if someone touches you just right, you'll fall in love), but this dry spell has taken its toll. 

It wasn't just after the break up, either. Mismatched libidos had felt like a steady death knoll. Realistically, you knew Jaime was always too tired after a placement, but it didn't make you feel wanted. You just want to be desirable and fucked within an inch of your life – was that too much to ask? 

As a result, your toy drawer had grown: vibrators and dildos, clit-suckers and g-spot strokers; crude once said aloud, but all in search of something. With the stress of school and Miguel, Schrodinger's slut ; it's a wonder you haven't cracked it open earlier. 

You're on the floor, its purple base suctioned to the hardwood and towels to cushion your knees. Lower half completely exposed, it's an art , porn on your phone to complete the visage. The screen is smaller than that of the laptop you're used to, only providing some stimulation. And so, as you sink down on its silicone length, you can't help but think back to the sofa - and the videos squirrelled away on an incognito tab. Miguel, hunched over and fisting his cock to someone that looks like you; maybe even thinking of you – although the jury's still out, on that one. 

But you keep it close to your chest, rub your clit to the thought of it: you're his type, and maybe he'd fuck into you like the man on your screen. Broad, gorgeous shoulders and you wonder how pretty he'd look with scratches littered down his back, or hickeys sucked into skin: lips plump and messy and swollen. 

"Oh, fuck," You say it under your breath, knowing that whilst Miguel is out of the house, it still feels odd to put your lips around the pleasure that thinking of him gives. 

You speed up, the slap of thighs ringing out into your bedroom. The dildo is around 6 inches, sizeable; but you can't help but wonder how it compares to Miguel's. He might even be bigger; thicker, most definitely; and you bet his cock is just as pretty as he is. Oh fuck, and he'd tease; press into your hole just to snatch it away at the last second, rubbing persistent circles at your clit. You hear his voice in your head, the low grunts and groans you've memorised from all those nights he's spent with other girls. 

"Miguel,"  You're moaning shamelessly now. "...f-fuck, please–" 

There must be something electric in the way he fucks: with the litany of girls in and out of his bedroom, what keeps them coming back? He must talk them through it, whispering filth with his plush lips against their ear, and you wonder what he'd say to you. God , you'd give anything to hear it him say, just once, how beautiful he thinks you are; for him to wrap his hand around your neck and pull you close. You want him to fuck you; hard and deep and desperate. 

With that, your pace quickens and you gush around the toy. A spasm of limbs, and you're clamping down on the silicone – an orgasm that leaves you breathless and heaving. You convince yourself it's the taboo of it: fucking yourself to the thought of your roommate, after listening to his grunts and groans for the past couple weeks. He started it … thin walls, and all that. 

You ignore the want that lays stubborn at the pit of your stomach, riding through stuttering spasms as your orgasm winds down. You're touch starved, that's all, and Miguel's the closest warm body to latch onto. Nothing more, nothing less. Groaning, you shift, picking up your hips to gear up for another round. Just once more, so you know for sure. 

Thin walls. The sound leaks into your roommate's bedroom. But with your headphones on, you can't hear the sounds that echo back: Miguel O'Hara, back home early, with an ear pressed to the wall and desperately pumping his cock. 

~~~

"I'm not completely convinced, to be honest." You're in Miguel's car, tongue sticking out as you fiddle around with the dials. 

His gaze flicks over, and bats your paws off the dashboard. Flopping into your seat, you watch as he turns up the AC and switches the radio, as if reading your mind. 

"You really think I'd go through all this trouble?" He scoffs. "Bundle your ass out of the house and drive all the way here to…. do what exactly?" 

"Assert dominance in our shared ecosystem." You say it with finality, and he scrunches up his face in confusion. 

"...what does that even mean?" 

"Like in that nature doc you were watching the other day." 

"Well, the point was that spiders aren't hierarchical in the traditional sense. They form colonies that are… quasi-social, if anything, and–" He pauses. "Wait. You were paying attention?" 

You shrug. "I thought it was interesting." 

"Seriously?" 

"...no, not really."

You laugh as he pulls over to park, in a space next to what looks like an apartment complex. It looks way nicer than your place, with sandy brick and hedges that look well kept. Your laughter peters off. Miguel looks decidedly not amused. 

He opens the car door and clambers out as you scramble for the seatbelt. To your surprise, he opens the door for you; stretching out a hand for stability as you get out. When you both walk over to the intercom, your palm burns with his touch, and flexes with the memory of it. It's becoming a problem, his hands. You push down the beginnings of a hazy daydream. He presses a panel, waiting for the buzz. 

"Lyla? Could you let us up?" 

He waves demurely to the camera, and the receiver clicks. A cheery voice rings back. 

"...Us? Who's us, Miggy? Did you finally find a girl that puts up with your shit?" Her voice is singsong, teasing. With a smile, you watch as Miguel bristles, speaking into the slick panel. 

"My roommate, Jesus, Ly–" He says the next bit a little rushed, turning away slightly as if you still can't hear her loud and clear. "I thought we went through this, you can't keep trying to embarassmeeverytimeI–" 

She talks over him towards the end, rapid-fire banter that you can barely make out. 

"You never come and visit, except when it's 2am and you need to break into–" 

"Once! It was one time! Déjate, ya está bueno ya–" 

[Let it go, that's enough now–] 

"Let it go? No, no, absolutely not… what is it that you always say? It's the principle –" 

"Can you just fucking open the–" 

"What's the magic word?" 

He sighs, mouthing an apology to you. "Lyla–" 

"Magic. Word."

He mumbles. "Please." 

"Please what?" 

"Please could you open the fucking door."

There's a pause, and rustling over the intercom. The door buzzes open. 

In the elevator up, you keep quiet, trying your hardest not to burst out laughing. Miguel is visibly brooding; arms crossed and brow furrowed. 

"Don't." He says, with a pout you almost think is cute. Almost. 

"I'm trying really, really hard not to." You put your hands up, as if to surrender. "... Miggy."

"Fuck off." And then, a little softer. 

"...I told you I have friends."

~~~

You leave it at that until you're in Lyla'a apartment, when she opens and ushers you in. She looks exactly the way she sounds: pretty, mousy features, with her hair in short, choppy layers. She's bundled up into a plush white robe; heart-shaped sunglasses sliding down the tip of her nose. 

Miguel breezes past her, towards the murmuring voices you can just about make out in the front room. 

"Lovely to see you too, Miguel." It's under her breath, but when she turns towards you there's a twinkle in her eye. 

You introduce yourself, and she pulls you into a tight hug. 

"I know," She says. It's ominous, but her voice is light and airy. When you separate, she flashes a wide smile. "Lyla. It's nice to put a face to a name."

"Uhh, sorry. What?" She ushers you further into her apartment as you speak, confused. 

"Oh, Miggy talks about you all the time. Complaining , mostly, but in that way he gets when he's trying really, really hard to pretend he doesn't care. Like, he texted me yesterday and–" 

"Thaaat's enough." You feel hands on your shoulders, and all of a sudden, Miguel is steering you away from her grip. You stumble into her living room, so bright and airy your eyes have to adjust to the light that floods in. Looking around, her apartment is gorgeous; a spacious open plan, floor-to-ceiling windows with a prime view, and lush furniture. Everything about it screams expensive – especially in comparison to your paltry place. Maybe the shock is visible on your face, but you're in awe. She can't be much older than Miguel, right? She looks about the same age, mid-twenties, not too far-removed from college… and it isn't quite adding up. 

"How can she afford this? That's what you're thinking." There's a voice on the sofa that makes you blink. A young man with messy brown hair, a set jaw and 5 o'clock shadow calls out to you in between mouthfuls of pizza. "Lyla's… mmhgh… suuper fuckin' rich… mmfgh… that's how." 

It's then that you notice there are other people here, sprawled out on the sofa set; boxes of takeout on the side tables next to them. Of course Lyla's rich: only 20-somethings with money to spare have matching sofas. 

She's like Beetlejuice, or the Candyman, and pops up next to you when her name's said. 

"I work in tech! With a cute little job on Wall Street, and a part-time one white hat hacking." She clarifies. " Ethical hacking." 

She giggles like she's told a joke somewhere, and you nod – still not quite understanding. 

"...and some side gigs that aren't as ethical." A blond haired man next to Mouthful-Of-Pizza pipes up. "When are you going to introduce us, Miguel?" 

He's grumbling in the kitchen area, digging through the shelves for something. He returns with a bag of chips and dip in a container, flopping onto the zebra print throw pillows. Distracted, he waves a hand around the group noncommittally. 

"Uhh, Peter, Ben, Lyla." He gestures to you, saying your name, and then to himself; tearing open the bag at the same time. "-and Miguel. All done"

"My turn for questions, now," Miguel says, pointing at Lyla, looking at the boys to his side. "Is she…?"

"...super high? Most definitely." Lyla giggles at Ben's words, for good measure. 

"...right. Peter Parker, nice to meet you." He throws a thumb to the back of the sofa, where you notice a little mop of red curls peeking out. "And this is my little Mayday."

Peals of laughter erupt from behind him, and you notice grubby hands with a death grip to the cushion rest. Miguel leaps up, rushing to her side to help her up its back. 

"Ayyy dios mio." He scoops her up carefully, "Buenas, Arañita." 

Mayday is on his lap now, a little toddler of about 1 or 2, snaking herself around to hug Miguel's chest. She is certifiably the cutest thing you've ever seen: gap-toothed and giggly, with a smatter of freckles like someone's flicked a paintbrush across her nose. And with the way Miguel melts, you can die happy, knowing that you've seen the impossible: Miguel O'Hara, cooing and fussing over the little girl. 

"Arañita?" You ask, to no one in particular. 

"Itsy-bitsy spider." . ..is the sing-song, choral response from everyone but Miguel. They're mimicking his tone of voice, and he raises his head from May, looking around. 

"I don't sound- " 

"You do, dude." Peter sighs, tickling the little red head on the tummy; smiling as she collapses into bright laughter. "I don't have a nickname, and I've known you waaay longer than she has."

Miguel covers her tiny little ears, and says, "Eres un pendejo, Parker . "

[you're a dipshit, Parker] 

The scraggly man sticks his tongue out in response, and May pulls at his hair for good measure. He yelps, and Miguel passes her over to her Dad. The scene is funny, for sure, but you feel it's warmth more than anything. God, you can tell they've loved and laughed with each other for years; the kind of friendship you'd kill to have. 

"We just need whatever's left of her laptop, Lyla," He's blunt, batting away long forgotten chips and dip. "...and then we'll get going. Wish I could stay longer, Arañita, but I've got some work to finish off."

May makes grabby hands at him, and you melt. Who knows how Miguel can stay strong in the face of her big, round eyes. 

He gets up to stand next to you, arms crossed. The height difference is stark: his tall, solid frame towering over everyone else. It seems like an intimidation tactic, but you know him just well enough to tell: he's trying not to be swayed by puppy eyes and promises of food. 

"You just got here, Miggy." Lyla sighs. "We're going over prep for Jess', and we'll be two minutes, I swear."

"Oh?" His eyebrows light up. "I knew it! You were being evasive on the group chat, and Pete wasn't returning my calls…"

Huffing, he clasps his hand around yours, ready to storm out. "This is an ambush. A goddamn setup!" 

"Wait, Miguel, I need my-" 

"I'll pick it up later for you, okay?" It's said like an aside, so soft only you can hear it. With his hand around yours, it certainly feels more intimate than it should. And it seems like he realises a little too late, dropping your hand as your faces are mere inches away. 

"Um, we should… we should go." 

You look past him to the faces blinking at you guys, on the sofa. A pause, and then you're gulping down stubborn feelings to ask a question. 

"Jess' ? Is there a party, or something?" 

Lyla nods. "Yeah, and Miguel's meant to be picking up cake."

The man in question pinches his nose. "I can pick up the cake just fine. It's the whole… going to a party bit I'm not too keen on."

"Come onnn, you know Jess would love it."

"She'd love to blackmail me with some dumb shit I did drunk, that's for sure."

"It's her birthday, hardass ." Peter whispers that last bit, covering little May's ears like before. "She can have a little blackmail, as a treat."

"You're gonna say no to a surprise party ?" Ben echoes, shaking his head dramatically. 

"A surprise birthday?" You light up. "Miguel, you have to go."

His stony demeanor cracks, for a moment. You latch onto it, hellbent on wearing him down. He's always got his laptop out doing work, or cracking open a little notebook to prep a lab. When he's not at home, he's at that internship, or tutoring, or planning a tutoring session. Work, work, work; and you'll be dammed if you let him rot away in a little cage of his own machinations. 

"Come on, Miggy." You watch him bristle, prying at that little crack in the surface. This has to be done with finesse: present a challenge, and watch him scramble to prove you wrong. "You're telling me a couple of hours at a party's too much for you? That's it? " 

"That's not–" 

"S'what it sounds like to me." You shrug, a little smile on your face. The aim is to look as smug as possible; and it seems to be working. 

His jaw shifts, annoyed. Lyla catches on, giving you a crazed smile. 

"Even your roommate's gonna come." She says, an arm linked in yours. 

"I am?" She gives you a little dig, and you're spluttering. "Y-Yeah, I am!" 

You can see him fight with his own ego; but it's a one-sided affair. 

"Fine. " He strains. "Two hours, max. And then I'm gone."

Lyla gives you a squeeze, and then wraps you both up in a hug he desperately tries to fight off. Ben slots around you guys, and Peter's last to join, with Mayday squealing on his shoulders. 

Eventually, you get what's left of your laptop: a little thumb drive with as much as Lyla could save. You'd thanked her profusely, of course; trying to slither out of her vice grip of a hug, as best you could. She's absolutely batshit, the good kind; cryptic, and strange, but with a lot of heart. She makes you wonder, and they all do; just how did they become friends with Miguel? How do they fit? 

The man himself seems a little different, as if reinvigorated by being around friends. In fact, you catch him smiling to himself on the drive home. It's sweet; to see a different side of him around people he's clearly comfortable with. If only for a little while, he sheds the heavy weight he seems to carry around. 

Around the house, you notice he seems lighter – humming to himself whilst cooking dinner. That very day, you watch the little sway of hips as he stirs a pot; headphones in, singing under his breath. He can't sing for shit, of course, and he'd kill you if you ever uttered a word; but it's a sight you commit to memory, not knowing when next he'll be in such a good mood. 

There's still the question of a new laptop in the air, but you feel more settled by the events of the day. You're a little less fucked school-wise, you've got a party to look forward to, and potentially a drunk Miguel to make fun of. He goes to bed early; and you can hear the quiet drone of a podcast from the other side of the wall. He drifts off to the sweet, dulcet tones of Top Ten Genetic Precursors for Early Onset Dementia; one of his favourites, you've determined. 

