#which makes sense bc he was stuck with a doctor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loganlermanstanaccount · 20 days ago

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Rigor Mortis (part 11)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

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

Part 10, Part 12

summary: You and Miguel spend the day together. You get a surprise visit.

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of microaggressions and racism in the workplace (projecting bc my ass is tired)

a/n: uhhhhh. heyyy.... so i took a cute little break 👉 👈

Join my taglists here

wc: 7.2k

Oh! and I finally made the series' playlists (very open to requests) <3

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

cracks in clay, poured over

Cold. The slow drip of an IV seems to echo in that little room.

She feels cold; the kind that drapes over her like a second skin - slimy, slick, and it makes him shiver. Pale; her hands barely have enough strength to curl around his anymore. His little girl, and he watches as she takes shuddering breaths. In, out. In, out. The shaky rise and fall of her chest and it’s all he can do to watch, hunched over metal railing with a certain kind of dedication. His eyes creak. His back groans.

There’s an emptiness to hospital hallways, he thinks. That thought comes with traitorous relief - balled up like chewed gum at the pit of his stomach. He wants her to rest; to take a breath that isn’t heavy with the weight of living. Even in a tangle of wires and tubes, and the steady metronome of a heart monitor to punctuate a mess of thoughts, she still looks like his. When he blinks, he sees her: rosy cheeks and chubby fingers entwined with his. He curls into them now, with rough palms softened by love - which he will dirty just to keep her safe.

Gabriella is a force of nature. A supernova: bright, bright light at the corner of someone else’s universe - but certainly the centre of his. And when she smiles; oh God, when she smiles; he sees his mama, he sees Gabi… and sometimes, he sees himself.

It’s not a case of roaring thunder in place of quiet sky. A flash-bang in the night felt more like a whimper: hushed tones in a doctor’s office that came with a wringing of hands. And dread - settling amongst the room like a lead balloon - that was what he remembers the most. It's a feeling he'll never quite forget. The doctor; a genteel, younger man with more worry lines than Miguel himself, he had thought. Gabriella was prone to poking at the folds beneath his brow, at the sides of his mouth that curled around the very same nose he had passed on to her; smoothing them out like lines in the sand.

Like pockmarks and furrows in sand washed away by the sea. El Mar - but Gabriella had trouble rolling her Rs. She would get there, he had always thought. He would not brandish a wooden spoon or chancla as his mama was prone to do. He would be different. Better - provide her with the space to make the mistakes he never could. If it meant a lifetime of forehead kisses and boiled candy stuck to the roof of her mouth, he wouldn’t mind.

The sea. Maybe he should take her to the beach - a proper one, not the murky waters he had grown up with. Her hand is too pale, and Miguel can already hear his mama complain; fussing over his little girl. Has Gabriella been eating properly? Has he? She would pinch his cheeks and squirm, hissing at their sallowess. Too much like your father, Conchata would say.

He's decided. Yes, that's just what they need. White sand stretching out as far as the eye can see - azure and turquoise and deep, deep blue.

He blinks. Miguel, ever perceptive, swipes it away from your skin. A sliver of bare flesh against his, your arm across the couch as you lay across the pillows. He woke up to this, to you; a fleeting nap that takes you both to a bright midday. Tangled up in blankets, a mess of his limbs and yours; and yet, you still feel…

Cold.

You stir. Like a lamb woken from fresh grass, he watches as you stretch; shaking away gentle sleep. At least Miguel has the sense to look away, to pretend as if he hasn't been staring at the gentle rise and fall of your chest, nor the stray hair that peeks out from the nape of your neck. He traces it with his thumb, with a tenderness that makes his head hot and heart heavy. A warm blush spreads across his face as you huff, blowing air that makes his curls jump. Despite himself, Miguel smiles, feeling the warmth. It's lop-sided, gentle where his face is sharp and he allows himself to soften - if only for a little bit.

“You okay?” You croak, voice still heavy with sleep.

He smiles, daring to curl his fingers around yours.

“M'better now.” It's barely a whisper, and so he clears his throat. “You still seem tired, sweetheart.”

When your face scrunches up into that adorable pout, he laughs the kind of laugh that echoes throughout his whole body; deep and sonorous.

“What’s so funny?” You're whining, but your face cracks into a small smile. And like the sun peeking out from the horizon, he feels its warmth spreading from his side; onto everything your light has touched.

“Nothin’”

His breath hitches as you come closer, placing your head on his chest.

“You're a fat fucking liar.”

Yep, he thinks. And you don't even know the half of it.

There's something about domestic bliss that twists his heart into knots. Most of it is you, of course, neatly pressing him out and spreading him on wooden pegs like fresh laundry. A life together, like this…?

Fuck. Maybe he hasn't had enough sleep.

Miguel hums, quietly turning your palm in his, tracing its lines like a lovelorn sap. He likes your hands, for some reason. They are smaller than his, gentle in their curve and crackle, fitting exceptionally well in his own.

He frowns.

“I think I'm happy.”

…and then he's biting his lip like he's said something he shouldn't. What should be an off-hand comment, swept away by the tide, makes you sit up abruptly.

“You think?” There's no malice in your voice, just confusion.

“It just feels…” He can't even look you in the eye, deciding to inspect your hands instead.

“Different?”

You finish his sentences now, great. Miguel feels like a walking cliche; all butterflies and shaky hands and cotton in his mouth.

In an attempt to sound indifferent, he hums. If you can see through his paper-mache facade, you don't show it.

“Different.” He rolls it around on his tongue, wanting to know its taste. If it fits, how it fits, and where you come into the equation. Different. Good different? It's a tentative thought, creeping into the back of his mind like a thief in the night. Whilst he wouldn't usually entertain it - as it was a dangerous thought, the kind that leads to others, thoughts of skipping through meadows with his hand in yours, or picnics on the beach, or–

“You think that might be because you had a full 8 hours of sleep?” You snort, stretching out. More thigh peeks out from under the covers.

His throat goes dry. Focus, Miggy. Yes, he wouldn't usually entertain it, but it felt far too good to think about the both of you, together, under different circumstances.

He would've met you at an overpriced coffee shop on his way to work. Or maybe he would catch your eye on the subway, and you would flash him a smile too beautiful to ignore in return. One to keep, like the expectant one you give him now.

You're waiting, he realises. Waiting for him to say something; something that gets stuck in his throat. He hopes not to spill his guts like this: a tangle of maybes and might'ves. The reality is less exciting. It comes out wrong - flat and pathetic and lifeless.