All is well, for now. A tentative truce, and maybe, just maybe: you're finally friends with your roommate. 

~~~

There's something about dramatic irony that seems to smack you across the face, every time. 

You've come to somewhat of a understanding with your prickly roommate, and the stream of women in his bed seem to slow down, for a bit. He's hot, he's a whore; but he's sweet, with an eye for detail. He can read you with a scary amount of accuracy. Antsy and hungry from a long day? He leaves you scratching your head at his clairvoyance when you come home, chucking you a hot water bottle and a warm meal. You go to bed with a full belly, cramps abated. 

He's still a prick, of course. Sarcastic comments, and a massive grump – but you've learnt to deal with that. Just a couple of days after a seemingly settled week; what you can't wrap your head around is the pounding music from next door, at fuck-off-o'clock . He shouldn't be awake, let alone interrupting your late night study session. 

You're pissed, leaping from your desk to pound at his door. You're thudding towards his room, ready to deliver a well-deserved verbal lashing, and the door just… swings open. Empty; there's a window ajar and music pumping from speakers. Bachata and cheesy 90s R&B; which sounds suspiciously like his sex playlist. 

Yes, he has a sex playlist. And it really has no business to sound as good as it does. 

Nevertheless, you're resolute. If he's managed to sneak someone, at this hour, you decide he's going to get more than a stern talking to. 

There's clattering in the kitchen, and you whip around; half-expecting the giggle of another girl. When you walk in, it's just Miguel, rummaging through cupboards: a half-naked thief in the night. 

"Miguel?" 

He pops his head up from a cabinet, with a half-eaten piece of bread in his mouth. Caught red-handed, you suppose; and he gives you a little smile. 

"S'everyfin' – mmmfggh –" He scarfs the rest of it down. "Everything okay?" 

You squint. "No. Not really."

He chuckles, a slight rasp at the edges of his voice. Dickhead – what exactly is so funny? 

"You can't have your music so fucking loud, not when I'm studying. It's the middle of the night and–" 

Dressed in nothing but a pair of gray sweats, he's busying himself with a sandwich on the counter; clattering around noisily like he doesn't have full control of his limbs. Which is…. weird, admittedly. You'd trust Miguel to slice a grape with a machete – his dexterity is usually unmatched. Not that you'd made a habit of staring at his hands, or anything. 

"Are you even listening to me?" 

He nods, attempting to keep a straight face, but the faux solemnity does nothing to hide that droop of eyelids and slump of his shoulders. You get closer, pushing him to face you properly. 

"Oh, fuck," His eyes are a little red, hair messy and windswept. "Are you… high? " 

Miguel O'Hara? High? You'd never thought you'd live to see the day, honestly. His eyes go wide, dropping his sandwich dramatically. And then he's got a big hand at your shoulder, pulling you closer with a finger pressed to his lips. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering your name like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone."

With the way he says your name it makes you light-headed. It's slow and careful, as if he's testing the way it feels spilling from his lips. And maybe, with the way he smiles, it feels good; tastes sweet wrapped around his tongue. 

"I won't." You breathe, and then you're both giggling.

There's something about the way he looks at you, peering under heavy lashes; basically eye-fucking you in the space of your tiny kitchen. You feel bare in a little t-shirt and sleep shorts; suddenly exposed. 

"You should…" He starts, cocking his head ever so slightly. "Join me, chula. "

It's soft; sinful, even; said as he coaxes you between his body and the kitchen counter. 

You don't trust your voice enough to answer, legs already shaky, so you nod. Slight, at first; and then with a little more gusto as the idea of him and you on his sheets – intimate, alone – creeps in. He stretches out a hand, and you take it; led to his bedroom like a scene you've seen before. All those girls before you; led to the dragon's lair like damsels in a fairytale. Except in this one, you suppose, you're not waiting for a knight in shining armour to save you. 

He sits you down on the bed, passing you a freshly rolled blunt. Passing it to your lips , more specifically; hand on your chin as he brings the lighter up to its end. Even prettier up close, all you can do is watch the press of plump lips, and pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates. As he leans in, there's a hand on your bare thigh. You inhale, deeply, and he hums with content.

"Good girl," He purrs, prying it from your lips to take a slow drag. 

"You're a bad influence." You murmur, watching as his eyes flutter shut. 

"You need to relax," He leans back, arm drawn lazily upwards. "This is helping."

"That's not–" Oh. You feel it now, a steady haze rolling over limbs. 

Miguel quirks up an eyebrow, amused. 

You repeat, slowly, "You're a bad influence ."

"Does it feel good?" You pause, trying to ignore his low tone; and the steady blaze that it ignites within you. Dragging your eyes to meet his, you see it: want, lust, something heavy that swirls behind them. 

You nod, itching for another pull. As if psychic, he gestures for you to come closer; and your lips almost slot against his. He exhales, and you inhale; in the closest thing you've come to a kiss in months. It makes you ache for just a little more contact, for those pretty hands to slot between your thighs and–

"Is this all I need to do for some quiet around here?" He asks, lilting. If only he'd stop talking; interrupting your fantasy with that stupid grin of his. 

You're shaking your head, laughing at the sheer gall . 

"You're fucking someone new every week, O'Hara. Loud. Who was it the other day? Cathy, Kayla –" 

"Sita, actually." He has a strange expression on his face. "And we didn't fuck. Just going over lecture notes."

"Sorry . Must have gotten mixed up with the half-dozen other girls in and out of here. Our apartment's not a brothel , Miggy."

He rolls his eyes, handing you the remnants of the blunt. 

"...s'not my fault there isn't anyone fucking you right."

You scoff. "How would you know?" 

"Thin walls. " It's cryptic. What the fuck does that mean?

You take a careful drag, and hand the blunt back – trying your hardest not to strangle him. It must show on your face as you tussle with the thought, because Miguel is staring; unabashedly, unashamedly. When you notice, it throws you off. 

"... what?" Ready to defend yourself, you huff. 

He shrugs. His expression is soft, reminding you of that night, not long ago. 

"You look like a painting."

You practically short circuit. You've been complimented before, of course. Hot, by men trying to get into your pants. Pretty, sometimes. Beautiful, the other times. Whether it's been sincere, you don't know – but you're smart enough to not overthink it. It's hard enough to live a life, as it is; and you'd rather not be bogged down by what others think, how you look whilst doing it. And yet, you feel your body betray you; a steady bloom of heat at your heart, like you've been stabbed. So deep, it spreads like blood on the front of a blouse. Like a painting, he says. And you like the way he says it; how it sounds spilling from his lips. 

Its implication sits heavy. Like a painting : hand-crafted, silken, soft –

He blinks, the crack of a smile on his face. And it ends in a fit of giggling, if you can even call it that. 

"Stop fucking with me." You grumble, and he thinks the way your face scrunches up with disdain is cute. There's probably an implication there he should unpack in therapy – how he likes it when you shout and put him in his place – but he's much too high to care. 

"M'not-" He quiets down, flattens his face into something resembling sobriety and gravitas. He gets a little closer, so close you can feel the heat of his body and flutter of lashes. With wide, dilated pupils, he stills - and it really doesn't help that he looks so pretty. 

"Can't stop thinking about you, hermosa." His voice is low, slurred with the weight of the blunt he's taken careful drags of. Every word makes you feel hazy, drawn in by his lips. " Fuck, all the time."

"Hear your laugh in my dreams, sometimes." He circles your bare thigh carefully, without breaking eye contact. With a thumb on your chin, he brings you closer, and closer still. Gently, you close your eyes, expecting the press of his lips against yours… 

…instead, you get a puff of smoke for your troubles. Reeling, you push him away. He collapses on the bed in a laughing fit. 

"... now I'm fucking with you." Rumbling laughter, and you've got the wherewithal to be embarrassed – hand still resting on his bare chest. 

A little cruelly, you push down, giving him an elbow to the ribs for good measure and he splutters with surprise – laughing all the same. 

"Asshole." You slur, and he grabs your arm to pull you onto the covers with him. You paw at him wildly, wrestling amongst the table of sheets. It's not a fair fight, not really; the wide expanse of his bare chest feels solid, and he's probably got more muscle in his pinky toe than you do in your whole body. Miguel is strong , but plays along regardless, pinning you to the bed with his hands around your wrists - but lets you turn him over just as quick. You're both laughing, the blunt long forgotten but its haze blurring the lines. You straddle his middle, hips flush against his and he keens; head back and cheeks flushed.

"Fuck," It's quiet, said as he writhes below you and you try to pin his hands above his head. Maybe it's the weed, but he lets you: eyes low, breath steady. And you stay like that, for a moment; bodies laid against one another. 

You don't know who starts it: the slow roll of hips, the swell of his cock bucking up against your heat. Regardless, you welcome it, letting the heat build up with the pressure at your clit. Your hips sway and all Miguel can do is watch. 

Lips parted, head back; and you set a steady rhythm that washes over you both.

Humping against one another, you get more desperate and drag your hands to his chest for purchase. Underneath you, Miguel practically purrs – one hand on your waist and the other clutching yours at his chest. 

"So, so pretty…" He sighs into it, wide palm pawing at your ass, shamelessly grabbing handfuls. By now, he's rock hard; and you feel him throb through the thin material of his sweats. 

"Fuck, I can't–" You moan, ragged, the roll of your hips gaining speed. 

Miguel coos, bringing a hand to your chin to pull you closer to the crook of his neck. 

"Too fast, hermosa. S-Slow it down for me." He grips your waist, forcing the pace to slow. Your hips stutter against his, delicious pressure making you cry out. And, God, you're close; pleasure building up at your gut. 

"Ohhh, fuck. Just like that, just like–" It's soft, whispered between the press of bodies like a prayer: reverent, intimate, a slew of garbled English and Spanish into the shell of your ear that goes straight to your pussy. 

"A-Ahi, ahi–"

[t-there, there–] 

Plush lips brush against your cheek, and you try so hard to not float away - with only his words to keep you tethered.  

"... no pares lo que sea que estes haciendo–ohh-fuck–" 

[don't stop what you're doing, oh fuck–] 

The coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you arch into his touch as he does the same. Miguel spills into his sweats, heaving with the effort. He can feel the clench of your pussy above, and he chases it in the aftermath; craning his neck to finally get a kiss. Limbs heavy, you still manage to swerve so his kisses land at your jaw. He's grateful for the contact anyway it comes and sucks careful hickies into the skin: at your neck, your collarbone, and anywhere else he can reach. 

You sink into it, curl up on his chest like a housecat; his hands wandering the gentle slope of your back under your shirt. 

Limbs heavy, you pry yourself from his hands ever so slightly. He strains to follow you up, snapping back into the sheets like an elastic band. Still, he kneads at your flesh - bare thighs spilling from your shorts. 

" Miguel," You whisper, hand travelling past his neck to cradle his jaw. "Need more…"

You punctuate that last word with a roll of your hips. Wanton, conflicted; he groans . 

"It's late, chula. " He says it slowly, hesitant – like he can't believe the words are coming out of his mouth. He's still high, lost in the whispy remnants of that blunt. You've never known weed to make someone more responsible, and you flop to his side, a little childishly. 

Miguel makes sure to keep a hand wrapped around your waist, dragging his other knuckles up your exposed tummy so that it rides up to the swell of your tits. 

"And you've got that 9am."

You cover your face with the span of your hands, grumbling. From between the gaps in your fingers, you repeat, 

" ...and I've got that 9am ."

He traces lazy circles in your flesh. Maybe it's the blunt, or the afterglow of an orgasm; but you make him laugh, a gentle ache replacing the creak and shudder of gears. 

"Idiot." He says, kissing it into your skin. And he burns from the touch, fleeting; like the warm flame from paper lanterns, or the flicker of a lighter against cool night air. 

_

_

_

Miguel taglist (1): @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns

@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

[theetherealbloom]

WHERE DO WE GO NOW? - CH. 1 | 14th Doctor

Chapter One: After All Of The Time, And Give An Actual Try

Summary: An enigmatic old face makes a reappearance, heralding unforeseen events. A mysterious spaceship plummets to Earth, bringing chaos and prompting the Doctor's intervention. Amidst the unfolding narrative, a cute and endearing creature seeks assistance, weaving together elements of mystery, adventure, and companionship.

Pairing: 14th Doctor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt-to-Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Possible Plot Holes, Vague Background, Aliens, Mild Horror, Violence, Past Trauma, Depression, Anxiety, Timey-Wimey Stuff, Star-Crossed Lovers, Second Chance 

Word Count: 12.2k

A/N: Surprise! I love Doctor Who too. I’m a huge nerd, I know tehe. I hope you enjoy this mini-series I have planned for the 14th Doctor! As we know, he is played by the beloved David Tennant who is one of my favorite Doctors ever.

Song: Where do we go now? By Gracie Abrams

→ Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MILLSON WAGNER STEELWORKS, NORTH LONDON – EVENING, DECEMBER 2023

A UNIT team was promptly dispatched as the spaceship breached Earth's atmosphere, making its way North of London. Both serving as scientific advisors, you and Shirley were on-site where the ship had landed.

While some military personnel were busy extinguishing the flames from the spacecraft and securing the perimeter, preventing you from delving further into the investigation, you found yourself engrossed in studying the ship's scans displayed on the monitor in your hands, attempting to unravel the mystery.

"Miss them, do you?" A voice called out from behind.

You averted your gaze from the tablet, turning to find Shirley maneuvering her wheelchair next to you. Curious, you asked, "What? Who?"

The redhead sported a cheeky smile. "The Doctor, of course."

It was widely known that you had journeyed alongside the Doctor and his myriad companions. Images of their faces flashed in your mind as you reminisced about those exciting adventures. Rose, Donna, the Ponds, Clara... you longed for them. There was a noticeable absence of the Doctor that left a gaping black hole in your chest.

You shook your head, muttering to yourself, "Can't let the Doctor catch a glimpse of me again; the entire universe might just fold in on itself once more. Already me being here is a problem since there’s a possibility he could pop out at any moment. I’m only on duty since I owe Kate a favor."

Shirley hums and responds, "I've read the files, you know. You two were quite the team. Everything that had happened… was in the wrong place at the right time. Still, it could happen, the two of you… together."

You raise your eyebrows at her and offer a small smile while shaking your head, scoffing, "The Doctor was unaware before, and I won't be the catalyst for another cosmic meltdown due to my selfish reasons. Besides... the Doctor doesn’t know I’m still alive and UNIT is already on my arse for even existing on this timeline.”

The redhead emits a sympathetic murmur and pats the side of your thigh, "Wasn't your fault, love. A colossal tear in time and space that dragged you in here... sounds like fate, or destiny even. If anything, maybe it was supposed to happen... like you and—"

The tablet beeps, abruptly halting Shirley's train of thought. You glance at the monitor, furrowing your brow, then hand over the device to her, saying, "You need to see this. I believe there's more to this than we initially thought."

“Now I think we’re making a fundamental mistake. ‘Cause maybe that spaceship was a collision course to start with, but look.” Shirley says while the UNIT soldier looks at the tablet, “At the last minute, it pulls up, then settles. What I’m sayin’ is, that ship didn’t crash. It parked.”

As Shirley presents her observations to the UNIT soldier, you can't help but notice the intensity in her gaze, the lines of concentration etched across her forehead. The soldier queries, "No signs of life?" You step forward, interjecting, "Not yet. But we don't know what kind of life we're looking for."

Suddenly, an unexplained shiver races up your spine, goosebumps breaking out on your skin. A palpable sense of familiarity and the eerie feeling of being observed by someone you know too well. Your expression shifts into a frown, and Shirley catches on, concern knitting her brows. "What? What's wrong?" she asks.

You open your mouth but hesitate, exchanging glances with Shirley and the UNIT soldier. Shirley, sensing the urgency, instructs the soldier to step aside. Both of you retreat to a secluded corner, where she probes, "What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost, dear."

You exhale shakily, "I... I think he's here. He's back."

Shirley blinks, seeking clarification, "You mean..."

"The Doctor. The Doctor, he’s here."

"Shirley, I need to leave, immediately," you declare, attempting to stride away with urgency.

"Wait, hang on a second," Shirley interjects, gripping your wrist and compelling you to halt. "He's already seen you, yeah? Looks like nothing bad has happened and—"

"Nothing bad has happened yet, Shirley. The stars could go out; millions of galactic species could die if we so much as breathe in each other's direction. I can't risk it. I won't."

Tears well up, and Shirley guides you to a stop near one of the staircases, settling herself in her wheelchair. As you take a seat, you rub both hands over your face, wiping away the tears. "I should have died that day."

Shirley remains silent, allowing you to continue as you shakily sob, "I should have died. But I didn't, and I'm still here."

"I lied to him, Shirley. I lied. He... he might never forgive me for it," you confess brokenly. Shirley shrugs, offering, "You won't know unless you talk. And it seems to me that whatever was keepin’ you apart before… is tellin’ you two maybe now is the right place at the right time."

Deep in contemplation of your choices, someone suddenly seizes your wrist, muffling your voice as they pull you close, your body pressed against a comforting warmth.

"Hey, it's me. It's the Doctor," he reassures, and you instinctively push away, allowing some distance between you two. Both of you stand there panting, but he breaks the silence first, shouting, "I thought you were dead!"

Throwing the words back at him, you retort, "I was supposed to be dead!"

"Why aren't you dead?" he demands, and frustration laces your high-pitched response, "Are you bloody serious in asking me that?”

 “No. Yes! Argh, I don't know!"

Shaking your head and taking a step back, you declare, "I need to leave."

The Doctor firmly grabs your wrist, halting your escape. "No. Not again."

With determination, you wrench your wrist from his strong hold, shouting, "The universe could collapse! Again! We weren't ever supposed to meet. It was a mistake."

Wide-eyed, the Doctor gazes at you and replies in a breathy tone, "Is that really what you think?"

Paused, unable to respond, you hear his voice in your head, a telepathic whisper so familiar. "You and I both know, that it wasn't a mistake."

Glaring at him, you muster as much resistance as possible, but those big dark brown eyes make it challenging. "That's not fair. Get out of my head," you retort with furrowed brows.

The Doctor whispers your name, barely audible, causing you to flinch and look away. Instead of acknowledging his presence, you pivot to a question, "You regenerated… But why this face? Why are you back?"

"Why do you ask? You don't like this one?" he retorts.

Crossing your arms, you roll your eyes, "With you, there's always a reason for everything."

The Doctor admits, "Must be why the TARDIS brought me to you and Donna."

You regard him with a concerned gaze and tone, "What? You saw Donna, did she recognize or remember you?"

"The fail-safe worked; she just commented about my clothes. She has a daughter named Rose," the Doctor hums, kicking a small piece of gravel on the floor. You nod, "Yeah, I keep tabs on 'em. Making sure they're alright. Even though Donna gave all that money away to charity."

"Do you know why she did it?" The Doctor asks.

"I don't. But I have a couple of guesses," you reply with a close-lipped smile and a shrug. The Doctor brings his gaze to you, and you can already feel the question before he says it.

"I thought you were dead, for fifteen years."

You scoff, "Oh, that's nothing for you, Time Lord and all."

The Doctor throws his hands up in frustration, "Oh, don't do that."

"Do what?" you demand.

"Pretend that it was nothing for me! You were everything to me," the Doctor says, taking another step closer, and you take a step back this time. You look at him with narrowed eyes, and in a low tone, you say, "You and I both know that's not true."

"What happened? Where did you go?"

"You and I both know what happened after Arcadia. I was ready to die. I thought I had served my purpose, what I was made for. I got shot midway through the regeneration process, and I felt it. I felt myself slipping away... I could only see the two suns, and then when I closed my eyes, there was this surge of energy... I couldn't explain it back then, and I can't now. But it was like someone had given me their regeneration energy... but when I looked around, no one was there, and I was no longer on Gallifrey."

The Doctor finishes the sentence for you, "You were brought to Earth."

You nod, "I still have no idea who did it. But now, I can't leave. And all those years, my memories were locked away in that old pocket watch until I met you... and then the stars started to go out once more, and I knew I had no choice… I couldn't stay with you."

"All those years... you were alone, just like me," the Doctor says, and you look away before sitting atop one of the crates by the pillar, sighing, "I need to leave again... planets could disappear and galaxies could collapse at any second, and we'd be back where we started."

The Doctor remains silent as you close your eyes, resting your head on one of the stacked crates behind you. You yearn for him. Every atom in your being longs for his presence, yet every angle you examine seems to present an unsolvable puzzle. Thus, you convince yourself that distancing is the best course for everyone involved. How does one repay a sacrifice of such magnitude?

Then, you detect his approaching footsteps, and he settles comfortably beside you, shoulders brushing as he leans in. "Or... we could finally figure out a way to solve the paradox."

Opening your eyes, you shoot him a pointed look. "Doctor, we're in the middle of yet another crisis. A spaceship just landed, and we have no bloody clue who the hell we're dealing with right now. And you want to solve the impossible with our situation?"

"Who says I can't multitask?" he retorts, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. You lightly smack him on the arm, feeling warmth flood your cheeks. Memories of the carefree early days flash through your mind, recalling lingering gazes and soft touches exchanged. Licking your lips nervously, you release a heavy breath, "One problem at a time. We have another alien on the loose."

The Doctor takes that as a win, a calculated risk, with the universe as a potential consequence. He's never demanded anything, and for the first time, he yearns for something for himself. He envisions it — hope — the prospect of finally rewriting the ending you both desperately desire.

The sonic clicks and buzzes as the Doctor conjures a holographic screen, displaying the schematics of the spacecraft that recently landed nearby. He retrieves his glasses from his coat pocket, donning them as he peruses the screen. Pressing a few buttons, he zooms in on the bottom part of the ship before highlighting the drive.

Frowning, your eyes narrow as an unsettling weight settles at the pit of your stomach while reading what's on the screen.

"Too good for us now?" Shirley remarks as she rolls up in her wheelchair. The Doctor briefly glances at her, nodding, and casually greets, "Evening."

Shirley smiles knowingly as she looks between the two of you. "Doctor. I see you and my colleague have talked. Has galaxies and universes collapsed yet?"

The Doctor hums, "Mmmm, not yet. Soon maybe, if I could get her to kiss me."

You smack him on the shoulder a little harder this time, and he yelps out, "Ow!" Making a face at him, you retort, "Oh, sod off!"

The Doctor gives you a cheeky smile while Shirley chuckles next to you. She then looks at the holographic screen on display, and the Doctor brings his focus back to the problem at hand, saying, "That’s a double-bladed dagger drive, damaged by laser fire which means we’ve got two sets of visitors at war with each other."

He glances at Shirley politely, "Nice to meet you. Did you get the heat readings on deceleration?" Shirley chuckles and clicks her tongue, "Oh, I got everything." She unfolds her tablet to give to the Doctor, who presses a button on his sonic screwdriver to close the holographic screen. Taking the tablet, he begins to analyze the readings as your colleague introduces herself, "Shirley Anne Bingham, UNIT Scientific Advisor number 56."

The Doctor sounds delighted, saying, "Oh! I was Scientific Advisor number one."

Shirley smiles, "No, I know. I’ve read the files. I’m gonna get a bonus just for meeting you."

The Doctor makes a face, not used to humble praise. "Oh."

Shirley then asks, "But why are you hiding away? We’re on the same side and it can’t be ‘cause of her now." She looks at you, and you also turn your attention to the Doctor.

He slightly groans and inhales sharply before replying, "It’s all a bit mad, Shirley. I don’t know who I am anymore."

Shirley crosses her legs in the wheelchair and says matter-of-factly, "Well, you look like the Doctor to me."

The Doctor shrugs, "Well, exactly. The one in the skinny suit. After that, I wear a bow tie. After that, I’m a Scotsman. After that, I’m a woman."

Shirley frowns, "But that’s your future. You can’t know that. It’s forbidden."

The Doctor replies, "I regenerated. And she became me."

Both of Shirley’s eyebrows rise, and her eyes widen as she says, "You got your old face back?"

The Doctor replies with a resounding pop, "Yep."

"But why?" Shirley asks, and the Doctor sighs, "Well, that’s what I’m worried about."

He then inhales deeply before continuing, “Because, besides this lovely stubborn woman right next to me,” you pinch the bridge of your nose briefly as he continues, “I've got this friend called Donna Noble. She was my best friend in the whole wide universe. I absolutely love her as much as I love this one right here.” The Doctor pulls a face and pouts, puffing out a breath as his thick eyebrows furrow, he says, “Oh. Hmm. Do I say things like that now?”

Shirley smiles at him while commenting, “Sounds like a good thing to say.”

You mumble, “I’m not used to this.”

“But Donna took the mind of a Time Lord into her head. I had to wipe her memory to save her life. If she ever remembers me she will die. So what happens next?” The Doctor said with emphasis and leaned closer to you and Shirley, “I get this face back, and the TARDIS lands right next to her. I turn around, there’s her husband. A spaceship crashes in front of her. That led me here to my other best friend in the whole wide universe, my Time Lady who I thought was dead for many years. It’s like she’s drawing us in.” The Doctor finishes, and you and Shirley give each other a look, processing everything he has just said. Especially you, who was processing the fact he called you his. You and Shirley blinked a few times before Shirley said, “What? She’s making it happen?”

The Doctor shakes his head, “No, she’s got no idea. She’s so ordinary. She’s brilliant. She’s got this beautiful daughter. She’s happy. Is she? Hmm.” He pauses before saying in a lower tone, “But the universe is turning around the two people I love the most again. I don’t believe in destiny, but if destiny exists, then it's heading straight for Donna Noble and quite possibly the love of my life right next to me.”

You blink in surprise, opening your mouth to try and say something, maybe correct him, but nothing comes out, so you sit there, mouth gaping next to him like a fish while Shirley has a toothy grin as you say to the Doctor, “Okay, I’m still not used to whatever this is… and I don’t think I ever will be. You’re kind of freaking me out a little, dear.”

The Doctor grins, “Ooh, are we doing pet names now darling?”

You rub your right eye, feeling a migraine beginning to form, “I… What the hell is happening? You sure you’re alright? Last time you regenerated into this form you had a high fever and you were… completely out of it.”

The Doctor scrunches his nose and sniffs, “I feel great. Fantastic even!”

You purse your lips, observing the Doctor from head to toe, and then focus on his eyes—those warm, inviting brown eyes. Softly, you remark, “You've grown.”

The Doctor returns your gaze, his lips forming a quirked-up smile that reveals a dimple. "Just a little bit, yeah."

Shirley interjects, steering the conversation back on course, “You said it was also heading for Donna. What for?”

The Doctor responds with a swift, “I don’t know.” Shirley replies with an, “Oh.” The Doctor continues, with deep emphasis, “But she can’t remember. I won’t be the one who kills her.”

Shirley nods, and the tablet in the Doctor’s hands beeps. He looks at it, saying, “Right. There’s no sign of a pilot, but that’s not an automatic drive, so you should look for–”

“Ma’am,” a soldier interrupts, cutting off the Doctor. He slinks back into the shadows, and you and Shirley listen to what the soldier has to say. “We found the escape pod. No sign of life, but we’re moving out to secure the site.”

Shirley quickly replies, “Good work, soldier. Go get it.” Dismissing the soldier and watching her walk away, the Doctor moves to stand, removing his glasses and putting them away, ready to follow the soldier. But Shirley raises her hand and says to him, “Uh, yeah, yeah. Not you two, mate. I’ve got this. Off you pop. Bye-bye.”

Shirley begins to roll her wheelchair away, leaving the Doctor and you confused. The Doctor then calls out to her, “Waited your whole life?”

To which Shirley throws a look over her shoulder as she responds with a smirk, “You wish.”

The Doctor looks at you, and you look up at him. He turns his hand, palm up, waiting for you to take it with your hand. You glance at his hand and back to his eyes; he sees the uncertainty swirling through your gaze.

The Doctor speaks gently, “I know you aren’t ready and you’re scared… but I know you’re brave. And the universe listens to the brave. C’mon, it’s time to be brave again.”

You release a shaky exhale, swallowing the lump in your throat and dismissing the rational urge to walk away from him. Taking his hand, he tugs you along, pushing his legs into a run with you, hand-in-hand.

He thrusts the exit door open, utilizing his sonic screwdriver with his other hand on the back of the UNIT truck, the chains rattling as the trunk hatch pops open, pulling you with him to settle at the back of the truck.

As the UNIT truck pulls away, you see Shirley waving you off, and the Doctor gives her a small salute while you offer her a faint smile.

CHISWICK, LONDON – EVENING, 2023

You constantly poked your head out to see the stars, in case anything had changed. The Doctor held your hand, squeezing it every time you did, quietly reassuring you that whatever you faced, you'd do it together.

Arriving in the residential area, a long street lined with cars and now multiple UNIT trucks and soldiers running around, you could hear Donna shouting, “Oh, what the hell is it doing in my shed? Get out of my garden!”

The Doctor ran towards the sound of her voice, and you followed him. Reaching Donna's home, the Doctor pounded on the door, “Let us in! Let us in!”

Sylvia glared at the Doctor as she briskly walked towards him, but he exclaimed happily, “Sylvia! Oh, Sylvia! So nice to see you again. Could you let us in?”

Sylvia angrily whispered, “You said that if she sees you again, she will die. Well, no. If – if she remembers me. That’s slightly different.”

You heard and saw Donna through the stained glass yelling from down the hall, “No such thing as spaceships? We’ve got a bloody Martian in the shed!”

Sylvia angrily said, “Just get out of here, now.” But the Doctor knelt down to peek through the mail slot to see all the commotion, finding a small white fluffy creature with big eyes. “Oh, wow. He’s so cute,” the Doctor mumbled. With no other choice, he used his sonic to unlock the door as Sylvia told Donna, “Don’t look! Don’t look. It doesn’t exist.”

As the Doctor walked down the hall, with you trailing behind him, Sylvia whirled around to slap the Doctor. He grunted and groaned, “Here we go again.”

“It’s that man!” You recognized Rose say as Donna pointed at the Doctor, “Oh, it’s the skinny man!”

Sylvia continued to try and gaslight Donna, outstretching both her arms to block both of you, “He’s not there! You can’t see him. And there’s no monster. Oh, for the love of God, none of this is real!”

You and the Doctor ducked down and crawled to the creature to help assist them. In the middle of all the shouting and noise, you saw Shaun Temple appear, saying, “Hey, hey. Dad’s home.”

Everyone stood at a standstill, wide-eyed and unsure of what to do next. After a pause, Shaun commented with a small smile, “Something smells nice.” Sylvia smiled, “Tuna madras.”

“Meep, meep.”

As you and the Doctor sat on the floor, he carefully wrapped Meep’s injury in his hands with medical tape, while you quickly assessed if the Meep had any more injuries. Sylvia spoke to Donna, “We should think about infection. I mean, I think this man should deal with this beast, and we can leave him alone and go back to mine.”

Donna pulled her arm away from Sylvia and gestured around the Meep, “Never mind. Never mind about the ferret from Mars.” She gave you and the Doctor a pointed look as she growled out, “Who the hell are you two?”

You looked to the Doctor for help, and he stumbled over his words, “I– um. What was it?” He looked to Shaun who replied, “A friend from Nerys.” To which the Doctor promptly agreed, “That’s it.”

Donna scrunches her nose and says, “Nerys. Well, now it all makes sense. That viper in the nest.” She continues and points to the Meep, “I’m not going anywhere. We could sell mad Paddington for a million quid.”

Everyone reacted, giving Donna a pointed look and a noise of disagreement, “Woah!” Donna tried to justify her comment by saying, “You fill the fridge!”

The Doctor’s expressive eyebrows furrowed, and he asked Donna, “What did happen to all your money?” Donna got defensive and threw back, “Why are you so interested in us? Everywhere you go, there you are. Now you got this woman with you,” She gestured to you, “are you sure you’re safe with him, darling? Is he forcing you to be with him? Did he kidnap you?!”

You blinked wildly at Donna, “Uh, no– I’m good. He’s my partner.”

The Doctor smirked at you, “Ooh, I’m your partner?” To which you narrowed your eyes at him, “Quiet, you.” He pouted but continued to finish wrapping the injury of the Meep, then the Doctor said, “There is one person missing. I used to know your grandad, Wilf.”

Donna shook her head, “He’s not with us anymore.”

The Doctor had a somber expression as he nodded, “Right. Course. He wasn’t young; he was—” His lower lip trembled as he admitted, “I loved that man. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Donna shook her head, emphasizing, “He’s not dead.” Sylvia shot the Doctor a sharp look, “You idiot.”

The Doctor gaped at them, and Donna continued to share, “He’s in sheltered accommodation. He’s 94. He can’t manage the stairs.” Shaun took over, saying, “We were lucky. We couldn’t afford it, but this offer came along.”

Rose smiled, painting a vivid picture, “It’s amazing. He’s got this room, like a cottage and a garden, and it’s almost free.”

“Run by that lot in the middle of town? UNIT? This woman in charge, Kate, she says he’s an old soldier, she’ll look after him.” Shaun said, and the Doctor's face lit up, “Right. I know her. She’s looking after Wilf. Brilliant. Brilliant.”

Shaun tilted his head as he looked at you, “You look very familiar… Weren’t you with Kate as you were helping with the accommodations for Wilf?”

Your lips pinched together as you nodded, “Yeah, I work with UNIT. I check on him regularly; he’s wonderful.”

“Meep, meep.”

You and the Doctor turned to the fluffy white creature in front of you, and the Doctor’s eyebrows raised as he inhaled sharply, “Yes! The Meep. I promise I can help him get home. Then you’ll never have to see me, or well, the both of us ever again.”

Rose looked at the Doctor and gave him a questioning look, “You’re assuming he as a pronoun? Hmm.”

The Doctor took it in stride and nodded, “True. Yes. Sorry. Good point.” He quickly turned to the creature and asked, “Are you he, or she, or they?”

The high-pitched voice of the Meep responded, “My chosen pronoun is the definite article. I am always the Meep.”

The Doctor’s expression shifted to one of understanding as his thick eyebrows raised and he nodded, “Oh. I do that. But you were shot down. Who wants you dead?”

You tilt your head, captivated by the Meep's explanation, “The Wrath Warriors. They cultivate Meepkind for our beautiful fur. But then the galaxy said, ‘No more fur. It’s wrong. So the Wrath Warriors slaughtered their livestock.”

The Doctor crosses his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face, and leisurely leans back on the couch, letting his back rest against it, “You’re a fashion victim.”

A collective groan escapes from all the humans in the room, “No.”

The Doctor quickly mumbles an apology, and the Meep continues, “Now, they will hunt me down till there are no Meeps left.” The Meep sniffs, “It breaks both my hearts.”

You and the Doctor exchange surprised glances, both of your eyebrows raised. The Doctor shares with the Meep as he gestures to both of you, “You got two hearts? So do we.”

Donna quickly catches onto the Doctor's revelation and frowns, “You’ve got what?”

Sylvia tries to downplay what the Doctor just exposed, stammering as she speaks to Donna, “No. He means it like a metaphor. Like two minds. Do you?” You and the Doctor shake your heads, but suddenly there’s a pounding at the door.

“Open up!”

“Well, what the hell is it now?” Donna exclaims, her frustration evident as she wonders why all these strange anomalies keep happening. The Doctor pushes himself up, and you assist him with his navy blue coat as he puts it on. He continues addressing everyone in the room, “Ah, good. The soldiers! They can give us a lift.”

As he goes to answer the door, leaving you with the Meep and Donna’s family, Rose can't help but ask, “Are you two…”

Your cheeks feel flush, the tips of your ears turning warm, “Yep.”

Just as Donna is about to make a cheeky comment, you hear the Doctor slam the front door shut, loudly informing you all, “I think we need to run. Woah!”

Suddenly, an explosion rocks the backdoor, causing everyone to hit the ground with a collective yelp. You and the Doctor peek to look at the new visitor; arthropods, with a tough chitinous exoskeleton. With their external skeleton acting as a skelo-shield they had formidable strength. Their eyes were like large red lights. Seeing the Wrath Warriors enter while saying, “Wrath, attack formation! Surrender the Meep!”

UNIT soldiers burst in from the main entrance, their voices echoing down the hallway as they shout instructions to each other. The distant hum of gunfire and the vivid flashes of lasers light up the space, creating a chaotic symphony that fills your senses.

Donna, caught in the middle of the sudden onslaught, shouts in confusion and frustration, “What the hell is going on?”

The Doctor deftly manipulates his sonic screwdriver, adjusting its settings. He turns to Shaun and inquires, “Where’s your car?”

Shaun, bewildered but cooperative, responds, “Uh, five- five doors down.”

“Excellent.” The Doctor nods. He pivots, activating the sonic screwdriver to generate large, rectangular force fields. The blue glow emanating from the force fields reveals a recent upgrade, and you can't help but smile, commenting, “Nice upgrade, love.”

“Thanks, dearest. Help me move this, won’t you?” The Doctor passes the sonic to Donna, who handles it with familiarity. You and the Doctor work together to slide the force field into the first section of the hallway, dodging blaster shots as you go. Once in the living room again, you take the sonic from Donna, creating your force field with the Doctor’s scientific instrument. The Doctor observes you with admiration, and together, you slide the final force field into place, sealing off the area where the Wrath Warriors were firing from.

Immediately, the Doctor issues a commanding directive to the Noble-Temple family and the Meep, “Upstairs! Up, up, up, up, up, up, up, up, up!” They follow the urgent order, shrieking as they ascend the stairs, sandwiched between the force fields that shield them from the relentless onslaught of gunshots and laser fire.

“Come on, Meep!” The Doctor encourages, executing an energetic dance of hopping and flailing arms. The Meep responds with a whimper, “No.” Undeterred, you and the Doctor persist, the Doctor continuing his lively hopping routine, insisting, “Come on! That’s it.”

You guide the Meep up the stairs, the Doctor closely behind. A reassuring hand rests on your back as the trio ascends. When you're halfway across the corridor, a deafening explosion erupts from behind. The Noble-Temple family screams in fear, and you're thrown to the ground. However, the Doctor reacts swiftly, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to break your fall. In a protective move, he cushions the impact with his body, leaving you on top of him.

You swiftly roll off him, your palms hitting the floor as you propel yourself upward. Grasping the Doctor's hand, you haul him to his feet, both of you swiftly turning around to confront the aftermath—a colossal, gaping hole now occupying the space where a window once stood. Donna's cry of agony echoes through the room, "My house!"

Despite the devastation, there's no time for dwelling. The Doctor urgently directs everyone, gesticulating emphatically, "Upstairs. Upstairs, upstairs!"

Observing the Wrath Warriors soaring menacingly through the breached window, and amidst the symphony of gunfire and laser blasts echoing from the stairs, you and the Doctor deftly ascend to the third floor. With a swift motion, he lowers the ladder leading to the attic, urgently urging everyone, "Up we go! Fast as you can."