“7 and a half.” He says, shaky. Sleep, right? You said something about sleep? “The other day, I had 7 and a half.”

Miguel forces down the person-sized lump in his throat. You are stunning; sleep-rimmed and tangled up between his legs and that worn blanket.

Maybe we could've been more.

~~~

He’s an idiot, you think.

“And what good did that do you?” You retort, still sharp despite a blossoming headache at your temples.

“And what good did that… you're the last person to talk.”

For all his degrees, his accolades, his middle-school-science-fair-certificates; he could barely manage to take care of himself. It worried you in a way you were sure was common decency, like the pang of sympathy one would regard a puppy too tired to keep its head up.

“You look like shit, Mig.” And he did. In that frustratingly perfect way he was prone to, of course: rugged and ragged and handsome; messy, but without a hair in place. An oxymoron. A paradox. A fool with 2 degrees pending. A loveable idiot - certified, absolutely.

“You look like shit–”

You put your hands over your eyes like glasses, like a child on the playground. “Only one of has eyebags the size of Mars–”

“ –and only one of us has a hangover the size of Mars,”

“I do not.”

“The 3 tequila shots you took last night say otherwise.”

You descend into a heap of giggles, unable to refute his claims. Goddammit, does he have a point. You hate him for it; his smug tone, wagging a knobbly finger in your face; but you know there's no malice. What might've been turned into an argument oh-so long ago, stays childish and playful and maybe even a little… fun? There is a shine in his eyes that you have so dearly missed, and a hint of a smile you know he is barely clamping down on. It brings a warmth to your chest far greater than any alcoholic buzz - tequila shots or otherwise - ever could.

Wait. How did he know you had—

“Took you long enough.”

He's chuckling, reaching over for his phone discarded on the rickety coffee table. With a couple quick swipes you're greeted with a plethora of drunk messages sent by Lyla; the majority of which are unintelligible. He hands the phone over, seemingly more interested in satiating his appetite as he heads for the kitchen, leaving you ample time to scroll through. You recognise one or two videos from Lyla's private story, and sure enough, there you are - knocking back shots offered to you like it was your job. Watching it back makes you wince. You were so sure of yourself last night, chock-full of liquid courage, it almost seemed like water in those dainty glasses. There’s more, as you scroll up: including candids of you at the club, some you don't quite remember posing for, others with Lyla's slim arm draped around your shoulders like they belong there.

Unsurprisingly, most of them are of Lyla; drunken selfies sent with a string of messages you were barely able to make out. It all makes you wonder just how well Miguel knows his friend, able to respond accordingly to her nonsense string of characters and emojis. Considering it had taken you this long to be barely conversational in Miguel-ese, Lyla would prove to be something else entirely.

There's a peek of something as you scan through last night's messages. You don't mean to pry, but one thing leads to another, and you get stuck on a conversation that occurred not too long ago.

[Sent: 15:32]

Are you guys still on for tonight?

[Received: 15:32]

👍👍

[Sent: 15:3]

Okay, cool. I won't be home to drop her off, though. Is that okay?

[Sent: 15:32]

👍👍

“I messaged her this morning,” You start, making space for him on the sofa. “No response. Do you think I should give Lyla a call?”

“Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. Sometimes she falls off the face of the earth and then you find out she’s in Indonesia with a cocktail by the beach.”

You must make a face, because Miguel comes closer. It’s tender, and much more intimate than it should feel; and all you can do is short circuit as he brings his hand to your cheek.

His thumb rest at the cleft of your chin, gently moving your face to look him in the eye.

“I’ll give her a call, if you like.” He presses a gentle kiss to your furrowed brow, and you can barely breathe. “You’re much too pretty to worry. I’ll sort it out.”

When he pulls away, all you can manage is a weak nod. All that pomp and self-rightousness that filled you not even 5 minutes ago dissipates like a limp balloon with just a flash of his smile.

“You hungry?” He asks.

“Starving.” You say with a grin.

~~~

You hear his voice first, the mellow timbre and its slight twang rumble through the walls. Your door is open in the hope that Miguel will saunter in and… and do something resembling earlier on in the day. Considering the time, it was little more than delusion - you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen Miguel up past 11pm. Whether it was work, or studying, or a popcorn movie on the couch, he could never make it through the night. More and more, you’ve found him passed out on the couch, one arm slung lazily over it’s back - but that was another matter.

Now, your door isn’t too open - you wouldn’t want to seem desperate - but wide enough that you can catch whispers of his conversation. Miguel seems to speak in more grunts and huffs; and you can almost see his scrunched brow and crooked grimace. The other voice is tinny, but clearly male - spouting garbled, frantic words that you can’t quite catch. It’s odd; whilst you were no stranger to late nights, your roommate started fighting sleep at 7pm sharp - so what exactly was going on?

You creep towards the door, snaking your head around its edge. There he is; down the hall and shadowed by the doorway with his phone flat on the dining table, perched on its lip with nothing but a plaid pair of pants on. He looks bedworn and exhausted, sure - but gorgeous in the kind of way only oils on canvas can capture. With his hand scratching at light stubble, you watch as he takes a deep sigh.

“It’s– Pete, it’s–”

More jumbled words from the phone.

“I know, man.” He pauses, hesitant. “Are you… have you guys tried Lyla?”

He says the words like they’re bitter, acrid on the way out, eventually producing a deep frown as he listens. The image sticks with you, for some reason: hunched over, shoulders slack like a ragdoll, and picking at the loose black-and-red threads. There's a flash of something you can taste - like blood after a sucker punch - and he flattens, roughly swallowing as he rubs his temples. There’s an ache, there - and it wasn’t just a migraine from all that salty junk. His eyes are sallow, without the lustre you had grown so accustomed to. Where did he go? Your Miguel, saccharine and sickly-sweet?

A trick of the light, you decide; just the morning sun.

You are too lost in your own thoughts - vivid ones, of takeout noodles and orange chicken - that you barely notice him move. Almost a second too late, it registers, and you scramble to your bed in a flurry of limbs, managing to close the door just in time. You hear heavy footsteps, and there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in!”

Miguel pops his head through the door, shirking away from the bright light.

“Jesus, you need all these lights on?”

You roll your eyes. Laptop on, a desk lamp, a standing lamp, etc etc. Warm lights, made even cosier by pillows and plush bedding. The very same bedding he fucked you in the first time, and the next, and the next. Clearly, he couldn’t recognise ambience if it whacked him in the face.