The entire group efficiently ascends to the attic. Positioned beside a robust brick wall connecting attics along the street, you and the Doctor huddle close. The Doctor showcases the device in his hand, proclaiming, "This is a sonic screwdriver. And if it's good at one thing, it's resonating concrete." He flips it in one hand before activating it, causing vibrations to ripple through the mortar.

Shaun interjects, "That's not concrete. That's mortar." Donna, in her familiarly exasperated tone, sighs and quips, "Thank you, Bob the Builder."

With a determined push, you and the Doctor dislodge the bricks, prompting them to cascade down. Donna crouches beside the Doctor, complimenting, "Skinny minnie, you're not bad."

The Doctor grins at Donna, "You think?"

However, Sylvia intervenes, frowning as she guides Donna aside, firmly asserting, "No, she doesn't. Now move."

"Come on. Five houses down," the Doctor grunts, effortlessly moving aside a box brimming with Christmas decorations. He takes the lead, guiding the family through the interconnected attics.

Traversing through these loft spaces, you witness the chaotic scene unfolding outside, with laser beams and gunshots punctuating the air. Explosions resonate in the distance as you navigate the makeshift route, carefully descending a staircase. Along the way, you stealthily pass by someone deeply immersed in sleep on a couch, oblivious to the turmoil around them.

Upon reaching a door, the Doctor jostles it open, revealing a view of the black cab parked a few meters away. Amidst the cacophony of gunfire and distant shouts, the Doctor extends his hand and requests, "Can I have the keys?" Shaun promptly hands them over.

As the Wrath Warriors advance with their menacing backs turned, the Doctor swiftly swings the door open, directing the family and the Meep into the sanctuary of the black cab. Positioned in the passenger seat, you observe the Doctor deftly using his fingers to check the pulse of a fallen UNIT soldier. Abruptly, a Wrath Warrior pivots, growling, "Meep located. Stop the Meep!"

Evading blaster fire with nimble agility, the Doctor slips into the driver's seat, swiftly igniting the engine and propelling the cab into motion. The Meep whimpers, "Help! Save the Meep!"

As the Doctor skillfully navigates away, Donna exclaims, "Oh my God!" Shaun pivots within the cab, jubilantly stating, "You did it!" Meanwhile, Rose chimes in, "We're alive," and Sylvia expresses gratitude, "Thank you."

"Meep, meep."

While the Doctor keeps a vigilant eye on the side mirrors during the escape, there's a discernible shift in his tone, "Either we've escaped, or we've got things very, very wrong."

UNDERGROUND PARKING GARAGE, LONDON – EVENING, 2023

The Doctor skillfully maneuvers the cab, smoothly parking it in an underground garage. A contemplative furrow graces his forehead as he steps out of the vehicle. With an attentive courtesy, he opens the passenger door, gesturing for you to alight from the cab. Simultaneously, he opens the back passenger door, facilitating the exit of the Meep.

The Doctor deftly extracts a barrister's wig from the depths of his coat, perching it atop his head with an air of theatrical flair. Meanwhile, the Meep positions itself purposefully in front of the cab. In a tone of authoritative declaration, the Doctor announces, "This court is now in session."

With a swift motion, he retrieves his trusty sonic screwdriver, and it emits a distinctive whiz as he proclaims, "Intercept teleport!"

The Meep emits a piercing shriek, swiftly retreating a few meters behind you and the Doctor. Donna, emerging from the cab, questions, "What the hell are you doing?" The Doctor, with an authoritative air, responds, "Silence in the court."

In the blink of an eye, two Wrath Warriors materialize just across from you and the Doctor. You stand there, massaging your face with your hand, as he adopts a menacing tone and declares, "I’m invoking Shadow Proclamation protocols 15, P, and 6. Under my jurisdiction, there will be no violence until such time I deem it fit and proper. Is that understood?"

The Wrath Warriors nod in compliance, dutifully stowing away their weapons to their sides. The Doctor, brandishing his sonic, gestures towards the taxi, asserting, “Now, exhibit A. The taxi. No scorch marks. Donna, can you confirm?” Donna swivels around, inspecting the taxi behind her, and nods, “Um. Yes, no, nothing.”

You arch your eyebrows, interjecting, “We were hit by plasma bolts, but there isn’t a mark.” The Doctor affectionately kisses your forehead, remarking, “Clever girl.” You duck your head, feeling a slight warmth in your chest and cheeks. He proceeds, “And that soldier in the street. He was unconscious, not dead.” Pointing at the Wrath Warriors' guns with his sonic screwdriver, he continues, “Exhibit B. Those guns are stun guns. Is that correct?”

The right Wrath Warrior nods, “The guns apply a mild and harmless neural anesthetic. For the record, my name is Sergeant Zogroth.” The left Wrath Warrior adds on and says, “And I am Constable Zreeg.”

The Meep interjects from behind you, its large ears folding to the side, “But the evil Wrath Warriors want to kill the Meep.”

“The only ones out to kill were the soldiers with the swirling eyes,” the Doctor asserts, gesturing in a circular motion with his sonic, his eyes widening to emphasize his point. “Were they coming to hurt you, the Meep? Or save you?” The Doctor eyes the furry creature suspiciously.

“If I may speak,” Sergeant Zogroth says, and the Doctor promptly replies, “Address the court.”

“The story of the Meep is a tragic tale. Their planet basked in the light of a living sun. Until one terrible day, the sun went mad,” Sergeant Zogroth began, his voice laden with the weight of the narrative. Constable Zreeg chimed in, “A psychedelic sun.”

Sergeant Zogroth continued, “Its radiation mutated all of Meepkind into cruel beasts who live for conquest.”

The Doctor's face lights up with realization, "The eyes. That's solar psychedelia." Sergeant Zogroth adds, “It renders them as maniacs.”

“The Meep army captured the Galactic Council, beheaded them, and ate them,” Constable Zreeg revealed, sending shivers down your spine. You and the Doctor exchange a grimace at the horrifying revelation. “The Wrath Warriors were summoned. And we fought across the stars, a long and awful battle,” Sergeant Zogroth continued with a somber tone.

“Meepkind died rather than surrender. And now, only this one survives. Their leader, the most cruel and despicable of all,” he added, pointing to the Meep, who responded with a plaintive, “Meep, meep.”

The Doctor, adopting a composed stance, interjects, “Now. Let’s be fair. It’s your turn, the Meep. Witness for the defense. So, what do you say?” The Doctor crosses his arms, and you observe as the Meep's innocent visage transforms into something more sinister and monstrous.

The Meep's sharp teeth are bared as it growls defiantly, "Oh, to hell with this!" With a swift motion, it brandishes a weapon, declaring, "Exhibit C!" The Meep takes aim and fires, bringing down the two Wrath Warriors, their bodies collapsing to the ground. You, the Doctor, and Donna quickly rush to the fallen foes. The Doctor, during the action, removes his barrister wig. The Meep, in a sinister tone, adds, "No stun guns for me! Just die!"

Shaun leaps out of the cab, urgently shouting, "Donna! Donna, don't!" Despite his plea, Donna remains fixated on the fallen warriors, her concern evident. You find yourself beside the Doctor on the ground as the Meep triumphantly declares, "And here they come! My soldiers of the psychedelic sun!"

Suddenly, a convoy of UNIT vehicles arrives, accompanied by soldiers with their distinctive headgear, forming a protective perimeter around all of you. Their authoritative voices ring out, "Obey the Meep!"

Donna, her maternal instincts flaring, turns to Shaun and passionately commands, "Get out! Get Rose out!"

Shaun swiftly maneuvers to the driver’s seat while Rose and Sylvia settle back in the taxi. However, the UNIT soldiers, now under the control of the Meep, have you all surrounded with no clear escape.

“I don’t need to pretend, for I am the Beep of all the Meeps,” the Meep declares, grinning menacingly with its sharp teeth.

Sergeant Zogroth emits a final groan, his parting words being, “Sergeant Zogroth regrets retirement from active duty.” His eyes dim, and his body goes limp. Donna, disgusted, confronts the Meep, saying, “I was right. You are a monster.”

The Meep revels in Donna’s anger, taunting, “And you believed every word I said. You stupid woman! With your weird child!”

Donna, ready to confront the Meep for insulting her daughter, stands defiantly, retorting, “Oh, don’t you dare!”

The Meep, relishing the confrontation, points its weapon at Donna, threatening, “Oh, I dare!”

You quickly rise, positioning yourself in front of Donna, raising your hands in a protective stance. Simultaneously, the Doctor moves across the floor on his knees, hands raised, pleading, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! But— Last-minute evidence! Me.”

He emphatically points to himself and exclaims, “Why are there two more two-hearted species on this planet? Unless we are part of a strategy by the Wrath Warriors to outfox you? If you kill me and her and fail to take this family hostage, you’ll never find out, will you?”

The Meep hums, then commands the soldiers, “Bring them!”

The Doctor stands animatedly, “Good! Now, look, I can suggest a much better way off this planet than a double-bladed dagger drive. ‘Cause that thing is gonna—”

His sentence remains unfinished as he is abruptly knocked out by a UNIT soldier. The Meep cackles triumphantly as the rest of you are ushered into the back of a truck, alongside the unconscious Doctor.

On the truck's floor, the Doctor lay with his head resting on your lap, his unconscious form a testament to the challenges you faced. Your fingers moved soothingly through his untamed, spikey hair, offering a quiet comfort amid the tension.

Donna observed the scene, her curiosity getting the better of her. "How long have you two been together?" she inquired, attempting to place where she might have encountered you before.

"A good number of years," you replied, choosing to keep the more intricate details to yourself, considering the Doctor's timeless nature.

Rose, equally intrigued, posed another question, "Are you two married?"

A snort escaped you. "Nope. I don't think he wants that with me if I'm being honest."

“Why?” Rose pressed on.

Your gaze drifted, and you sniffed softly. "I’m all sorts of wrong for him. And sometimes, it scares me. The emptiness I see in my eyes,” you admitted, vulnerability seeping into your words. Your eyes lingered on the Doctor as you continued, “The Doctor is brilliant. He is truly brilliant. After all he’s been through... he deserves everything good and more… more than me.”

As your confession lingered in the air, the Doctor began to stir awake, bringing a momentary hush to the truck. His eyes fluttered open, and a low groan escaped him as he gradually sat up, settling next to you.

Donna eyed the Doctor with suspicion, her narrowed gaze fixed on him. "Who are you?" she questioned, her tone demanding answers.

The Doctor, still feeling the effects of his earlier unconsciousness, touched the back of his head with a wince. "I’m just passing by," he nervously replied, attempting to deflect her inquiries.

Undeterred, Donna redirected her attention to her mother, Sylvia, and pressed on, "Do you know him?" Sylvia, in an attempt to conceal any familiarity, shook her head, responding, "No."

Donna, frustrated and puzzled, continued, "You act like you know him. Ever since he arrived, it’s like—" She heaved a heavy sigh, abruptly halting her train of thought. "I’m so stupid!" she declared, voicing her self-reproach.

Shaun quickly reassured his wife, "No. No, you’re not."

Donna shook her head, lost in contemplation. "We could be living somewhere far away from here. Monte Carlo. Switzerland." She then turned to her daughter Rose, who sat beside her. "And you— And you’d be safe, Rose." Donna pulled Rose into a comforting side hug. "It’s all my fault. Gave away that lottery money."

The Doctor, unable to resist his curiosity, interjected, "Why?"

Donna shot him a glare. "Because. There are places out there where people are in danger. And in pain. And fear. And I could help. Just felt the sort of thing he would do." Her words hung in the air, revealing a sense of duty and compassion that drove her actions.

Abruptly, the truck jolts to a stop, resulting in the Doctor colliding with one of the crates, eliciting a pained groan. You swiftly move to assist him. The truck door swings open, and a stern voice commands, "Out!"

MILLSON WAGNER STEELWORKS 

NORTH LONDON, – EVENING, DECEMBER 2023

The UNIT soldiers briskly led you towards the heart of the steelworks, where the Meep's spaceship had strategically landed.

"It didn't choose the steelworks by accident. It came here to be mended," the Doctor remarked as the group neared the spacecraft. The Meep made a grand entrance, seated on a makeshift throne of steel carried by a procession of UNIT soldiers. With its menacing teeth and booming voice, it declared, "Hail to the Meep!"

A hypnotic chant echoed through the steelworks as multiple officers joined in unison, "Hail to the Meep. Hail to the Most High. Hail to the Meep. Hail to the Most High."

"Human scum, behold my vessel to the stars! Far beyond your tiny, grasping minds," Beep the Meep declares with an air of arrogance. You respond with an eye roll of annoyance, and the Doctor shakes his head while humorously interjecting, "I name this ship the Delusions of Grandeur."

Beep the Meep growls in protest, "Meep."

"You can't fire those engines. Not from here. A dagger drive gets its energy by stabbing down. It would extract, ooh, five square miles? The whole of London town burnt as fuel," the Doctor explains, his tone serious and concerned.

Rose, wearing a frown, adds, "But that's nine million people."

"A great day for Meepkind. And the start of a new reign of terror as the Meep return to the stars for revenge. And feasting. Now, activate the initializers," the Meep commands, its voice dripping with malevolence.

A disciplined UNIT soldier swiftly responds, "Initializers activated."

The low hum of the spaceship's engines reverberates through the steelworks as the Meep grins with an evil glint in its eyes, proclaiming, "Brandish the gravity stanchions."

"Gravity stanchions brandished," announces a focused UNIT soldier as the prongs of the spacecraft forcefully dig into the ground.

"Calibrate the flight deck," the Meep commands with a sense of authority, intensifying the tension in the air.

A disciplined UNIT member announces, "Flight deck calibrated."

The Meep, perched on its steel throne, commands, "Take the prisoners on board! Then I’ll decide which one to eat first. Hail to Meep!"

The rhythmic chant of the hypnotized UNIT soldiers fills the air, "Hail to the Most High! Hail to the Meep!" while the Meep indulges in a sinister cackle, reveling in its delusions of grandeur.

The liftgate slams shut, transporting you to a different floor. Thoughts of subduing the UNIT guards swirl in your mind as the lift grinds to a halt. As the gate creaks open, Shirley appears, wearing a mischievous grin. "Evening, boys."

With swift precision, she activates a concealed device beneath her wheelchair, firing two darts at each soldier. The tranquilizers swiftly take effect, rendering the guards unconscious.

"You've got weapons in your wheelchair," the Doctor exclaims, eyeing Shirley with a mixture of surprise and admiration. She glances back at him, a knowing look in her eyes, and responds, "We all have. You've got your girl to thank for that. Come on." With a nod, she leads the way, wheeling herself confidently through the complex.

"Right. You lot, the family, you can get out through that door," Shirley says, gesturing towards the exit on the right. She then turns her attention to you and the Doctor, her tone more serious, "You need to get to the engine control. But the port side’s guarded, and there's no way around it."

A quick exchange of glances between you and the Doctor precedes his question to Shirley, "So what do we do?"

With a confident smirk, Shirley retorts, "I don’t just fire darts, mate." She spins her wheelchair around, revealing hidden capabilities. With the push of a button, two missiles activate and blast through the wall, creating a makeshift path forward. The unexpected firepower leaves you and the Doctor momentarily impressed.

Shirley swiftly directs the family, "You lot run. I’ll fight them off at the lift."

The Doctor tightens his grip on your hand, leading you through the large breach in the wall. The chaotic, metallic environment of the spaceship's bridge unfolds before you. With his trusty sonic screwdriver, the Doctor deftly manipulates the controls, unlocking the gate to the engine control room. As the door creaks open, the two of you step inside, ready to stop the ship from taking off.

The Doctor removes his coat and hangs it on one of the pillars as the ship's system voice declares, “Dagger drive systems initializing.”

In a sudden burst of energy, Donna enters the control room panting, "That's enough… running. Blimey."

The system voice abruptly announces, “Chamber deadlocked.” Panic sets in as the only exit seals shut, leaving the Doctor frustrated. He slams his hands on the door, exclaiming, “No, no, no, no! I told you to go—just don’t!”

Frantically, he moves about the room, urging, “No time. I’ve got this. We’ve got it. We’ve got it. You stay there. Don’t move, Donna!”

The Doctor and you scramble around, pressing buttons and flicking switches, racing against time as the system voice declares, “Star launch in five minutes.”

Climbing up one of the pillars, the Doctor instructs you while you squat on the other side to manipulate hidden switches. Suddenly, the system announces, “Deadlock sealed.” A flicker of discomfort courses through both of you as the ship's mechanisms react.

“It’s been deadlocked,” you groan, and Donna questions, “What’s that mean?” 

The Doctor replies swiftly, “It means, we can do it by hand.”

You move to the far end of the ship, and the system voice chimes in again, “Maxifold bisecting.” A glass pane wall starts dividing the room, separating you from the Doctor and Donna. “You can stay on that side Doctor, I—” But then the Doctor rolls under the glass just before it seals, protesting, “Oh. No, no, no, no!”

“Double dagger drive installed and initiated.”

You can feel your eye twitch as you look at the Doctor standing next to you. “Okay, okay. Okay, we can do it with half the room. That’s fine.” The Doctor tries to reassure himself and you look at him wondering why he had to end up on your side of the room.

“Let me help.” Donna insists and the Doctor is quick to disagree, “No! You can’t get involved.”

Donna looks at the Doctor with a glare, challenging him and the Doctor tries to steady his resolve, “You can’t!”

It's then your turn to shoot him a pointed look. The Doctor groans and pants in frustration before finally surrendering. He instructs Donna, "Switches, the top ones, the blue ones, flick them all down."

Donna diligently follows his directions, swiftly flicking the switches down, while you navigate to a different section of your side of the room to spin a dial a few times. Despite your efforts, it proves futile, and you slump down in disappointment. The Doctor, leaning defeatedly on a pillar, somberly admits, "We've run out of time."

“Ignition in 230.”

The Doctor sighs with a heavy burden on his shoulders as he confides in Donna, "If there was anything else I could do, but there's one thing left."

"Well— Well, then do it," Donna urges, her tone laced with desperation. The Doctor, however, looks down in shame, prompting Donna to insist, "Hurry up and do it! What are you waiting for?"

Pushing himself off the pillar, the Doctor strides over to the glass partition separating Donna from the two of you. "I think… all that coincidence was heading here to save London from burning. 'Cause the three of us can stop this ship. Together."

Donna gasps in realization, "Oh."

As you rise and move towards the glass, locking eyes with Donna, you declare, "But it will kill you."

Donna sharply inhales, and responds easily, “Okay.”

The Doctor’s voice cracks as he says, “You’ll die.”

Donna's lower lip trembles, her eyes reflecting the imminent crisis, as she says, "My daughter is down there."

"Ignition in 180."

Tears well up in Donna's eyes, and her voice stammers with fear, "And it's not just Rose. It's nine million people. Who cares about me?"

The Doctor responds swiftly, his urgency palpable, "I do. We both do."

Donna takes a deep breath, mustering courage, and asks, "But why?" She pauses, gathering her thoughts, and continues, "I'm just no one."

The Doctor's expression shifts to one of anger, his eyebrows furrowing as he yells, "No, you are not!"

He takes a few steps back, the weight of the situation evident in his sob and scream, "Why does it have to be this?"

"Entering the final sequence."

The Doctor looks at Donna with a somber gaze, defeated, as he utters the words that trigger Donna's memories, "Westerly. Pelican. Dreams."

Donna is desperate as she says, "I don't— Look, I don't care what it is. All right. Just— just go on and do it, will you?"

"Ignition in 150."

"Tornado. Clifftops. Andante," the Doctor says.

"Get on with it!" Donna shouts.

The Doctor continues, "Grief. Fingerprint. Susurration."

Donna's eyes light up as she begins to remember her adventures, "Oh."

The Doctor and Donna utter the last few words in unison, "Sparrow. Dance. Mexico. Binary. Binary. Binary."

A golden glow emanates from Donna, the metacrisis shimmering through as she regains her memories once more. You and the Doctor press your palms against the glass, witnessing her transformative moment.