“Did you want something?”

When once he would’ve been taken aback by your gall (and you too, you suppose, as Miguel had never been the most tactful), he simply purses his lips.

“I… I'm babysitting for Peter.”

“May's coming over?” You visibly perk up, and it makes him smile.

“I wish you got this excited when I come home. Yeah, she is.” He’s still picking at the loose fibres of his pants. “I'll try to get her to bed as soon as possible, but she's a little hurricane, so be wary of the noise.”

“It’s pretty late, Mig. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah; something came up and their usual sitter isn't available. It's the least I can do.” He gives you a weak smile

“Okay. Thanks for the heads up.”

Despite this, he lingers for a bit, clearly antsy. “With traffic, I’m not sure when they’ll get here. Pete lives just across the way, but...”

“But?”

“I’ll probably have to stay up for a bit.”

“I can keep you company.”

“No, no, I can’t ask you to do that--”

“Alright, alright!” You throw your hands up, huffing dramatically. “Mig, there’s no need to beg. Give me five minutes.”

He gives you a weary smile, before turning to leave. But he pauses at the doorway, and as if in a trance - tightening grip, clenched jaw -

“You look nice.” He says, low and slow.

“Thanks.” You manage to squeeze out. Ever so slightly, you squeeze your thighs together too, for good measure.

With one last look he drags that heavy gaze away from you, giving your room a once over.

“...now I know why the light bill’s so fucking high.”

~~~

The doorbell rings when the two of you have settled in - head on his broad chest and something on the TV. Whilst you don't know how you ended up here, you do know how it ends; he puts a boring documentary on, you proceed to fight sleep before hands wander, the room gets a little heavier, and…

The doorbell, right. He shuffles out of your grip, gently placing your head on the sofa. You feign a yawn as you shift, watching the wide expanse of his back as he answers the door. Unfortunately, he's put a shirt on, but you are still mesmerised by the way that baggy t-shirt clings this way and that. You sigh at the sight - it’s much too late for unabashed yearning - burying your cheek into the pillows.

The door opens. You manage to spot a flash of red peeking over your roommate.

“God, we are so sorry. We don't know what's gonna happen to my Dad and–”

Miguel brings a hand up to stop her. She is clearly exhausted, eyes-red rimmed like she's been crying; with a tight hand around the strap of a sling bag. It's full to bursting, likely haphazardly prepared - stuffed with diapers, snacks, toys and God knows what else. She scratches at the nape of her neck, pulling at choppy hair scraped into a bun. With her bangs pinned back, you can't help but think she looks less like the character she plays on TV and more like a person - experiencing the kind of grief made less glamorous by makeup and bright lights.

“It's okay, Em.”

Em. You can't see his face, but you can see MJ's; and you notice the way she softens at the nickname.

“I haven't heard that one since college. Thank you, Miguel.” She gives him a watery smile.. “I've got some food for her in the bag, extra milk, those peanut cups she likes, my personal and my work phone number, my mom's phone number in case you can't reach me or Pete, diapers, wipes – hypoallergenic, she can be a bit sensitive – a-and we are trying self-soothing with her stuffy because she can get antsy before bed.”

Her eyes are a little bloodshot, but she manages to hand off the bag, before turning to talk to a little mop of red that peeks out from behind her. May's chubby fingers are clamped tight around her leg, but with some gentle coaxing, the little girl steps into your apartment.

“Hi, May.” Miguel smiles, one you imagine is dazzling kryptonite from her favourite uncle, and she puts her small hand in his.

“Bye, honey. Be good for your Uncle.” MJ gives her daughter a gentle hug, brushing back her hair for a kiss. Little chubby fingers try to do the same, and it's a display that makes your heart melt.

“Stay safe, MJ. Say hi to Peter for me?” You call out over the lip of the couch.

“Of course, sweetheart.” She flashes you a smile, and you are windswept by its candour.

Once she leaves, May is uncharacteristically quiet. She seats herself on the sofa, little legs dangling, unable to reach the floor. Miguel slides off her backpack and jacket - brightly coloured plastic adorned with a kid's TV show - with an ease and gentleness you didn't quite know he was capable of. There's something to be said about a man of his stature - tall and hulking, with hands that could easily palm a basketball - using those very same hands to carefully unbutton the loops on May's jacket. Despite her muted panic; the gradual kind, the kind that wells up like the tide before a storm and comes with a wobbly lip and balled up fists; his voice stays calm and soothing in the walls of your little apartment. It is well-practiced and unfazed, exceedingly gentle in his approach. He'd make a good dad, you think.

She's restless. You both try your best, coaxing her to eat mushy peas and applesauce, with little to no success. May clearly isn’t pleased - scrunching up her face with disgust.

“I feel you, kid.” You sigh, plopping the dinner spoon into the green mixture. “Not the most appealing.”

“But it’s good for her!” Mig yells from the kitchen, digging around for something in the cupboards.

She makes a face, looking to you for some comfort. All you do is shrug, tugging at your collar in an exaggerated manner. She almost smiles, and so you make your eyes go wide - pulling a peal of laughter from the little girl. It is contagious, and makes you beam from ear to ear.

“That doesn’t sound like dinner.” Miguel breezes past with something in his hand.

“I think they serve prisoner’s better food. Or food that looks less grey, anyways.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.” He hisses, seating himself on the other side of the little girl. In his hands are a cute little bowl - pink plastic and toddler sized. It comes with a spoon that fits in Mayday’s palms just-right, and he scoops up some of the mixture the bowl.

You’re a little confused. “Where did you fi-”

“She’s a big girl.” He says simply, facing her and mimes taking a spoonful. You watch as her eyes get a little rounder, shining and intelligent. You can almost hear the gears moving in her tiny little head. “She can feed herself. Can’t you, May?

“Mig, I don’t know if that would work.”

And like a curious little dove, her head cocks this way and that, with a deep frown on her face. Pudgy fingers wrap around the neck of the spoon, and clumsily, she brings it to her lips. It falls with a clatter, and mushy peas splatter everywhere.

There’s an I told you so on the tip of your tongue, but he tries again; cooing at the little girl, encouraging her to take the spoon once more. He’s gentle, but doesn’t talk down to her - and like she can understand every word, her eyes shine with recognition. Now, you’re not the best with kids - a baby cousin or two notwithstanding - but its hard to believe he hasn’t babysat before. Miguel O’Hara; lab tech, masters student, and clearly, world class Uncle. You’ve got a million and one questions, but you are unable to do anything but watch - all the while, gears turning.

She gets increasingly frustrated. In an adorable, gap-toothed way, but the toddler can’t seem to get a good grip. You watch as the spoon falls: clatter, hollow clang, conk; and every time, Miguel picks it up, wipes it off, and encourages her to try again.

Clatter.

“One more time, sweetheart,”

Clang.

“You were so close! You want to try again for me?”

Thunk. You've got an idea.

“She’s not going to eat, Mig.”

He looks up. You’re handing him her jacket, and pulling on a long-discarded sweater.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

~~~

It fills you with a certain amount of delight to say something that surprises Miguel.

“I know a place.” You say, somewhat smug.

“What do you mean, you know a place?”

You shrug. After a couple of quick phone calls, you did, in fact, know the perfect place for a late night wander.

“The park on 10th?”

“Nope.”

“If it’s The Rec Centre on Chelsea Ave, it’s closed. I grew up with the guy who runs it, and–”

“Nope.”

“Where are you taking us? May, she’s going to kidnap us and sell our organs on the Black Market.” She’s got her little palm in his, and gives you a look that says ‘Him first’.

“Don’t want your organs. You’re Mexican and lactose intolerant; can’t imagine the damage you’ve done to your gut.” You stop them, crouching down to speak to May directly. “Do you like animals?”

Her face shines with recognition. She nods profusely. Miguel seems somewhat horrified, but it just looks cute, to you.

“That doesn’t reassure me, sweetheart.”

“I know.” You give Miguel a dazzling smile. Somewhat smug turns into very smug, very quickly. “We’ll take the subway!”

~~~

The Nueva York Research and Conservation Centre is quite the gem, Miguel quickly realises. It's the kind of thing that predates him, and even his oldest neighbours; immigrants that came to Nueva York in the 60s and 70s. He remembers a handful of school trips in elementary and middle school - traipsing around the old building with a clipboard and stubby pencil in hand. Even when he was a kid, the centre had paled in comparison to the Zoo up in Central; that was shiny and modern, with actual lions (plural) and giraffes. Of course, his school couldn't afford the accompanying exorbitant fees, so they settled for the converted municipal building and grounds; housing less exciting animals.

But he still remembered the first time he had walked through those double doors, and past the little ticket office after being handed the paper stub.

He liked that there weren't any cages. At the time, there was thin plexiglass separating the people from the animals, but they had space to roam, and were never the flashy sort - meerkats were the highlight of one trip, and an alligator snapping turtle the next. The centre was temperature controlled and meticulously maintained despite the clear understaffing; he always enjoyed the trek on cobbled path, and the insect building and reptile room never failed to disappoint.

There were always researchers hanging about there. Not in white lab coats and clicky pens like he had once thought; but sturdy trousers and frazzled smiles. They were kind, and easy going; always happy to talk to the little boy in clothes two sizes too big.

Maybe May was too young to understand, but he felt it immediately. That rush of excitement as you lead them on a long forgotten path, and pull out a key that unlocked those very same double doors. Nostalgia, perhaps, bubbles up from his fingertips.

“Hey, Ernie.” You nod towards a night watchman, perched at the reception desk. With his head buried in a magazine, you are satisfied with a nondescript grunt. Security clearly hasn't changed.

May gives a little wave, and Miguel can't help but coo. She's squirming, feeding off of his clear excitement and dragging him towards you with a surprising amount of force.

You lead them to the outside park. The Centre is dark, for a while, and after some rattling, and the careful click of a few switches; Miguel feels like a kid.

The lights are on, illuminating an acre or two of land, and he is transported to being 6 and then 7 and then 11 - clipboard and pencil in hand.

May is agape, eyes wide at nothing but fenceposts and plexiglass. The enclosures are empty with the majority of the animals asleep; yet she is fascinated with the landscape, so much so that she paws at Miguel to hoist her up. She's on his shoulders before you can orient yourself.

He hears you laugh first. Bright, gorgeous laughter like morning rain on a warm day. You laugh and clap with wonder, and pinch the little girl's cheek good naturedly. She returns it with her own, pointing at ‘funny trees’, their green tongues lapping at the bright light.

“We'll need to be quick.” You finally say, leading them once again. He catches a sliver of neck, pretty and supple as you turn your head towards them. Fuck.

“How do you have access to this place?”

“I know a guy.”

“Not a chance.” A guy, sure. It sounds like bullshit, but he can feel the confidence radiating off of you. It makes him wonder… is this another ex? Someone who works here, no doubt, but with so much pull you can walk straight through after closing hours?

“We'll meet ‘em, in a bit.” You trail off towards a plaque, reading out the inscription. “The Giant Armadillo, Priodontes maximus, is a giant insectivore – that means eats insects, May – characterised by its hinged bands and pale head. Found in much of South America, this – oh, look!”

Miguel follows your line of site, to some movement within the enclosure. Between large, grassy mounds, sure enough he spots the pale snout of the animal. May squeals with laughter, pointing toward the movement.

You put a finger to your lips, and ease her out of his grip. You get closer, whispering excitedly in response to the little girl's babbling. He doesn't follow, hands buried deep in the pockets of a brown leather jacket.

We'll meet him. He plays it over and over and over in his head, letting it rattle and clank before sinking to the pit of his stomach. It tastes familiar: heavy and bitter. He's thinking of a man from a nicer background; kind, maybe, and softer. Walks around in suits and shiny shoes; who owns shit, who doesn't rent. Someone with softer hands than his own.

“Mig?”

Your hand is on his cheek. He’s pulled out of that haze, and straight into the warmth of your eyes.

“Y-Yeah.” He croaks.

“You okay?” Your brow is scrunched up adorably, little Mayday hanging off of your arm. He can't make you worried.

“Just fine, sweetheart.”

“Well, come on then. I’d like you to meet someone.”

You pull him towards the Reptile Room; a brick and mortar building with the metallic sheen of a lizard on its face. You pull out more keys, sifting through a whole jumble. Before he can stop himself, he's staring at you; intense and stormy. That sinking feeling deepens. You look up, and give him a smile. Like emerging above troubled water, he takes a deep breath and feels a little lighter.

“Liv?” The door is open in no time. You're calling out into empty space, boots click-clacking on tile. These lights are on, but dim, matching the hot and humid air of the building. “Liv!”

Miguel pulls at his collar, following you deeper inside. A service door; amidst enclosures of leafy green, pebbles, sand, and more; leads to a modest lab. Amongst vials labelled ominously and rows of benches that smell like disinfectant, lies a nest of hair crudely tied back.

Liv pops out from behind a clunky monitor, beaming from ear to ear. They're older, with a sharp jaw and soft features framed by wrinkles and smile lines.

“Doctor Olivia Octavius,” You smile, ��Meet Miguel.”

Hand outstretched, Liv clears a path of pens and junk to reach his hand. It’s firm, he notices; with inked scribbles on the underside and a stack of bracelets at their wrist. They look familiar, but he can't quite place the name.

“How do you two know each other?” It spills out like May's mushy peas, and he hopes his sweaty palms aren't too noticeable.