"Ignition in 100."

As the glow dissipates, the Doctor anxiously asks, "Are you alright?"

"Ignition in 90."

Donna pants, sighs, and sweeps her bangs away from her eyes as she glares at the Doctor. Inhaling deeply, she says, "I gave away my money."

"Ignition in 75."

The Doctor looks at her, puzzled, "Right, but—"

Donna, expressing a mix of frustration and anger, interrupts, "I gave away all my money. And do you know why, Doctor? I gave it away to be like you. So I could be kind. So I could be nice. So I could be helpful— I—"

Donna releases a frustrated growl as the system voice continues, "Ignition in one minute."

Moving her face closer to the glass panel, Donna continues, "I had a subconscious, infracutaneous, retrofold memory loop making me act as soft as you and give away 166 million pounds!"

"Ignition in 50."

The Doctor, wide-eyed, nods in agreement but attempts to refocus on the urgent matter, "Yes, Donna, but— Destruction of London?"

"Oh, I'll show you destruction, mate," Donna declares, intertwining her fingers before flexing them to crack her knuckles.

"Ignition in 40."

You and the Doctor observe in awe as Donna moves around the control panel with ease. "I'll triple-drive the particle manifesto, overstep the umbilical feed, vindicate the cyberline, and roast the hyperfeeds! Like this!" Donna exclaims, spinning the dial on the lower left of her.

The Doctor navigates about half of the room, deftly flicking switches while instructing, "Maximise the stressfold links!"

"Channel up the booster drive!" Donna commands, pressing a few buttons.

"Inculcate the plexidrones!" You chime in, flicking a few more switches.

"And shatterfry the positrons! Oh yes!" Donna exclaims.

"Twenty, nineteen..."

Donna interrupts, asking, "How long have I got to live?" as she switches off a few controls.

"...sixteen, fifteen..."

All three of you simultaneously answer, "Fifty-five seconds."

"Thirteen, twelve, eleven..."

"The best fifty-five seconds of my life!" Donna exclaims.

"Seven, six, five, four..."

"Because I get to do this!" Donna proudly announces, turning around and simultaneously flicking off several switches.

"Three, two— Ignition halted."

You three watch as the panel flies off the wall; the countdown has stopped, and Donna proudly states, "Donna Noble is descending."

"Ignition reverse. Ignition reverse."

"It’s working!" The Doctor's voice resonates with exhilaration as the tangible effects of the reversed dagger drive unfold before your eyes.

However, your joy is cut short when you notice Donna beginning to falter. Panic sets in, and you urgently cry out, "No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

Swiftly, both you and the Doctor move in unison to catch Donna as she descends, cradling her fragile form in your arms. Donna sighs, her expression reflecting a mix of exhaustion and relief. The Doctor reassures her, "We did it. She’s fine. She’s safe. You saved her."

Donna smiles weakly, and you add, "You saved them all."

In a moment of introspection, Donna questions, "Why did this face come back?" She turns her gaze towards the Doctor, who responds with a sigh, "I don’t know."

"To say goodbye," Donna asserts with a soft smile. She then shifts her attention to you, saying, "Oh, the Stargazer. I’ve missed you."

"I’ve missed you too, Donna, every day," you confess, and the Doctor emits a thoughtful hum.

"Good fun, though," Donna remarks, her chuckles mingling with yours and the Doctor's. The lighthearted moment takes an abrupt turn as Donna's eyes flutter closed, her entire being going limp in the arms of her two closest companions.

A collective sob escapes from you and the Doctor as you sit there, cradling your best friend, a bittersweet mixture of victory and loss filling the air.

Abruptly, the door to the engine control room opens, revealing a cadre of UNIT soldiers with swirling, hypnotized eyes. The air tightens with tension as one of them declares, "We have orders to kill you."

Undeterred, the Doctor retorts defiantly, "Do what you want. This ship isn't going anywhere. You were beaten. By the DoctorDonna." The soldiers, rifles at the ready, cast ominous shadows in the confined space. You resign yourself to the impending threat, feeling the Doctor's protective instinct as he positions himself to shield you.

In a surprising turn, the psychedelic light emitted from the soldiers' eyes screeches and hisses, dissipating into nothingness. Bewilderment echoes through the room, and you join the Doctor in uttering a perplexed, "What?"

Even one of the soldiers can't help but question, "What?"

Donna, roused from her unconscious state, adds her own disoriented, "What?"

The Doctor, his voice tinged with disbelief, softly utters, "You're not dead."

A collective sense of confusion lingers, and Donna, now fully awake, queries, "But how?" as she steadies herself.

After a brief pause, Rose's voice resonates through the intercom, "Can you hear me? Mum? Doctor? Star? I think it's safe for you to come down now."

Donna responds, perplexed, "Rose?"

The Doctor's eyes widen with a sudden epiphany, "Too much power for one person, but you had a child, and the metacrisis passed down. A shared inheritance."

Donna grins, “It was always there. Shining out of her.”

“And she chose her own name,” the Doctor adds.

“Oh, the shed! The shed was her memory of the TARDIS. The toys! Every creature we met, she remembered as a toy,” Donna says with a glint in her eye.

You gape, suddenly realizing, “We are binary.”

“She’s not. Because the Doctor’s—”

The Doctor interjects, “Male.”

“And female,” Donna finishes.

"And neither. And more," Rose says, her voice carrying a warm smile through the intercom.

Donna rushes down the stairs, her steps echoing in the cavernous steelworks. Rose meets her halfway, and they share an emotional hug, Shaun joining in the embrace.

You and the Doctor follow suit, descending rapidly to the ground floor. Sylvia awaits, and as you approach, the Doctor wraps her in a jubilant hug. He inquires, “Happy now?”

Sylvia responds with a radiant smile, "My father would be impressed. I have no higher compliment." Laughter of triumph fills the air as you and the Doctor proceed to the nearby control center.

Shirley deftly maneuvers her wheelchair towards you and the Doctor, offering her unique perspective. She addresses the Doctor with a sly grin, “There’s a word for you, Doctor. And that word is jammy.”

The Doctor responds with infectious enthusiasm, “Jam on toast.” He decisively slams a button, activating the intercom. With authority, he speaks into the microphone, “Calling the Meep.”

The Meep's defiant voice crackles through the speakers, “You forget I still have my ship. And if I have to explode the engines and rupture this world and damn us all to hell, then I will!” A shared glance between you and the Doctor follows, and he graciously hands you the task of flicking the crucial switch.

With a resounding click, the Meep’s cockpit is ejected into the sky, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of the Meep's distressed shrieks. You and the Doctor gaze upward, drawn into the spectacle unfolding against the canvas of the vast night sky.

“There you go.” The Doctor points with a wry smile, observing the Meep’s cockpit deploying a parachute against the cosmic backdrop.

You feel the Doctor's reassuring grip on your waist as he pulls you into his side. Together, you look up, transfixed by the celestial display. The stars twinkle above, and in that moment, you choose to hope and believe that nothing universe-ending has transpired yet.

As the sun ascends on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the scene, the Wrath Warriors stand sternly with the imprisoned Meep, forming an uneasy tableau. You step forward, addressing them with a heavy heart, "Sergeant Zogroth and Constable Zreeg gave their lives, alongside many Earth soldiers."

The Wrath Warrior, resolute in the face of the aftermath, declares, "Their names will be included in the litany of crimes as the Meep atones in prison for 10,000 years." The Meep, defiant in defeat, mutters, "Oh, I will escape and have my revenge. So you beware, Doctor and Stargazer, because there’s one more thing."

With a determined stride, the Doctor moves closer, inquiring, "Which is?"

“A creature with two hearts is such a rare thing. And to have two of your kind here… Just wait till I tell the boss,” the Meep retorts, an ominous promise lingering in the air. The Wrath Warriors and the Meep vanish in a teleportation, leaving a sobering aftermath beneath the morning sun.

The Doctor, caught in contemplation, mumbles under his breath, "Cryptic. I hate that." He takes a deep breath, turning his attention to Donna and Rose with a sense of urgency, "But… we’ve still gotta fix you two. ‘Cause the metacrisis might have slowed down, but that thing is wrapped around your cortex."

Donna, with an eye roll and a knowing nod, quips, “Yes, we know.”

Rose adds confidently, “We know everything, thanks.”

Donna, in her typical nonchalant manner, shrugs, “And you know nothing. It’s a shame you’re not a woman anymore. ‘Cause she’d have understood.”

Rose, crossing her arms, asserts with confidence, “You’ve got all that power, but there is a way to get rid of it. Something a male-presenting Time Lord will never understand.”

Donna, ever pragmatic, advises, “Just let it go.”

The unity between mother and daughter becomes evident as Rose takes Donna’s hand, and together, they release the accumulated metacrisis energy. Shaun interjects with a grin, “Like I said, mate, how lucky am I?”

Rose, with a joyous laugh, concludes, “After all these years, I’m… finally me.”

CAMDEN MARKET, LONDON — MORNING, 2023

Shaun skillfully navigates the vehicle, bringing the group back to Camden Market in London. Earlier, you had informed Shirley about the intention to bid farewell to the Doctor and Donna before returning to headquarters. Shirley responded with a nonchalant, "Sure..." accompanied by a discerning look, rolling away from you in her wheelchair.

The Doctor maintains his characteristic chattiness as he informs Donna, "And UNIT has a splendid insurance policy for damage caused during an alien war. While they sort that out..." Approaching the iconic tall blue police box, the TARDIS, the Doctor gestures towards it, saying, "One last trip?"

"Uh, don’t you dare," Sylvie interjects with a pointed look. Donna, casting puppy eyes at both you and the Doctor, laments, “Do you know, I would love to.” She then takes a sharp inhale, sighs, and adds, “But… I have got adventures of my own, bringing up this one.” Donna points her thumb towards Rose.

“Can I see inside?” Rose asks the Doctor curiously, taking a step toward the TARDIS. Donna, however, swiftly moves her away, cautioning, “No. No! No. No.”

Rose sighs, and Donna playfully waves her finger, “No. Because summat will go wrong, and you’ll end up on Mars with Chaucer and a robot shark. And that’s actually happened, hasn’t it.”

The Doctor gives a sheepish, “Oh, yeah.”

“But I was thinking, we could go and see Wilf?” The Doctor suggests to you and Donna.

Donna then says, “Now that is cheating.”

The Doctor pouts, “Just a suggestion.”

“I mean it, don’t you dare.” Sylvie says, and Donna sighs, “But imagine his face, Mum. Oh, he would be so happy. All those secrets Grandad kept for years. He— He thought I’d never remember. And to see the Doctor. One last time.”

The Doctor and Donna make a puppy face to you and Sylvie, urging you to join them. Sylvie relents and gives in, “Oh, all right. But one trip. That’s all. Just one.”

The Doctor turns to unlock the door with his key while Donna laughs with glee, “One tiny, little trip. That is a promise.”

Donna turns to you and the Doctor and gasps in excitement, “It’s like the old days. Just me, the Doctor, and the Stargazer. Together.” She then turns to her family, “Is that all right?”

“Yeah, of course it is,” Shaun says confidently with a huge smile.

“Well, a lot of husbands would worry. You know, me, in a box, with another man.” Donna jokes, and Shaun shrugs and shakes his head, “Yeah. But not him.”

The Doctor looks somewhat offended, but then Donna shoos him to go inside, “Come on, space man.”

In the quiet aftermath, with Donna entering the TARDIS, the Doctor notices the unsure expression on your face. He whispers to Donna to go ahead, and she complies, leaving the two of you alone, behind the TARDIS, sheltered from prying eyes.

With a gentle gesture, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. He cups your face with both hands, his smile revealing dimples that carry the weight of countless adventures. “The stars haven’t gone out.”

Your raised brows betray a hint of skepticism, “Yet…”

The Doctor locks eyes with you, his deep dark brown orbs conveying understanding. As tears well up in your eyes, you break the silence, your voice a fragile whisper, “You have no idea how bad it gets. How scared I am that all of this is temporary and I lose you… and I can’t have you.”

“Hey. Hey, hey. None of that,” he reassures, his gaze unwavering. “So far, everything has been leading me back to you. And when the time comes to face it… we’ll fix it… together. I can’t lose you again. Not ever again.”

His words linger in the air, a vow shaped by the quiet resilience of a Time Lord who has navigated countless challenges across time and space. You respond with a nod, sealing the unspoken pact, and tenderly kiss his wrists. In return, he draws you closer, planting a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

“When this is all over,” he declares, “we’re getting married.”

“What?” you screech, caught off guard by the unexpected revelation.

“We've waited this long. I’m not spending the rest of my how many years without you,” the Doctor insists, his eyes earnest.

“Is this a proposal?” you inquire, a mixture of surprise and delight in your voice.

“If you want,” he smirks, playfully nonchalant.

On tiptoe, you reach up to kiss the tip of his nose, a tender acknowledgment, “We'll see.” The promise of an unwritten future hangs in the air, held by the shared understanding that time and space will unfold their stories together.

THE TARDIS

The Doctor guides you inside the TARDIS and closes the door behind him and both of you are in awe of the major changes of the entire TARDIS. Huge curved white walls with round circles that glow with lights and many ramps that lead to different corridors.

The Doctor hangs his coat on one of the railings as he grins and laughs, “Whoa!” He begins to run around all the ramps with the energy of a little kid as he shouts, “This is amazing!”

“It changed! Oh, you clever thing! Look at that!” The Doctor laughs as he finishes his lap around the new interior of the TARDIS. He runs over to the console and smiles, “It’s got this!”

He pushes a lever forward, and the lights within the TARDIS shift to a vibrant orange, casting a warm glow. Your gaze is drawn upward in awe as the ambient hum of the time machine resonates around you. Running your fingers along the railings, you can feel the TARDIS responding, and you affectionately murmur, “Hello, sweet thing. I missed you too.”

Amid the luminous atmosphere, the Doctor darts around the console, engaging with switches and buttons on the refurbished device. Donna, observing the transformation, remarks, “It’s still a bit nippy.”

The Doctor protests, “Oh, come on!”

Undeterred, Donna concedes with a grin, “All right…” Her expression changes as she admires the surroundings, “It’s gorgeous!” Laughter bubbles up from both Donna and the Doctor, who joins in the jubilation, bouncing excitedly.

“It’s cleaner. And it’s grown,” Donna observes, her laughter echoing through the TARDIS.

Making your way to the console, you overhear Donna questioning the Doctor, “But I— I still don’t get it. I mean, the TARDIS can change all right. But what about your face? Why did it come back?”

“Does there have to be a reason?” the Doctor muses, and Donna, with a snort, retorts, “In your life? Yes!”

With a nonchalant shrug, the Doctor remarks, “Well, I’m stuck with it now.” He continues exploring the console, fidgeting with excitement, and comments, “Oh, this thing is brilliant. It’s even got a coffee machine!” Glancing at you and Donna, he inquires, “You want one?”

You shake your head, “No, thank you, darling.”

“You’re kidding,” Donna says with wide eyes.

“With cold milk, yeah?” The Doctor deftly presses a few buttons, and Donna, smiling, says, “Well remembered.” To your delight, a white cup materializes with coffee and cold milk.

He carefully hands the cup of coffee to Donna who says, “Thank you very much. Careful. It’s how I lost my job. Dropped a coffee in the computer.”

To which the Doctor just hums and moves to flick a few more switches around the console as you lean on a railing, to listen to him say, “I really do remember, though. Every second with you. I’m so glad you’re back ‘cause it killed me, Donna.” The Doctor clicks another switch as he continues on, “It killed me, it killed me, it killed me.”

"We can have more days, can’t we?" Donna inquires, her tone laced with a mix of hope and curiosity. Her eyes reflect a desire for a future filled with shared moments. Continuing with optimism, she suggests, "I mean, why is it such a big goodbye with you? Why is it one last trip? ‘Cause you could visit. With my family."

The Doctor, absorbed in examining a screw, listens attentively as Donna paints a vivid picture of ordinary yet precious moments. "We could do outrageous things, like have tea, dinner, and a laugh! And Rose’s school play. Well, maybe not that. She can’t act. She’s terrible. I don’t know how to tell her. But the point is, you’ve been given a second chance. You can do things differently this time."

Encouraging him to embrace change, Donna suggests, "So why don’t you do something completely new and have some friends?"

The Doctor contemplates the idea, responding with a hesitant "Maybe. Yeah." Donna chuckles, savoring the simplicity of their current moment. "Mmm. Like now," she remarks, lifting her cup as if to toast. "Here we are. Having a coffee."

Before the Doctor can respond, Donna's accidental spillage disrupts the calm, eliciting a gasp from her. "What’s gonna go wrong—" Her sentence is abruptly cut off as the spilled coffee interacts with the TARDIS console, resulting in sparks and flames.

With urgency, Donna questions, "What’s happening?" The Doctor, swift in his actions, ushers both you and Donna away from the unfolding chaos. The TARDIS groans and whines as its engines protest, and the cloister bell rings ominously in the background.

"We could end up anywhere in time and space," the Doctor confesses, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. As the atmosphere fills with anticipation, you brace yourself, thinking, "Here we go again."

TAGLIST:

[mysticstronomy]

WHY DOES OUR UNIVERSE EXIST??

Blog#446

Saturday, October 19th, 2024.

Welcome back,

It is really quite amazing that you’re alive. I’m not talking about you specifically and how if your mom and dad hadn’t met, that you’d never have been born. I’m thinking much bigger, namely, about the fundamental laws of nature that govern the deepest and most basic behaviors of matter and energy. For reasons that we do not understand, among the many ways the Universe could be, it seems to be finely tuned in a way that makes it possible for life to exist.

Let’s discuss some examples. Everything is made of atoms. If atoms didn’t exist, you certainly wouldn’t either. Thus, any change in the laws of nature that interferes with atoms could have a huge consequence for the makeup of the Universe. Suppose that the mass of the electron is twice as big as it is now. If that were true, the main fusion process in most stars wouldn’t work. Because stars are the kilns in which heavy elements are formed, some of the familiar elements of the periodic table wouldn’t exist at all.

Another example: The protons and neutrons at the center of atoms are made of two types of quarks, with the names “up” and “down.” (Protons have two up quarks and one down quark; neutrons have two down quarks and one up quark.) These quarks have a very small mass — just a tiny fraction of the proton or neutron — with the down quark being slightly heavier. The consequence of this is that protons live essentially forever, while isolated neutrons decay in about 15 minutes.

If the mass of the up and down quarks were reversed, neutrons would be stable, and protons would decay. Since neutrons don’t have electric charge, they wouldn’t attract electrons and therefore no atoms would form. No atoms means no us.

Scientists know dozens of examples of little changes that would radically alter the Universe. A small change in the laws of gravity could have caused the Universe to collapse into a black hole immediately after it came into existence. Alternatively, gravity could have been too weak for stars and galaxies to form. Either way, we wouldn’t exist.

Given that small changes in the laws of nature could completely alter what the Universe looks like, many people wonder just why those laws are the way they are. Some invoke a creator who knew what he or she was doing and set up everything “just so” to allow us to exist.

Such an explanation could be thought of as one version of what is often called “intelligent design.” But such an explanation is not entirely satisfying. It’s not all that different from saying “just because.” What other explanations are there?

The scientific explanations aren’t compelling either. One possibility is that it is simply a matter of chance — that when the Universe began, the laws of nature just happened to be what they are. In this way of thinking, it’s just a matter of luck. Other outcomes were possible, but they just didn’t happen.

There is another approach, which is to deny that small changes in the laws of nature can happen. Perhaps the notion that we could change the mass of the electron without changing anything else isn’t really a possibility, meaning that there are one or more unknown guiding principles that force things to be the way they are.

Originally published on https://bigthink.com

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, October 23rd, 2024)

"HOW IS THE SPACE INFINITE??"

[slowd1ving]

Hi! I love your lookism fics, I would love to see your take on Seongji Yuk x gn reader. Something sweet and simple would be great!

I see that you like using science metaphors and im curious to how many can you use in one fic. I’m a complete chemistry nerd 🤓 😂

THE MUNDANE . 　⁺ ✦ SEONGJI YUK

In which an amateur stargazer finds that no, they do not teach biology in Cheonliang, and yes, gravity does in fact affect everything with mass. woah... gravitational fields.... woah inverse square law... woah, G.... ik you probably wanted more chemistry but I couldn't resist the physics gnawing away/// arghhh pairing: seongji yuk + gn reader warnings: prejudice (quite literally lookism) wc: 1.3k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

There’s a monster living in the Cheonliang mountains. 

A flutter of cloying kindness greets you when you first pull up to the rural village: tires burning on summer asphalt, senseless droning of cicadas, and warm rain seeping through your thin clothes. No rhyme or reason as to why you decided on this particular village to stop by; though, the rhyme might just be the hiccuping couplet of your pulse. Specifically, this pair of beats as your motorcycle drives past the tunnel; heavy, like two black holes encountering each other for the first time. Spinning, spinning. As the wheels on your bike do, naturally. 

Six fingers and toes, he’s cursed by the gods! Hark, my children—

Newton’s theory of gravitation dictates any particle with matter attracts any other with a force inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. This is the inverse square law. It’s used for practical and theoretical applications, but it’s pretty useful when considering why people are drawn to something when they are close to it. Emotionally, physically, empathetically. Psychologically. See, once one begins to increase the proximity of two souls, there is a certain degree of attraction that occurs consequently. 

Pray should you ever encounter this one, for he is but a merciless, mad beast.

It’s a stagnated hum that twines through the fields. Little kids begin the verse, and their elders finish it while you leisurely drive past. Over and over. They play hopscotch to the rhythm in their secluded playgrounds, clap their small hands to the beat, and seem to have no eerie feelings behind their bright smiles. A distorted tale, wound through with the modest price of one person’s dignity. There’s a basis for every tale, after all—bitterly warped to suit the storyteller’s perspective. 

Do not pity the one abandoned by all. 

Thus, when you begin the winding slopes through the fields and up around the mountains, it reduces the distance between you and the epicentre. You trust your gut. You believe (mostly) that what compels you to park your motorcycle on this particular trail is no madness, but rather a tangible, logical reason. A scientific one, if you will. You’re a mass, the monster of Cheonliang certainly is a mass—thus gravity objectively binds you both. 

It’s not entirely implausible to suggest the rumours entice you as much as anything, but the heavy telescope bound to your vehicle is as good a reason as any to stop by this eve. And that: the buzz in your very cells, that seem to divide simply to tug you in the direction of the sprawled forest. Stargazing in Cheonliang it is, then. 

Despite your idle curiosity, you don’t go looking: quietly setting up your equipment in a clearing where the breeze flows cleanly, like fragile forgiveness in a peaceful room. It’s a saccharine solitude—as sweet as tanghulu when you close your eyes. 

“It’s dangerous.” Those are the first words you hear in this village that aren’t blighted by eerie insinuation. Here, where the mountain is solitary and sepulchral, that is the only time you find someone who isn’t the real monster in this mired town. Human, flesh and blood and warm. 

“Isn’t everything?” You peer through the eyepiece experimentally, focusing on the calm tide in his voice—

“No need t’be a smartass.” His cadence becomes slightly rougher as you hear a dull thump; by the movement of syllables, you’d judge he just leaned against a tree. “Was a piece of friendly advice.”

Hmm. You look away from the sky that’s somehow cleared up—miserable grey giving way to faint periwinkle, then atrament smattered with incandescent freckles—then at the stranger peering right back at you. 

“What should I be wary of, then?” There’s a relaxed sort of ease in your body, one you’re unfamiliar with. 

He stares at you askance, as though you’re an idiot. 

“Strangers,” he answers brusquely, pointing at himself. “Haven’t you heard the rumours about this place?”

“Oh.” You turn back to the equipment, leaning down to bring the height of the scope up comfortably. Stars, you think dreamily. “That stupid song? Here I thought you’d say boars or something.”

“Stupid song?” he echoes. “And you still went up?”

Six digits on his left hand as it sways downwards, six on the right hand nestled in his pocket. He’s tall, so much so that anyone would feel intimidated staring up at the guy. Close—he’s close by, which is perhaps why you gravitate towards him. Two masses, feeling greater force with greater proximity. This was the epicentre that drew you here. 

“Is biology class illegal here or something?” you counter incredulously. “Do I need to pay attention to fear mongering?”

“No,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “I guess you don’t.”

It’s strange. Your first encounter with Seongji Yuk can only be classified as abnormal. Gazing at the massive bodies scattered across the heavens, it’s perhaps common sense that the man next to you interests you as much as those heavenly giants. He’s closer, after all—kneeling down beside you so he can peek up at stars just as large as him. 

Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s simply science that ties the two of you together. He gives you his name, you offer yours in return. Seongji Yuk. Lying in the grass with damp seeping into your shirt, you ramble about astrophysics, while he carefully coats fruits in molten sugar. Shards as sharp as the words at the base of the mountain, though far sweeter. 

He’s cautious—you can feel his eyes on you as you sit on his wooden steps. In fact, his eyes trail after you when dawn breaks and it’s time to move on to your original destination. 

“I’ll come visit,” you vow, for the cycle of orbit has already begun. Two masses have drawn closer to each other, and naturally begin the spin round their counterpart. 

“No one told you about stranger danger?” You’re too damn trusting: haloed in ditzy stars, the type in cartoons when characters hit their heads. Except it’s permanent, and you don’t look stupid, but rather awash in their glow. 

“Everything’s dangerous,” you evade sheepishly, and that’s that. 

Summer comes and goes, but it’s fine not bringing your telescope in the chill of autumn. After all, you’ve found something equally as captivating to stare at. Inky eyes, dotted with such a shine that it looks like a star’s emerged rather than a pupil. 

It’s as if the year is put into distillation—monthly visits condensing into fortnightly ones, then weekly ones, before you’re driving the hour down to this place every few days. He’s made you a little space in his house: one where you can snooze on a spare futon with little worry for safety. For there’s no place more secure in a ‘monster’ lair than by the side of a so-called ‘monster’. 

“Quit staring,” he warns, matter-of-factly while the axe collides with the wood on the stump—cleaved neatly in two, almost too cleanly. 

“You’re pretty, I just can’t help it,” you sigh, leaning back on the creaky porch. There’s a book by your side: a thick text filled with particles and numbing quanta. 

You’re strange. He’s had this thought for a while, but especially today. In fact, you may be more supernatural than he, for each time you say such things, his heart skips one or two beats. Like clockwork, the mechanical nature of your spell is guaranteed: mouth going somewhat dry, ears seeping with a faint crimson, eyebrows creasing minutely. 

Why? 

“Have you seen yourself?” you counter incredulously, and that is when he realises he did not keep his thoughts silent. “You’ve literally got stars in your eyes, man. You….”

Ah. It’s moments like these where he feels so utterly ordinary; listening to you ramble on about things he doesn’t particularly understand, just like anyone else his age. 

It’s nice being bound to someone like this: close to another, experiencing the gravity that draws two people together for himself. 

Science is a perfectly plausible thing to believe in, after all. 

[natalyarose]

𝐸𝓂𝒷𝑜𝒹𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒮𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓇 𝐸𝓃𝑒𝓇𝑔𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝒩𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓁 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈 🌼🌞✨🍯

In the world of Vedic astrologers, there is a lot of remark about how in the age of the internet, rapid technological advancements, idols, overstimulation, 'fake news', and trend cycles as fast as lightning, we are living in times very influenced by nodal energy. Or at least, nodal (particularly Rahuvian) aspects of reality are increasingly 'in your face', accessible... If we take the concept of trends to be a very nodal phenomena for instance: throughout most of history, trends were not something you could observe so blatantly the way we do now.

A 'trend' was more likely to last an entire generation, and without the constant access to the past, present and future of the entire world that the internet now provides, you wouldn't even realise it's a trend. One would simply consider it 'normal'. People were not as aware of what the 'elites' are up to, what happens in other countries, mass information leakage etc. you are busy carrying your own burdens, and reaping your own joys, in your own bubble.

In older times, it's as simple as- the life you're born into is the life you focus on & work on UNLESS you are in a position of power (Solar energy) & therefore dealing more with the people at large & distant lands. Even still, your main focus is on your own kingdom/village/tribe. The average person is not going to really know what's going on in faraway places the way we now do. Sure, this nodal, constant consumption element of reality still existed, but it was less 'in your face'.

These days we have our 'black mirrors' (phones, laptops, etc) and they exist as a portal into- anywhere we desire. Lives & realities that don't even necessarily relate to our own. The need to be consciously aware of this is crucial in order to find the balance necessary.

Currently, everything is moving so fast, and there are constant forms of stimulation, movement, illusions and streams of consciousness to get lost in. So many rabbit holes to fall down without you even realising it that will drain & alienate you from your Solar energy.

Getting lost in trends and the lives of other people that in the physical realm, do not directly touch your own life, can be extremely draining to us. In an abstract way, this gives us insight into why it is that so many people feel depressed- lost, like the world is grey... there is constant fog, smoke & mirrors attempting to block our internal Sun, our personal unique destiny & divinity.

Ironically, I tend to think that the reason we're collectively so divided & lonely lately (there's many reasons, but in the way of esoteric takes), is the lack of Solar energy. People talk about how this society is missing the honouring of feminine (Lunar) energy, which is true- but only because of the lack of healthy Solar energy to support it.

I mean, a material manifestation of this is the.. beyond concerning (and somehow, rarely talked about?) statistics on the sperm count dropping. According to various scientific studies, we're looking at roughly a 50% decrease over 50 years... that's just- wow.

Another of many material manifestations of the way true Solar energy is becoming rarer/obscured: lately, the average suburban city is removing structures (Solar) & facilities people usually go to socialise and have fun- bars, clubs, cinemas, skate parks, venues hosting of events & festivals. Yes, the actual social aspect is more of a Lunar energy, but the Solar aspects (ie. the structures, the organised events, the provided food, etc) are the container for that Lunar energy to fall upon. For socialisation, intimacy, raw emotion & connection to exist healthily, we need some kind of structure, some Solar goodness to go off of so we're not just- floating entities in space talking to other floating entities in space about nothing in particular.

Yes, Solar energy speaks of individuality, paving your own path, ego, sense of self- but here's the thing. If we lack sense of self, how can we connect with people? How can we feel unity if there's no 'self' in the first place? How can we connect and share with people if we feel we have nothing to offer and we're all regurgitating the same stuff- there's no reason to talk or connect if everybody seems to be just.. lacking substance, robotic, or a void

Solar energy is our ego, our happiness, our light. It represents that substance. Someone speaking from a place of Solar light is tapping into a place of authenticity & experience, whereas when we are lost in nodal energies; we are moreso becoming a conduit for other people's ideas and thoughts we've heard about, forgetting our own footing in reality.

I feel like- no, I've seen- time and time again how this current society can delude us into believing that the way to leave your mark on the world & make the world a better place, is to get lost in others. To always be in the know, informed and on trend when it comes to everything outside of yourself. It feels like we are being taught that if we aren't carrying the weight of the whooole world on our shoulders, we are selfish or living under a rock.

On the one hand, it is definitely important that we have some sort of a spiritual awareness of what's going on in the lives of others (be it friends, relatives, or people in other countries) but on the other hand, this constant focus on other people takes away from you having the chance to make a true difference and BE a beacon of light.

Sometimes I see something dark on the news, very dark.. I'm in tears, I'm anxious, I'm asking the heavens why these things happen... how is it fair? I'm praying, I'm sucked in and can't look away from what I'm seeing because it feels like I have a duty to at least witness the suffering if others have to go through it. There have been times it's just debilitated me; until I realised something-

I am worth more to the world, the people suffering included, by focusing on fostering beauty, joy & goodness in my own life. I'm not helping the world by crying in my bed unable to feed or take care of myself because I'm distraught about something I saw on my phone. It's only impairing my ability to remain in a high vibrational state that I can create & share with the world from. People who truly make a difference are often the ones who either innately embody or have cultivated a very Solar nature- 'water off a ducks back'. It shouldn't be about ignoring or suppressing emotions, so much as using emotion wisely.

This doesn't mean it is best to completely ignore the world or be cold or 'heartless', but moreso that you need to be holding a torch for yourself in order to even begin to light the way for others. Those who are suffering generally do not want others to suffer for them (especially if they can't physically do anything to help)- that only creates... more suffering. I know in times of my own suffering, not once did I think 'damn, I wish someone was as sad and destitute as me' lol

I thought 'man, I really would love to be around people & circumstances that are positive, uplifting & nourishing so that I can feel that warmth again'.

If every single person in the world was utterly debilitated and absorbed in other realities, other people's lives, neglecting their own 'karma' & their own blessings, who would be there for people to look to for hope? Who would be the blueprint for what happiness actually looks like? In a world without strong, solar entities, who can those who are suffering look up to to imagine a better life?

Fill your own cup first!

Sometimes the best thing you can do for the world, is to manifest your own beautiful, magical, pure life- whatever that means for YOU. Build your own foundation so that you can be an inspiration & comfort for those who need it, while being stable and strong within your own being.

A lighthouse doesn't go out to sea and get into the storm with the ships. It doesn't go chasing the ships down to save them. It simply stays where it is, strong, radiating light and indiscriminate- unconcerned with who 'gets' the light. Trusting that the universe is working its magic and the right people are benefiting from your radiance. That is what staying true to yourself & your own unique destiny looks like.

I see too many people (myself included, but working on it..) with bleeding hearts. Completely lost and overwhelmed by the struggles, thoughts, opinions, beliefs & chaos of others, feeling as though they can't just sit and watch, they have to do something about it. Or if they can't do something about it, they have to at least feel it, delve into all that emotion. Instead of being the lighthouse and realising that nurturing yourself = raising the vibration of the world, which = one more person living in truth & happiness for others to look up to- they are missing that opportunity and becoming drained/psychologically in pain.

Do what makes you happy. It's so simple, yet so.. not! It's a skill, and it takes discipline & sometimes what feels like active rebellion in order to refrain from abandoning yourself and getting lost in something or someone else; whether that thing is positive or negative... 🌸

Very long story short - the most helpful gift you can give to the world, is your joy & faith in your own destiny.

To anyone who read all this, have a beautiful day and if you can, go do something fun lol, or create something ♡

note: I just want to make sure it's clear that I'm not saying nodes = bad & Sun = good or anything like that! Every planet, every celestial force plays an important role in life on Earth and the nodes have their own magic too. This post is just talking about the importance of staying in touch with your Solar light rather than getting completely and utterly lost in the pull of the nodes. I also want to add that of course sometimes there are unique occasions, where plunging into the darkness with somebody else is exactly what you need to do- but if that's the case, that'll be a part of your 'destiny', so even still you will be embodying your light if that makes sense. Never abandon your light.

[dragons-hoard-of-fandoms]

(Murder Drones Episode 7 spoilers!)

THEY CHANGED THE INTRO V IS OFFICIALLY DEAD FUNERAL'S ON THURSDAY

Cult. It's a cult. This is definitely a cult. They probably don't even realize it but it is undeniably some kind of cult.

Nori what are you doing. Nori why are you like this.

The cross is a USB??

They're keeping the Drones themselves in the lockers??

Of course the unpaid intern whose opinion doesn't matter is the only one with any sympathy for them.

Pink Solver core?? SOLVER LIZZY?!?

Ah great, the Envy shippers are gonna be using this as "proof" that he's still in love with V.

HE IMMEDIATELY APOLOGIZED HE LOVES HER SO MUCH

Tessa. Stop. I was willing to give you the benefit of a doubt but you're not doing yourself any favours.

And now she's being racist. Way to go.

"The power of a black hole in the palm of my hand."

SEE TESSA ALL YOU DID WAS MAKE EVERYTHING WORSE

THEY'RE BACK THAD AND LIZZY ARE FINALLY RELEVANT AGAIN

Did they change Thad's VA? He sounds different.

Was that V? Is she already back?

N BABY NO DON'T SAY THAT YOU DON'T DESERVE THIS

Eldritch V??

I can't wait for people to meme about his perfectly cut scream there.

Not going near the corpse. Smart move.

Cyn stop. Cyn stop. CYN STOP PLEASE I'M BEGGING I WANT YOU TO BE SYMPATHETIC

She hugged him. That's probably a good thing, right? That's probably proof that the real Cyn is still in there somewhere, right? THAT PROBABLY MEANS SHE MISSES HIM AND IS GENUINELY SORRY RIGHT

Nothin' like a good old-fashioned Robot Uprising Apocalypse, eh? In other news, Skynet is suing the Solver for copyright infringement.

Those admin privileges comin' in handy. Unfortunately they don't do much in the physical world.

Uzi has absolutely no reason to be crawling and scuttling around like a creature right now except for the simple fact that she wants to. Never change, little gremlin.

Oh I don't think you should watch that. N was right, y'know, there's probably stuff down here you don't wanna see.

Why does this remind me of the garbage maze in FNaF Security Breach?

Okay so it's not some kind of disembodied Solver Lizzy core. Don't blame me, the lights looked pink before and the cat ears headphones reminded me of Lizzy's bow.

Familiar?? Nori??? DID N ACTUALLY KILL YOU AND WHY AREN'T YOU BRITISH/MOMMY LONG LEGS

Khan? A hunk? In the words of Professor Membrane, NOT SCIENTIFICALLY POSSIBLE!!!

"How do you know my daughter?" "Well y'see, it all started when we tried to kill each other..."

Oh it was J. Is it bad to say I'm kind of relieved?

Are we getting the cool edgy Khan from the concept art??? Bro why are you so nonchalant about it being the end of the world.

INB4 people go frame-by-frame through the list looking for the most Russian-sounding name and say "THERE, THAT'S DOLL'S DAD"

Tessa was that really necessary? You're giving really bad vibes right now.

Patch? So the Solver can be removed? And she knows? Again, major bad vibes.

*FNaF 2 Foxy jumpscare*

I'm starting to suspect Yeva either can't or chooses not to talk.