“She used to work here - night shift.” Liv adjusts octagonal glasses, jewellery clinking.

“I was only a janitor, Mig.”

“The best damn janitor around. And good company during late nights.”

You get a playful nudge in the side for your trouble, and the two of you share a knowing look.

“And who's this?” Liv crouches, attention turning to May who is engrossed by a tangle of colourful wires.

“Her name's May.” He grunts.

“Your….” Doctor Octavius looks between you both, choosing their words carefully. “Daughter?”

“No, no.” You laugh - a little too much, for his liking. “We're babysitting - Liv, he's just my roommate.”

Miguel winces. Twice. He chooses to ignore the raised eyebrow and pursed lips, lest it blossom into any awkwardness.

A beat passes. “Does May like lizards?”

She nods enthusiastically, hissing like un vibora. She’s almost there, he thinks, and Miguel can't help but smile.

“We've got some speckled lizards in tank 3 and 4 - donations from our freshwater contacts in Panama. You want to show her around?”

“Sure, but what about–”

“You guys head off, I've got some paperwork to finish off. 10 minutes? If she's gentle she can touch one or two.”

Satisfied, you nod, looking at him expectantly. Your eyes shine just like May's, and like his once upon a time, with a childlike wonder that makes his heart ache. You look happy. God. He'd do anything to keep you smiling like that.

But he's tired. Finally, the night has caught up with him, and he just doesn't have the energy anymore.

“I'll stay.” He says gently. “Need to sit down for a bit anyways.”

He must imagine it, but for a second, you falter. Big, round eyes that shimmer in the harsh lab lights; and for a millisecond, he sees it dull. It’s gone in just a moment. And then you give him a warm smile, with a touch on his arm that seems to linger. The two of you beam, and you bound off with the kind of vigour he hasn't felt in years.

The click-clack of keys fills the room. He takes the opportunity to look around, noticing plaques upon plaques in the little corner of the lab. PhD. Masters. Accreditation from organisations with long, winding names. Doctor. Bioengineering. A foray into experimental physics. Pictures of her shaking hands with flashy names - and he recognises one with wide eyes.

“That's Marcus Kirby.” They barely look up.

“I… I know.”

“I worked with him before he headed up Alchemax, and well before the position was passed onto his son.” There's a hiss, and Miguel hears the violent rattle of the keyboard come to a stop. “I remember when he was still a kid, actually.”

He hesitates. “I watched one of your talks in Prague…. the one on metaphy–”

“Metaphysical dimorphism? Or was it the metagenesis of the perpetual plane? I can never remember these things.”

“Something like that.” He grunts.

“You were there? Should've asked for an autograph. Wouldn't be worth much, though.” A little snort catches him off guard, but he shakes his head.

“I was 17 - so, no.”

“Ouch.”

Ouch, indeed. He had loaned that particular talk from the library, a tape played over and over until Gabi had thrown a spoon at his head for the crime of astrophysics at breakfast.

“Do you still work with them?”

“Oh, I've been back there a couple of times; despite the complaints otherwise, mind you; their conference centre is world-class –” They stop themselves. “You meant–”

“I meant Alchemax.”

They snort. “We went our separate ways.”

Why? He can't help but wonder; considering the equipment and brilliant minds the company has access to. Especially someone with the tenure and experience of Doctor Octavius - he could only dream of that kind of influence. Imagine the good he could do, the lives he could change…

Wonder turns to indignation, which turns to unfair assumptions; he looks around at the dingy workspace and curls up his nose. Disgust. From a well-respected, world-renowned bio-astrophysicist to this. Without the rose-tinted goggles of his youth, Miguel can't help but feel the walls closing in - a future career flashing before his eyes. From a dim rent-controlled apartment to an equally dingy desk in the corner of nowhere. He can't have done all of this for nowhere.

Doctor Octavius squints. The click-clack of keys stops. The air leaves the room, leaving only a cold chill.

“What exactly do you do?”

“Genetics and Bio-engineering department.” He puffs out his chest, but is unable to hide a slight shake to his voice. “I'm a lab assistant at Alchemax.”

Liv gives him a blank expression.

“So you're young.”

“I guess.”

“Unexperienced. You've barely taken your first steps into this world. I bet you still have dreams of saving the world. What are you working on, a cure for cancer?”

His jaw shifts.

“A joke.” They smile stiffly. “Research isn't like that. It's stuffy and bureaucratic and painfully capitalist. Everything requires a thousand yards of red tape until it doesn't; until they ask you to fudge numbers for the sake of shareholder value. Until they axe vital projects that affect the bottom line.”

They step closer, boots thudding on cheap linoleum.

“It’s hard, to get them to see you. It's even harder when they've already made their mind up. I gave 12 years of my life to that place and you'd be wise to quit whilst you're ahead. Whilst you're young.”

Their eyes are empty. A quiet, cold rage swirling for the last 10, 15 years. He recognises it, of course he does; it's the very same rage that sits at the pit of his stomach - with the dense heat of a white dwarf. In that way, he thinks, he's collapsing in on himself; one that precedes an abcess into the very same perpetual plane Doctor Octavius built their career on.

“Alchemax is doing things no one could've predicted 10 years ago - our genetics trials are world-class -” He starts a spiel he is well versed with – but it sounds hollow even under these dim lights.

“Is that what Marcus is going with these days? Plasticky and insincere?”

“I–We are saving the world.”

He's met with a withering look; that echoes the indignant sighs from teachers of his youth.

He remembers small squares of paper, handed out to kids in the Reptile house. Brightly coloured facts pasted along its route; detailing the kind of research undertaken at the conservation centre. For a 7 year old Miguel, he was wholly absorbed with the worksheets - three words at the top of a blank table. Hypothesis. Observation. Analysis.

Hypothesis.

“If this a personal gripe–”

“Of-fucking-course it's personal.” It was spat out, with more emotion he thought they were capable of. A pause. “Did you know Marcus Kirby commissioned the research for near-unlimited nuclear energy? Did you know we actually built it?”

“You're–” His throat is dry. “You continue to make claims without evidentiary basis.

Observation.

A slight bobbing of an Adam's apple. The tightening of the invisible string that slowly winds their shoulders back.

“We could have powered hundreds of thousands – millions of homes. For much cheaper and cleaner than what we have now; clogged up by fingers sticky with oil money, most likely. And the proprietary technology is collecting dust, somewhere in that fucking building. Knowing Marcus, he's using it as a paperweight.”