Is she saying the Solver wiped her memory of the labs? I guess that would explain a few things.

N being so polite and cute as always.

What do you mean, "found its way back?" Where did it go? Is the timeline completely wrong? Did it start on Copper-9 then go to Earth then return to Copper-9? I'm so confused.

Nori why are you so casual about the prospect of your own daughter being a planet-eating eldritch abomination. This is exactly why I'm worried about the fandom giving you the Rose Quartz treatment.

I told you not to watch it, Uzi.

Welp, so much for Doll. Consider this karma for killing V. But "fight back?" Does that mean it can be resisted?

So now we know where Uzi gets it from.

Tessa no. Tessa stop. Tessa STOP. TESSA STOP YOU'RE NOT EVEN TRYING TO PRETEND TO HELP ANYMORE

YEAH N SAVE YOUR GIRLFRIEND

Whoa, didn't see that coming. No face reveal?? Does that mean she really is a Drone???

WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LET THEM BE HAPPY

Imagine meeting your daughter for the first time and she's currently being possessed by an eldritch abomination masquerading as her boyfriend's dead sister.

Every time I think this episode's about to end on a cliffhanger it doesn't.

EVEN WHEN SHE'S BEING POSSESSED BY AN ELDRITCH ABOMINATION MASQUERADING AS HIS DEAD SISTER HE WOULD RATHER DIE THAN LET HER BE HURT AND IT WAS ENOUGH TO SNAP HER OUT OF IT FOR LIKE HALF A SECOND HOW COULD ANYBODY SAY THEY'RE NOT IN LOVE

Oh no, now people are gonna write fics about Nori being vored by her own daughter.

"Hang out" is code for "date." "Hang out" is code for "boyfriend and girlfriend." "Hang out" is code for "madly in love with each other." "HANG OUT" IS CODE FOR "WE MAKE SWEET AND PASSIONATE LOVE TOGETHER EVERY SINGLE NIGHT WE'RE ALREADY PLANNING THE WEDDING AND I'M GONNA WEAR THE DRESS AND WE'RE GONNA NAME OUR KIDS GLOCK AND BAYONET"

Literally smacked the sense back into her.

Imagine meeting your mom for the first time and you don't know who she is and she's a gross little fleshy crab-spider-thing similar to what your boyfriend's jerk boss turned into so you punt her into a bottomless pit and she makes a dodgeball noise.

LOOK AT HER REACTION SHE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT "HANG OUT" IS CODE FOR SHE JUST DIDN'T REALIZE HE THOUGHT OF IT THAT WAY TOO

My last two brain cells while watching this episode. Now would be a really good time for you two to kiss.

Oh good gosh she's not dead. Okay it wasn't at all necessary to put your head on backwards.

CYN IS HUMAN NOW??? OR IS SHE WEARING TESSA'S BODY LIKE ENNARD DID WITH MICHAEL

NO JUST LEAVE THEM ALONE ALREADY

Sorry J but you're still not plot relevant yet, you're not allowed to participate.

J: *sees the railgun* *has war flashbacks*

UZI YOU CAN'T SACRIFICE YOURSELF RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM AND TELL HIM TO "DIE MAD" AS YOUR LAST WORDS THAT IS LITERALLY NOT OKAY

*Uzi falls* *screen fades to white* *UNDERTALE*

The Void???

Glitch I beg of you please don't make us wait another half a year for the next episode. And Liam please don't let it end after one season.

[astudyintheburningofhearts]

Yeah I don't really know what this is- it just happened. Enjoy?? Hopefully?

__

The realisation had crept up on Sherlock one uncharacteristically sunny autumn afternoon in Baker Street. It had been a slow day, Lestrade yet to come bursting through the doors with a new case for them. John, having finished posting all their latest adventures on his blog, had been sat reading the book he'd been meaning to finish for well over a month at that point. Sherlock, meanwhile, was lounging on the sofa as per usual, one of his favourite books on beekeeping in his hands.

It was when he'd gotten up to get a glass of water that he'd stopped in his tracks, eyes widening minutely before they turned to his hands. He'd gone to get a glass of water for himself, yet here he was, standing barefoot in their kitchen, with two glasses in his hands.

With a sharp intake of breath, Sherlock marched over to John's seat, soundlessly offered him the glass, gave a curt nod in response to John's absentminded "thank you", and returned to the sofa; only this time he was faced away from John.

It had just now occurred to Sherlock that John Watson was indeed his favourite person. Yes, he loved Mrs.Hudson and (reluctantly) Mycroft and Lestrade and his Mummy and Daddy, but if he had to pick his absolute favourite person, he'd simply have no choice but to pick John. The realisation was juvenile, and yet. It made Sherlock burn from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes.

Ever since the day he'd had the realisation, Sherlock ensured he would make more of an effort to pay conscious attention to John's needs and desires, in order to make sure the good doctor would have no reason to consider leaving, for what would Sherlock do without his favourite person.

Which is why he felt like the stupidest man on the planet when he deduced John's niche interest in astronomy and cosmology. The signs had been right in front of him the whole time – the way John's lips would purse and a wistful longing would shadow his countenance every time someone brought up space; how when Sherlock had shown his utter disdain for learning the workings of the solar system, John had been more affronted than Sherlock had ever seen him; how when he'd moved in, he'd brought a decently sized collection of books on the subject – god, how could Sherlock have been so blind?

After having mentally berated himself, Sherlock set to work learning everything he possibly could about astronomy, just so that John could ramble on to Sherlock about the stars and the solar system and faraway galaxies and black holes; so John would stay.

And so, Sherlock set about learning astronomy and cosmology, first from John's own books, and then from various sources over the internet. Even when he'd had a particularly tough case to crack, he'd taken fifteen minutes each day to read up on astronomy, so as to not hinder his learning process.

By the end of the week, which gracefully had them solving only one case this time around, Sherlock had finished reading all of John's books and was currently working his way through some of NASA's many articles on various parts of the study that had fascinated him, and of course, what he'd picked up from John's books in the form of his little scribbles and highlights.

And really, he hadn't meant to reveal to John in any way what he was doing, at least not until the next time it was brought up in common conversation with someone they knew. In fact, Sherlock was planning on gifting John a short collection of scientific papers he'd found in the archives of Mycroft's vast library for Christmas if the topic wouldn't come up naturally.

His plans, however, came to a screeching halt when he'd left his laptop open on the coffee table while he went to the loo. When he returned, he found John scrolling through an article about black holes and the information paradox, resting his chin in his palm as he did so.

He paused, having been caught red-handed, clearly. John's eyes remained fixed on the screen as he slightly angled his head towards where Sherlock had entered the sitting room and asked, "Since when have you been interested in black holes and the such? Do we have a new case I don't know about?"

Sherlock paused, stood like a deer caught in headlights, unable to speak a word. John, having received no response, furrowed his brows and looked up at Sherlock, "Sherlock, is everything alright?"

Swallowing once and ducking his head, Sherlock embarrassedly went and sat on the seat adjacent to where John was sitting. He clasped his hands and held them between his knees as if he were a child waiting to be berated for something he'd done.

John's voice was softer now, "Sherlock you know you can tell me anything, but if you don't want to, I'm alright with that too."

Sherlock continued staring at his lap as he whispered, "I was reading for you."

"Pardon?"

Taking a breath, he looked John in the eye as he spoke again, "I was reading up on space for you. Not for a case."

John blinked in confusion – "For... me?"

Of course John thought it was odd Sherlock had done that, of course he did. This was clearly a mistake, Sherlock should never have considered doing this in the first place.

Becoming defensive, Sherlock snapped at him, "No, John, I clearly read all those books and articles because – oh."

He'd been cut off by something most unexpected. John had wrapped his arms around him and had half-nuzzled his face into his neck. "Thank you," John breathed.

Sherlock didn't reciprocate for the first minute or so, thinking John would let go, but when he gave no indication of doing so, Sherlock gingerly wrapped his arms around the smaller man as well, resting his head against John's as he did so, and something warm and pleasant settled in the pit of his belly at having his flatmate so close.

"Nobody's ever... nobody's ever really tried learning about something especially for me. They've never expressed interest in learning about the things I enjoyed learning about, so thank you."

John held on to Sherlock for a moment longer after he finished speaking and then he pulled away, leaving Sherlock feeling bereft.

John cleared his throat and returned to his previous seat, "So, what have you learnt so far? Anything that caught your fancy in particular?"

The smallest grin appeared on Sherlock's face, "You first Doctor Watson, what part of astronomy catches your particular interest?"

John smiled back and shut Sherlock's laptop as he settled in, "Well..."

And Sherlock found that though he doesn't particularly care for when people have to ramble, finding most of them to be dull and boring either way, he hardly minds when John rambles to him. In fact, he found he rather enjoys listening to John ramble.

And that was how the rest of the evening was spent, engaged in conversations about the cosmos and accompanied by an eventual Chinese takeout dinner.

AO3 Link – https://archiveofourown.org/works/59543044/chapters/151856185

[supurman]

+ TOPIC : // a study and guide for the measure of strength of superman.

NOTES : there is dispute in comics of superman's true strength. with different writers and comics his strength can be greatly downplayed. this meta is to rectify that. you are free to disagree if your character is stronger, but that is not the canon found on supurman.com unless specifically outlined. it is important to note that within EVERY character in dc each writer interprets and decides how strong/capable they are. in one comic superman is extremely strong, in others moderately, and so on. as writers we all have the right to interpret what's plausible for our characters the same way dc writers do. on this blogs iteration of clark, i write his power in the truest form.

QUICK SUMMARY : Primarily focused on his feats of RAW PHYSICAL STRENGTH. but a brief list of his other powers will be present.

PRE-TEXT: this meta is by no way 'scientific' nor is it meant to adhere to logic. if you adhere to science or logic with SUPERMAN he simply cannot be enjoyed properly and that is how it has always been. he is a character who can blow ice without explanation, show lasers from his eyes, drinks uv rays with human cells, can stop moving trains without making them crumble due to physics, can fly without reason. his powers don't adhere to anything real. the moment you try to make sense of him he becomes boring. with that being said, i encourage you to look upon his feats of strength with wonder and no need of logic. superman is awesome simply because he is ! he can do things because he is superman. he is meant to be a character that can rise above anything with his amazing powers because of who he is.

superman is hailed as one of the strongest characters across all media. this is because of how time and time again in comics he continues to have the most impressive physical feats across dc comic media. the strength found within his body is immeasurable as to put wonder into his awesome capabilities. while he possesses a wide array of powers under his belt the brunt of all his abilities come down his durability, speed, and the crown of it all his strength. he by far is the strongest character within DC physically and none can hold a candle to him when written in his truest form. he can be delayed and held toe to toe with, but he is the strongest. his strength not only at baseline is already incredible, it has the power to multiply in on itself without causing damage to his body ( only when done naturally, and properly ). with great excursions of strength opens the doorway to him unlocking new dormant abilities once unknown to himself.

superman describes the world around him as a world of cardboard which forces him to be careful and at all times hold himself back. if he isn't careful it could mean tragedy faster then one could blink. there is a REASON superman is held as the 'strongest' to us. ( example: he is the unfortunate main target in power scaling conversations ). there is a reason he has SUCH POTENT weakness which can render him nearly dying instantly. it is a consequence for how incredibly overpowered he is.

below are some examples of his strength in no actual order to draw belief from.

* #1 : description: superman holds an entire blackhole within his singular fist. he was able to hold the blackhole in his fist indefinitely. the only way he would falter is if his mind was altered with- however even then he never released the black hole.

* #2 : description: superman holds the weight of the world at 5.972 sextilllion metric tons for FIVE DAYS STRAIGHT and still brazenly ask for MORE weight to be added. in addition to that, he shows he can continue to hold this stupendous weight indefinitely.

* #3 : description: superman being taken down by the justice league showing that the only way he can be held back is by THE ENTIRE FULL PLANNED AND POWER OF THE LEAGUE. additionally, it is admitted that if clark KNEW that the justice league were coming for him he would have defeated them all or at least put on a GREAT fight. as quoted by martin manhunter " without the element of surprise we would not have a chance. " notable things here that it also takes MANY extremely physically strong heroes to hold him back including wonder woman, kon-el, and supergirl

SOME NOTES ON THIS: this comic panel is not an example of his strength particularly but HOW SERIOUS of a threat he is taken. the superman in this panel isn't actually superman at all, but a fake. none the less the JLA had no reason to believe this wasn't the superman gone rogue and had to carefully plot their full power to thwart him.

* #4 : superman defeats the imperiex probe. an enemy that was able to beat the combined attack of green lantern, wonder woman, flash, plastic man, martian manhunter, aquaman and more.

while these 4 are not every show of power superman has showed us through his amazing adventures they sure are notable. he continues to show us how capable he is and how absolutely he is the physically strongest. now many of you may think "wow if superman is so strong, why does he still get beat up or not win in one punch. " well one part of me will tell you it does have to do with story writing and everything being writers based. would it be fun to watch superman always win in one punch? no. part of his character is the struggle to continue to rise above. additionally to this though it also has to do with how he doesnt kill. he lived his whole life holding back in contrast to someone like his cousin kara who never holds back. his style of living translates into how he fights. he holds back and doesnt want to kill. with his virtue of empathy he can often times summon his defeat in battles .... always is superman holding himself back.

+ ( SUB ) TOPIC : // the other powers

part of what makes superman so formidable is not because he is so strong, but because there is so much to look out for that he can pull out his cards of tricks. below is a brief list of his powers but keep in mind some of his powers have sub-abilities linked to them that are more minor i won't name.

if clark is in a bind any one of these can be used to the fullest extent. with so much powers that range from heat, to cold, to identifying weak spots he makes quite the adversary ...

+ CONCLUSION : //

if there is anything to take away from this is that superman is powerful, extremely powerful. he loses, he gets back up. he fights, he allows more of himself to release power he withholds. while i spent all this time saying he is the most undeniable powerful in DC ( physically ! ) i write him similarly to how you will find him in the comics,  which is dynamically. i am FINE with him being defeated, bested, out smarted. clark makes mistakes, he can be brought to the edge of in a fight BUT ONLY within reason.

superman is strong. he could take on a well rounded set of the justice league and prevail. he just is this strong and that is how he was intended to the audience when created. but despite everything i said about his strength, his true strength is found in his kindness.

i would still like to reiterate the point that every comic depiction of clark in a fight is different from writer to writer. in some text he can hold the weight of a book that is infinite in weight. in others he gets punched by some random villain that sends him into a building. i simply write him how he intended which is to be so powerful without reason simply because he is a superman! it is often said superman cannot be enjoyed by adults because adults require reason to everything he can do and thus end up hating him for being a gary sue, while kids look at superman saving the day and go "whoa, he did it because hes superman!" that wonder is what I encapsulate on this blog with his abilities. clark isnt just an alien, but in many context he  is entire star if it were a man. that is some power to deal with.

" this looks like a job for superman ! " - clark kent, superman .

[cornyonmains]

Going back and rewatching the first two episodes of 4 minutes, because I've been writing a lot of meta off the top of my head, and when I watch these shows, there's a lot I tend to notice and forget once an NC scene ensconces me into a horny brain fog.

A few minutes into episode 1 and it becomes apparent I completely glossed over this show's use of numerology, specifically angel numbers.

In numerology, angel numbers are believed to be numbers used by the spiritual universe to offer people insight and direction.

A lot of people have been noting the use of the number 11, which is an angel number, but what I overlooked at first glance, as did many others it seems, is the use of the number 200. With 200 being the number of joules the doctor at the beginning of episode 1 orders the defibrillator set to.

The number 200 is considered an angel number, one the universe sends to tell you you need more balance in your life, that one needs to take a step back and examine where they're headed. This number is also a sign that time is right for union with a twin flame.

Astrology.com has a good write-up on it:

I also think it's very telling that the doctor ordering that voltage is the one who originally tried to talk Tyme into becoming a teacher. He's also the reason I don't think it's Tyme on the bed. I think it's Great, having managed to switch places with Tyme, which is why we see the wounds in the same place. We're seeing the end result of Great succeeding in saving Tyme. I don't think that doctor would have been in the room if it was Tyme, because that would have been a conflict of interest. Also, I compared nipples. I'm like 90% sure it's Great.

It's also worth noting all the angel numbers we see in this show have 2 baked into them in some way, like 11 being 1 + 1 = 2. Or 200 being 2+0+0 = 2. This is important because in numerology these numbers mean union.

There's a pretty fascinating amount of new age spiritualism and fringe sciences going into the creation of this show. I mentioned in an earlier meta how the show's use of theme and color made Tyme and Great seem like black and white holes. Two characters in a state of thermal equilibrium, necessary to each other, but not sharing energy despite a permeable path to heat. The end resolution seems to be to get these two characters to follow that heat path and become gray, which is another color used quite often. And the show is using the concept of time asymmetry, which exists within black/white holes to achieve this. It's worth noting in numerology that the angel number 200 instructs one to trust the path they're on. Everything happening to Great is putting him on a collision course with Tyme much faster than it would have happened in the original timeline.

Now, if anyone thinks this sounds like a lot of overthought hokum, I'd also note that NDEs have been documented as causing electromagnetic weirdness with people who experience them. And I'm fairly certain the time asymmetry the show is using, if scientifically accurate, would definitely result in electromagnetic interference as electromagnetics play a pretty big role in general relativity. I'd break down the relationship, but I'd have to read for like 15 minutes, and I already did that once for the numerology stuff. It's been stream of consciousness since then.

Anyways, back to the smut. Will drop more meta as it comes.

[ad-caelestia]

Hello!

I found out about astrolatry because of you and it was one of the best things that could happen to me, because finally I can incorporate planets and stars I loved so dearly as child to my current path. However, with that, I have some questions, if you don't mind.

On which way you create/find correspondences? Is it scientific approach, cultural, more occult or every one of those? Because on your Saturn correspondences there are scientific facts, but also there is part about roman God Saturn and His greek counterpart Chronos/Kronos. That is, honestly, one of the best read I had about planets and this is really cool.

Do you use only main planets, or you also use dwarf planets (beside Pluto), asteroids, comets, many moons of gas giants, black holes, constellations? And any others that not main cast.

What do you think of combining astrolatry with worship of Gods? I found that I really enjoy it and it brings me great joy, so I thank you once again for showing this wonderful thing.

Have a great week!

hello! i appreciate your questions and i am excited to have an opportunity to discuss so let's get into it.

i use a combination of science, the occult, and folklore! for saturn specifically, i was looking to make connections between its stated correspondences (you know, like protection and restriction and discipline, etc.), scientific evidence (its orbit, its rings, etc.), and folklore/history (that's where the deities and mythology come into play). to top it all off, saturn is known as the greater malefic (the big bad as i like to call it lol) in astrology, which ties into the info above. it really helped me to understand the WHY versus blindly believing what i was told or what i had previously read. literally anyone can tell you what traits are associated with saturn as a planet in the magical sense, but can they give you the history behind it all? trust me, saturn is the only one i know THIS well, but that's not to say i couldn't deep dive into the others to gain a better understanding. there are roots buried underneath all this information, just gotta dig far enough.

i have probably used a good chunk of the celestial bodies in our solar system - but! the planets are the first place i start. let's say i am doing a protection spell using saturnian energy. i might make sure to time the spell for saturday and in the hour of saturn and then let other forces be ancillary (lunar phases, astrological placements, exaltations and delineations, etc.). i might attach a relevant constellation to the mix; perhaps a minor planet. maybe i use war water made during the hour of mars to enhance the effects of the spell. it all kind of depends on your intent but i see no reason that you couldn't combine energies as you see fit.

lastly, astrolatry is common in polytheistic religions and typically involves worshiping the personification of astronomical/astrological phenomena; astrolatry can be the worship of celestial bodies AS deities, or worshiping deities associated with celestial bodies. the choice is yours!

thank you so so much for your question, please let me know if there's anything else i can answer for you! have a lovely day.

[rad-roche]

i think part of the reason far harbor Hits Different is that its presentation and writing come across as a lot more confident compared to most of what you see in boston. quest resolution in the commonwealth feels, for lack of a better term, sort of 'video gamey'. airship full of extremists! christ, blow it up! underground facility full of evil scientists! christ, blow it up!

it's little things. like the conversation that recontextualizes the mariner being behind a speech check a little ways into getting to know her, compared to her outright saying 'i feel the need to reinforce the hull because i am terminally ill' out the gate. and it isn't something you can 'fix'. she confides that she's dying and all you can really do is go well, that sucks. because it does! but you're just somebody who arrived on a boat, you can't do anything about it. the fact that the island is full of struggling, miserable people and there's no way to 'beat' the Fog. you can't, it's a force of nature and it's been around a lot longer than you. all you can do is take the time to get to know, and show kindness to, the people living under it. you can get a 'good' ending where everybody plays nice, but doing so empowers a serial murderer who has no qualms with meddling in other people's lives. and even if you go okay, i think the payoff is worth it, how long is that peace going to last really? is it worth the gamble? is 'gambling' at all with this idea sick?

your protagonist, no matter who they are in the commonwealth (leader of an extremely advanced scientific facility, general, some kind of swaggering giga-chad) effectively gets 'demoted' to a gumshoe, but doing that lets them interact with a world as a citizen of it, not as a kind of writing black hole where everything has to go their way. the island sets up a bunch of circumstances that let you feel uneasy and, instead of rushing in to alleviate that fear with an affirmation or a big cool gun, sets it down on the table and makes you look at it. far harbor gives you a bunch of hard, messy questions and, crucially, doesn't answer any. why should it? life certainly doesn't

[tismcosmology]

I kept trying to add my special interests to my intro post but it was waaay too long. and so, welcome to:

A not-so-complete list of all my (academic) special interests :)

Space (duh)

black holes, galaxy / smbh evolution, early universe, unexplained phenomenon (looking at you final parsec problem), all the flaws with our current cosmological model, jwst, quantum mechanics, and yes i am very bias towards pbhs for no reason other than im a little obsessed

Ancient Greece

mythology (constellation myths are what got me into space), how the mythos reflect their culture and worldview, cultural history, scientific history (as the birthplace of most sciences), hellenistic culture as a whole, theology / hellenistic paganism (modern and ancient), and pretty much every modern adaptation of greek mythos (and how the adaptations and how weve changed them reflect on our own culture)

Life Sciences

oooooh i love life. health sci, neurology, pathology, the two rare conditions in my family (one autoimmune and one genetic mutation), botany, ecology, (trying to learn more TEK (trad. eco knowledge) from my areas elders), earth sci, zoology, primatology, anthropology, evolutionary history, ALSO quantum biology. not technically its own field yet but I love it so bad

Ancient History(?)

Kinda ties into the next one and also ancient greece but the history of science and math, of astronomy and physics, of our species (evolutionary history), the planet as a whole, Mesopotamia, Egypt, China, etc, early discoveries of mathematics and sciences

Humans :)

I love us fr. I've read so many books on how humans work. sociology, anthropology, political science, the indomitable human spirit, theology (from a 'why do we do this' perspective), neurology, psychology, even like. primatology but ignore that the definition of that is 'non human primates'. study humans like all the rest of the primates cowards

[unreadpoppy]

Anyways, here are my favorite bears

These are not all species of bears, just my faves. Also, no order cause I can't brink myself to rank these babies. Under the cut cause longpost

Beggining with a lesser known one, the only bear species that exists in south america is the Spectecled Bear (also known as the Andean Bear)

They have this name because of the white/cream markings on their face that can somewhat resemble glasses! As I said before, they're the only south american species of bear and is the last short faced bear alive, and most are found in the Andes. I like them because look at that cute little face and also latino solidarity. Fun fact, Paddington is a specteled bear considering he is from Peru.

Now moving on. She is beauty, she is grace, she is the largest species of bear AND the largest land predator, she is the Polar Bear

Few fun facts. Polar Bear's scientific name is Ursus maritmus (which would very roughly translate to sea bear) bc of how much time they spend swimming (which also means they are grear swimmers!). They are the most carnivorous of the bears, and imo, they will eat anything that is made of meat. The reason you see so many pictures of mother bears hugging their cubs is because of the cold. Althought, when they are old, their fur is great to protect from the harsh weahter, when they are young they are still vulnerable to it, so mama bears hugs her cubs to keep them warm. Oh and another thing, I discovered that bears can do this thing where they'll find a hole in the ice where seals come up to breath and they just...sit there and wait for it to happen (and they can wait for a LONG time). I love how cute they are when they're young and how fierce they are as adults, and honestly, look at their faces, I love them a lot.

Next, we're back in the american continent, this time with the American Black Bear

The american black bear has a lot of subspecies, which are mostly different colors than their signature black fur, they are omnivorous (and they will eat anything, like i've seen videos of them eating crabs and moths), and also, they are really good climbers! They are mostly found in North America, and they are a bit more chill, like if you ever encounter a black bear, you can scare it away by making yourself look big and making loud noises. They don't have the shoulder hump that brown bears have, and their ears are more prominent (which makes them so freaking cute.) Also, there has been black bears who have made their dens inside of trees, which i think is cool .

Lastly, this might be cheating, but it's a subspecies of the black bear, which is the Kermode Bear

Mostly found in British Columbia, the kermode bear is also known as the spirit bear or the ghost bear, due to their white fur (important to note that they do not have albinism, look at their noses and eyes). The gene that makes them white is a recessive gene, so they are very rare. It's believed that they might be more succesful when hunting fish bc of their fur color, which could make the fish believe that they are a cloud. I love how different they are, how rare they are, and how beautiful they look, especially in contrast with the green around them.

As an honourable mention, I'll talke not about a species but an individual bear known was Grizzly 399.

(she's the mother in case you couldn't tell). She and her cubs can be found in the Yellowstone National Park, and she's the most famous brown bear in the world. She is famous for how many cubs she has had and raised (22 cubs and grandcubs) and she lives in proximity to humans (some believe that the reason she does that is to avoid the male bears when she has cubs). Also she has learned and taught her progeny how to avoid getting hit by cars, and she's a very old bear. (having 27/28 years, which trust me, for bears is a lot and she's still having cubs!). There have been hunters who claimed to have killed Grizzly 399 but they were all lies as she is very alive and well with her cubs. Also, forgot to mention, the reaosn she has had so many cubs is because while most bears give birth to 1 or 2 cubs, 399 often births twins and triplets, and she has had quadruplets which is very rare for most bears (and she raised them succesfully, which is even more impressive).

Anyways, these are my favorite bears.

[edupunkn00b]

On a Butterfly's Wing, Ch. 7: Three Coffees

Graphical representation of the Lorenz Attractor.

Prev - Three Coffees - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

The next day, Logan Croft wakes up in the Intruloceit universe of Overruled.

Logan opened his eyes to a dream. His bedroom glowed with summer’s dawn bleeding through pale yellow gossamer curtains. Art adorned every free space on the walls, chunky oil abstracts in every color of the rainbow, pensive watercolor studies of autumn trees, fantastical starscapes filled with comets and a scientifically accurate black hole. Still lifes and portraits… there was even one of Patton styled like Frida Khalo.

His body woke slowly, floating, without any pain. No lingering aches, no throbbing behind his eyes, no stiffness in his jaw. Humming, he relished the comfortable warmth of his bed, fluffy flannel sheets, a feather-light thermal blanket.

His heart stopped when he looked down and spotted the soft blonde hair splayed over his bare chest.

Moving slowly, he lifted his left hand. It bore the glint of a gold ring but no scars, not on his palm nor on his wrist.  The room was different from his and Kelly’s tiny first apartment but everything else felt like first year together.

Logan struggled to breath. He couldn’t take this dream again, glorified memories of those halcyon early days in their relationship. Dreams of Kelly’s softness, her passion. Her love. The dreams of the wife he’d lost, of the life he’d been too inept to hold on to. He didn’t know which was worse, waking from a dream filled with ‘I love you’s… Or the dreams when even his imagination couldn’t force those words from her lips.

Wake up.

Hand shaking, he slowly brushed away a lock of hair from dream Kelly’s forehead and revealed soft golden brown eyes looking up at him. The chai-colored eyes of his boss.

“Morning, Lo.” Janus’ voice rumbled in his chest, low and rough. And warm. His lips were curled in a wry, sleepy smile. “How did you sleep, my dear?” he murmured, bowing his head to nuzzle against Logan’s chest. At his continued silence, Janus glanced up, eyebrows raised. “Nervous about today?”

Dream logic failed him and he had no idea what he was meant to be nervous about. “Perhaps,” he nodded, hopeful he'd found the right thing to say.

Janus’ smile softened and he reached up, drawing lithe fingers through Logan’s hair. “You’ve planned everything beautifully. The party will be perfect.” Fuzzy color flashed with the movement and Logan turned his head to see Janus’ tattoo.

"Is that a pride flag?" Logan had asked all those years ago, unable to tear his eyes from the bright rainbow stripes tattooed along the other man’s inner wrist. Janus had looked up at him, pupils shrunk to pinpricks. He’d recovered quickly, papering over a flash of fear with an annoyed scowl. "Yes, it is. Don't worry, though, homosexuality isn't contagious,” he’d spat. Fuck. Logan sputtered, "Th—that is not what I meant—I—I—“ What are you going to say? ‘I thought it looked nice? Would you tell me where you got it?’ He closed his mouth and tried again. "Would it be reasonable for me to assume, then that you are... " "What, ‘gay?’ Do you have a problem with gay men, Croft?" Well done, Logan. He thinks you’re a bigot. What's next, ‘My best friend in college was gay,’ huh? Logan cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, "No, of course not.” Janus stared back at him, eyes bright with anger. Salvage this now. “Your life choices are none of my business. What two consenting adults do in the privacy of their own bedroom is none of my concern." "'None of your concern?'" And you just managed to make it worse. Well done, Logan. Bravo. Janus stood tall, shoulders squared. “My life isn't some legal theory to debate or libertarian principle for you to support and then pat yourself on the back. The way our society treats the LGBTQ community is a matter of literal life and death for us." He was right. Of course he was right. And the pain-laced rage simmering in Janus’ glare told Logan this was far, far more than theoretical to his new friend study partner.  Logan’s throat closed but he pushed away the quaver in his voice and tightened his jaw. This wasn't about him. "I... I apologize. I didn't intend to offend you." Janus pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head as though Logan were a very, very dull student. Logan hung his head. Perhaps he was. "Listen, Croft, you seem like you think you're a decent guy, so here's your one and only free lesson in How Not to Be a Dick 101." Janus scowled at him but leaned in close. The cedar and spice of his cologne filled Logan’s lungs and his eyes glowed even as they nailed Logan to his seat. Fuck, Janus was going to be an amazing lawyer. "Impact matters more than intent." For a moment, Logan feared Janus might next demonstrate impact in a more physical way. But he appeared to decide Logan wasn’t worth it. "Just because you didn't intend to dismiss me like you think I'm just some ***, doesn't mean you—“ Voice tight, he stopped himself and took a slow breath. “Doesn't mean that wasn't your impact."  And Janus was right. Desperate to explain but certain anything else he managed to babble would only harm Janus further, Logan nodded. "I am genuinely sorry to have hurt you," he said, fighting to keep his voice under control. "Perhaps we can schedule a session later today." Logan pocketed Janus' card and fled the classroom before Janus could change his mind about them working together. His colossal failure at a good—or even decent—first impression and Janus’ quick correction of him had made its own impact. That night, Logan had walked the stacks at his security job, greeting the opening librarian with an armful of Baldwin and Wilde and Lorde to check out. It's what had ultimately led him to his internship—again working rather uncomfortably alongside Janus—and to his job at QLaw. His entire career. Janus had changed his life that day. The only sign the real Janus had even remembered their first conversation, though, was the lingering nickname.

“Lo?” Voice soft, Janus called him back to his dream. Logan's gaze refocused and Janus looked up at him, eyes gentle and concerned. Logan had seen him look at his husband like that the night he'd overindulged at a Q-Law party. And another time when the green-haired man had caught a finger in a folding table while helping to set up before a press conference in back 2012.

“Where'd you go, Lo?”

Logan smiled, the warmth in Janus’ gaze melting the icy rock at the pit of his stomach. He’d never dared imagine those eyes might look at him that way. Apparently his subconscious had no such qualms.

“I’m right here, Janus,” he whispered, reaching out to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. His hair was so soft, flowing and liquid over Logan’s fingers. It shimmered in the morning light, gold and platinum and…

“Counting the grays?” Janus asked, chest rumbling with a quiet laugh.

Logan shook his head. “Silver,” he countered. “And every strand is beautiful. Just like you.”

“Hmmm…” Eyes closed, Janus leaned into the touch like a cat. “You’re such a sweet talker. You make me not want to get up.”

“Then let’s stay right here,” Logan whispered with the courage of a dream. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Mm, if only,” Janus pouted—pouted!—and leaned in for a kiss. “Re’ll be up in—”

With a bang, the bedroom door swung open, pushed by Janus’ husband backing through. Logan froze, but Janus stretched and sat up with a smile. Logan scrambled to sit up as well, straightening the covers between them them. When he looked up, Remus had turned, bearing a wooden tray of three steaming mugs.

“Damn, you’re awake,” he grinned, holding out the tray. “I thought I was going to have to get creative with how I got you both up this morning.”

“And how would that be different from any other morning when you wake before us?” Janus purred, one eyebrow cocked as he took one of the mugs. The blanket fell away as he moved, revealing he was dressed in nothing but a pair of silky boxers.

And neither was Logan.

Remus was the most dressed of all of them, clad in baggy plaid sleep pants, hung low around his hips. He was shirtless, revealing a large dragon tattoo splashed across his chest and back, one wing dipping over his shoulder, tail curled around his arm down to the wrist. Watching Logan’s gaze, Remus waggled his eyebrows in response and moved the tray closer to him. “Thirsty, Lo Lo?”

Logan accepted a cup with a small nod, cheeks burning at the innuendo.

“I thought I smelled coffee,” he said for lack of anything better to say. His earlier dream-fueled bravado dissolved, he held the mug with shaking hands. “Thank you,” he added and took a sip before he blurted out anything else nonsensical.

The coffee was just the way he liked it, dark-brewed on the right side of bitter, very strong. And hot. He pressed a scalded tongue against the back of his teeth, the pain not quite enough to drag him to consciousness.

As though the dream couldn’t get stranger, Remus passed Logan the third mug and wiggled into the space between him and Janus on the bed. Janus sipped his coffee with a bemused smile, shaking his head at Remus’ triumphant jazz hands when he’d gotten situated, lanky legs tangled together with theirs.

“Thank you, Lo Lo,” he sing-songed, inclining his head as he took a mug from him and finished half of it in one draw. “You know… You two took the day off and we still have a whole hour before Pat’s back from Portland…”

“Muse, while we are deeply flattered by your more than romantic proposition,” Janus began, hiding a smile behind his mug. “I do not believe now is the time for a morning tryst.”

“Jannie! I’m shocked!” Hand pressed to his heart, Remus couldn’t quite conceal a smile behind his look of exaggerated offense. “I was going to say we still had time to decorate more downstairs before our son gets home.”

“It’s the nineteenth,” Logan murmured, glancing at the phone charging on the nightstand before flexing the fingers of his unmarred hand. “Patton’s birthday was last week. It’s at least twenty—”

The other two had fallen silent and he looked up. Janus’ worried eyes had returned and Remus peered at him, head titled like a bird. “Lo Lo?”

“I think perhaps… I need… more coffee,” he said before gulping down the rest of his cup.

When he’d finished, Janus and Remus were still watching him, concern dragging down each of their expressions. “I… I assure you,” he murmured, inclining his head. “I am quite alright.”

After taking his empty cup, Remus reached for him, strong hands more gentle than he would have expected as he maneuvered him between them. With Logan’s head pillowed on his shoulder, he curled one arm across his back. Janus set the other cups down and brought Logan’s hand close to his lips.

"You seem upset," Remus whispered into his hair. “It’s okay to not be alright, Love.”

Janus brushed kisses against his fingers and smiled. “Now where have I heard that before?”

Buoyed by their embrace and by the naked love in their eyes, Logan nodded. “I think perhaps I need just a bit more of this before we start the day,” he finally said, chest warming at their growing smiles. “If that’s… acceptable to you?”

Cupping his cheek, Janus leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. “More than acceptable.”