And his head is a blur. Miguel isn't stupid; he sees Alchemax for what it is. A business, at the end of the day. He thought childlike naivete was a distant bygone but for some reason, he's shaken.

Can he believe what he hears? Is it just personal pettiness at the root of all this venom? Sure, he doesn't get invited to after work drinks. Sure, he isn't involved in the office gossip; in signing birthday cards and impromptu lunches out. Sure, just once, he'd like to get more than lab reports and risk assessments dumped on his station. He even finds himself missing stilted small talk; picking his fingernails as his coworkers talk around him, like he isn't even there. No man is an island in his field of work. For every discovery and pseudo-cure-for-cancer there are hundreds of lab techs doing the grunt work. So he knuckles down and does the only thing he knows how to do. He keeps his head down; because he already has a job to do, he doesn't need to be liked.

Analysis.

He sees it now, clear as day. A coffee cup gripped too tightly, a flash of fear when he clears his throat. Little comments, and then big ones:

Drug tests at your stage are mandatory, O'Hara.

Ronnie’s been working here a long time. There's no need to be aggressive, O'Hara.

We want you front and centre in this picture, O'Hara, but don't forget to take out the trash on your way out.

But what he has always attributed to the status quo, to his prickly personality, to his distinct lack of charm and unwillingness to be loved - could it be something else? When they look at him, who do they see? Is it O'Hara, the underpaid, awkward intern - or Miguel, brutish and brash and scary?

A great crash and in its crescendo is Doctor Octavius, hand outstretched, half bitten fingernails and papercuts all the same. He's different, he knows that. He's intimidating and gruff with a slight propensity for violence. But he's saving the world! He’s making a difference, one meagre test tube at a time.

And then there’s that voice again, hoarse and buried deep deep down at the pit of his stomach. With all that they've asked him to do… what does he have to show for it?

You come to mind. Kind eyes and an even kinder smile. The way you look at him, the way you touch him - like he's delicate, like he's capable of breaking. He thinks of soft nights spent in your arms and between even softer sheets… and not once have you shirked away or asked him to flatten. Acceptance; whole-hearted and unconditional; tastes much too sweet between your thighs.

“Mig!” He hears a squeal from out and down the corridor. Footsteps on the linoleum are followed by a pitter-patter, before you and May arrive at the door giggling uncontrollably.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He softens like butter under a hot knife, because of course he does. It’s you.

“Come look, come look!”

He throws a glance to Liv, their white hot grip on the desk relaxing. They tuck a strand of loose hair back and sit down, shuffling through papers like nothing had happened. The tension dissipates - that was your doing, he thinks.

“It's a… Mig, God, there's a tank with an oc…”

“Cephalopod, actually.” Doctor Octavius smiles, picking up a battered coffee mug to lead the way. “You would not believe the hoops I had to jump through to get her here, but isn't she a beauty…”

He trails behind, flashing you and May a shaky smile. The frazzled scientist is knee deep in another story - betrayal, heartbreak, a tentacled hero, and more. But when Liv looks back, for a moment, he sees it: the very same look he had given unapologetically just a few minutes ago.

Pity.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #angst #mutual pining

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meowzfordayz · 4 months ago

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your sense of humor with them — zenitsu, sanemi, giyuu

Author’s Note: a giggle a day keeps the doctor away! 🤭

your sense of humor with them — zenitsu, sanemi, giyuu

Agatsuma Zenitsu x Reader, Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader, Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~300

CW: none

Emergency Request Fulfilled: I had a friend who recently just passed away, and she was like the funniest person ever so i was wondering.. PLEASE 🙏 can i get Hashira + Kamado squad with a s/o who's Like, the funniest mf to walk the planet. Like, she can make them LAUGGHHH she knows exactly how to match their humour

~faqs~

Elementary school jokes bc Zenitsu’s a lot little too easy 😅

You name it, he’s fallen for it

—“Zenitsu, your sock’s untied.”

*Zenitsu proceeds to kneel down to retie his sock*

*Zenitsu proceeds to be very confused*

—“Zenitsu, did you know if your hand is bigger than your face then you have an increased risk of developing cancer?”

*Zenitsu proceeds to raise his palm to his face*

*You proceed to smack his palm into his face*

*Zenitsu does not understand what is going on*

*Why did you just?????*

—“Look! There’s gullible on the ceiling!”

*Zenitsu immediately looks*

*Wait*

*What*

😃😃😃

At the risk of your own life

✨Practical Jokes✨

You’re pretty sure Sanemi wouldn’t ever actually hurt you 😶

But yogurt in his socks might’ve been a bit too far 💀

In your defense, there were mega holes in the heels and toes 🙄

Which only made the oozing of yogurt more satisfying

And like, you’d think a guy as smart as Shinazugawa Sanemi would be harder to prank 🥴

Apparently the dude trusts you 🥲

Summer is the best

You have a Glasses-of-Water-Dumped-on-Sanemi’s-Head tally

You’ve only had 3 successes, but that’s 3 more than you ever expected to have 😎

Don’t feel too badly for him

He’s got 78 to your 3 🫠

Dad jokes so bad Giyuu’s second guessing his desire to start a family w/ you 😬

Kidding, kidding 🫣

Well, not about how bad your dad jokes are 🙃

But Giyuu’s (mostly) happily stuck with you 😉

—Cooking dinner together one night

“Whatcha looking for?” you ask

“A jar,” Giyuu replies, “Made too much eel sauce.”

You walk over to the nearest door, and open it slightly

“Giiiyuuu!” you singsong, giggling as he slooowly glances toward you

He raises an eyebrow

You wink

He sighs

You pout

“D’you get it?”

He ignores you

“The door-” you grin

*Giyuu is ignoring you*

It’s-”, dissolving into silent laughter

*Giyuu is still ignoring you*

Ajar

#headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #agatsuma zenitsu #zenitsu x reader #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x reader #tomioka giyuu #tomioka giyu #giyuu x reader #giyu x reader

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ribread03 · 6 months ago

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tummy problems

Content Warnings: mentions of throwing up, Talk of being/going to the hospital and or emergency room. Probably fluff to.

AN: This holds a place in my life due to the fact that I have a chronic illness that deals with my stomach #chronicilless so yeah. I think this is really cute and I hope this all make sense to other people.

lowkey got lazy at the end [the whole thing bc I'm in a block rn] but yeah, I just wanted to get something out, I have some good ideas in my head but request are always appreciated.

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

"Baby" I say whining slightly. I am currently curled up into a ball on mine and Matt's bed. Trying to fight off this god awful pain in my abdomen.

"What's up with my love?" Matt ask, concerned that you haven't taken any pain meds yet. You have refused to take any knowing that they wouldn't do anything for your pain. "What can I get for you?"

"Can you get me the heating pad and just come and cuddle?" You ask looking at him.

"Of course baby" Matt answers you, giving you a quick peck on the lips before leaving to go and grab what you asked for.

"Thank you" You speak softly. You know that you're not really "sick". You've been dealing with the same pain since the 4th grade and now you're almost 20 years old. You know that it will go away after a week or so, so you just push through the pain trying to make the best of it.

Matt comes back into the room and kneels down next to you to plug the heating pad in. "Here you go" He says with a soft smile. He walks over to his side of the bed and lays down next to you.

"I love you so much" You tell him. You've been friends with the triplets since your freshmen year of high school. They are the only people that have really stuck by your side through all of your medical experiences. Being truly grateful for them.

"I love you to y/n" He kisses you cheek. "Wanna watch a movie? It might help you distract your mind"

"Yeah" You grab the remote next to you and turn the TV on. Moving closer to Matt to snuggle into his warm body. Slowly you are finally falling asleep when all of the sudden you have this horrid pain wash over you causing you to move uncomfortably which Matt notices.

"y/n? babe, come on talk to me..." He pauses for a moment. "What can I do to help you?" He asks concern laced in his voice. "Pain med, food, water, a bath?"

Coming to your defeat you finally decide to take some pain meds "get me the ones my doctor gave me please, they will help the most." You speak so softly afraid if you talk too loudly you'll experience more pain.

"Of course my love." Matt says as he gets off of the bed and heads out into the hall to grab your meds.

Matt comes back into the room with the pain meds, but you are up and out of bed rushing towards the bathroom. As soon as you step foot into the bathroom everything that you ate in the last 12 hours comes out of you. You feel Matt behind you gently rubbing your back.

"sweetheart this is normal, do you want to go to the emergency room?" Matt ask. He knows that you hate it there knowing there isn't much they can do for you, but will go if you need more then what you have at home.

Whipping your mouth and standing up you nod your head yes. Walking back into the room you grab your phone, water, and a phone charger as well as a hoodie. "I didn't think it would be this bad." You say defeated.

"I know sweetie. It's okay tho I'm here." Matt says grabbing the sweatshirt from you and heading to the car.

Once in the car and on the way to the emergency room you start to relax a bit, knowing what's going to happen once there.

(I'm skipping the whole time they are in the emergency room bc I think it would be boring)

"Ready to go" Matt says yawning. We've been in the emergency room for 6 hours now.

"Mmh" I say as I cling onto him. "I'm ready to sleep to."

"Same here." We are walking back out to the car now hand in hand.

On the ride home we stop and grab a snack at the gas station. Once we are home I head straight for the bed room flopping onto the bed and opening my arms for Matt to come and lay with me. Matt climbs into bed and wraps his arms around me peppering my face with kisses.

"Thank you babe." You tell him, really great full he took you to the emergency room and got you some better pain medicine.

"Anytime, you know that all I want for you is to feel better." He speaks, still holding you and lightly kissing you.

"Still, thank you for everything and for sticking it out with me." You say, now kissing his face. Ending up falling asleep in that same position.

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

an: hoped you guys liked this even if I feel like its a little poopy and short but oh well. BYE LOVE YOU!

#christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #chris x reader

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sunnyy3d · 11 months ago

Note

Hi again

Ok so I am currently obsessed with Matt smith and Alex Kingston so I wanted to know if you would write a 11th/river/reader fanfic where the reader is a companion that just started travelling with them but for some reason she is immortal and always finds them but she doesn’t totally understand how the meeting keeps happening between them all so she just jumped from a new tune where she was happily married to the doctor and river but now she meets river/melody who doesn’t know her yet and she gets jealous bc she over heard them talking about another girl(her just younger) and it leads to the doctor having to explain to her that they aren’t at that time yet and river gifts her a journal so she can write down where and how they keep meeting hopefully this makes enough sense and you would want to write it I just want some fluff/cuteness along with confusion on time travel

Timeless Love| 11th Doctor x River x Reader

A/N: Requests open! (Obviously)

God, I'm so nauseous. Will I ever get used to that? I really wish that I had my own TARDIS; it'd be so much better than a vortex manipulator. The Doctor calls it "cheap and nasty time travel," and he's not wrong. Of course, I'll never let him know that, though.

I let the dizziness subside before opening my eyes. I'm facing a wall? I've gotta go through the checklist. Okay, first is smell. It smells... old? Like antiques and dust. Why is smell first anyway? The second is hearing. I hear sirens, which leads to the next part: sight. To go with the sirens, I see a red flashing light coming from a bulb farther up the wall. That's always a good sign! Last but not least, the 360. Well, it's more like a 180, but that's beside the point. I spin only to find a gun pointed at my head. My smile immediately drops, the excitement of being in a new environment being replaced with dread. What have I gotten myself into this time?

"Oi, don't touch the fez! Wait, no, don't take it," I hear from behind the brute holding the gun.

"Don't listen to him. Please take the fez," I'd recognize those voices from anywhere. Especially the sarcasm... It only makes sense that they're around when I find myself in trouble. I can't let myself get distracted; this is a life-or-death situation. Just do what The Doctor taught you. Be rational and observe.

Peering past the gun, I see a creature I've never seen before in my time with The Doctor. This thing is enormous, at least a foot or two taller than me. They (it?) have on a suit of armor--similar to what would be found back on Earth-- that obscures its face. Maybe it's a security guard? It would make sense, considering that behind it are glass cases that hold artifacts.

Regardless, this creature's sheer size means I can't fight it. At least not successfully. That throws all of the self-defense skills River taught me out of the window. I really wish she was here. Oh wait... she is. I'll just have to play the innocent card. It shouldn't be hard, considering that I am innocent. I put my hands up beside my head as a sign of surrender, careful to go at a speed that's not threatening. "I just got here, I swear. I have no idea what's going on," I reason. I have a feeling that it's not gonna work well.

"Oh, look who it is! Where have you been?" Looking past the guard, I spot The Doctor and River being led in by another guard.

I sigh, "It's not what it looks like."

"It's exactly what it looks like!" The Doctor interrupts with his stupid smile.

"Honey, can you shut please? I kinda have a gun in my face right now," I plead.

"Oh right..."

"Excuse me, sir?" River distracts the guard in front of me.

"We're going to have to ask you to put that gun down. Darling, you might want to duck." Without even thinking, I follow her instructions. I trust River and The Doctor with my life. What kind of wife would I be otherwise? Being stuck between the wall and the fight, I have no choice but to crawl away.

I'm hiding behind one of the cases when The Doctor comes around the corner, disheveled and panting. It's a good look at him. His hair is messy before he runs a hand through it and flashes his signature smile. God, I could kiss him. But now's not the time. We're in the middle of a fight. I say we, but I really mean River. "What are you doing?" I yell.

"I could ask you the same thing!" Loud shots hit the walls around us. I peek around the corner and see two more guards have shown up as reinforcement.

A bullet flies past my head, and I quickly take my retreat behind the case. "Look! We'll have to save this conversation for after we get out of whatever situation you got us into this time. River needs help." The Doctor gives me an offended look.

"River does NOT need help, no thanks to you guys," she says sarcastically.

The Doctor and I come out from behind the case. "What are you guys even doing here?" I ask with my hands on my hips.

"Uhh... we're picking something up," The Doctor answers nervously. I nod, my lips drawing into a thin line as I give him a skeptical hum. It's probably not worth questioning, and I probably won't get a straight answer.

"And you are?" River questions, looking me up and down. Even after being with her for a while, I still get butterflies when she looks at me like that.

But the butterflies are scooped up by my confusion. "What do you mean, River? We've been-"

"SPOILERS," The Doctor interjects. "If you'll just give us a moment, please?" I nod as he drags River away. They huddle together with their backs facing me. Clearly, I'm not supposed to hear this conversation, but it doesn't stop me from trying. Unfortunately, they're just out of earshot, so I can only hear a few words.

Focusing on their conversation, I piece together some parts. "She's... beautiful... amazing... younger... she's like..." The Doctor explains with expressive hands. Occasionally, River glances back at me with a smile.

Who are they talking about like that? It has to be someone special. Why else would they keep it a secret from me? More importantly, why is River saying she doesn't know me? Has she had her memory wiped? Clearly, The Doctor knows who I am, but he's also acting weird. What has happened to our marriage? Did all of the intimate moments that we shared go down the drain? All the adventures forgotten?

I'm so lost in thought that it takes me a second to realize that they've finished their conversation and have started walking back towards me. I quickly stand straight, suddenly incredibly self conscious. I cross my arms and frown, "So, who's this mystery woman and why did you have to talk about her in secret?" I know my words reek of jealousy, but I can't help it. We've been married for so long, and yet here they are talking about some other woman.

The Doctor sighs, thinking about how he should respond. "We were talking about you. I know it might not make too much sense right now, but River and I aren't in the same timeline as you."

"This is actually my first time meeting you, I'm afraid. Though I'm sure it won't be the last," River looks me up and down with a smirk. I blush and look away. Even if this is her first time meeting me, she still has to flirt.

Everything is starting to make sense now. All of the times when The Doctor or River thought that they had done something with me but hadn't. Or when they'd forget simple things. It's not that they forgot; it just hadn't happened to them yet. Why didn't I think of this before? And why hadn't they explained this to me earlier? Why does time have to be so complicated?

"This happens all of the time with me and River. It's honestly quite annoying to figure out," The Doctor chuckles.

"You know, that actually makes a lot of sense. Things are starting to come together now. That explains why you guys are so confusing sometimes. Sorry, extra confusing sometimes." The couple laughs before River holds up her finger, saying hold on and grabbing her bag off her back. She rummages through it momentarily before letting out a small 'aha.' I look at The Doctor with my eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He only shrugs. River pulls out what she was looking for. I see a look of recognition flash across The Doctor's face before I can tell what it is.

"Here," she holds out a book. It's a royal blue and has squares on it like the TARDIS. It looks naturally worn, its deckled pages ready to hold a story. "I have a smiliar journal. I use it to keep track of my encounters with this idiot. Maybe you can do the same?" She suggests with a warm smile.

From this distance, I can see how young she is. Though she doesn't look much different, her eyes tell a different story. They have more youth to them, more innocence. Let's be honest: River has never truly been innocent. But she is more innocent than the River that I know best. I smile as I take the journal in my hands. It's perfect. It'll be easy to carry around, and it is absolutely gorgeous.

So much has yet to come for The Doctor and River, both terrible and happy. And even though I have lived through things that they haven't, they have lived through things that I haven't. This book will hold stories that cannot be shared with the ones I love the most. If I were to share it, it could ruin everyone's timeline. Time is a delicate balance of... wibbly, wobbly, timey, wimey... stuff. Okay, I'll admit that wasn't the most eloquent I have been, but it'll have to do.

With a smile, I look up at my husband and wife (well, future for them), "Thank you. I have a feeling that I'll be using this a lot."

#x reader #fanfic #11th doctor x reader #11th doctor #river song x reader #river song #melody pond #doctor who #the doctor x reader #the doctor x river song #the doctor x river x reader #the doctor x you #river song x the doctor

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k0dster · 4 months ago

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OK question, who is everyone personal favorite, well written, mentally ill character?

Bc to this day nobody has topped Lucas Baker for me. I was kind of thinking about this Re7 au I had with an old friend today and started thinking about him again. Capcom has always done such a wonderful job with writing their characters, but something about Lucas makes me think about him every once in awhile.

It's hard to explain in words but the way he was written is just so scary. Not because he's got a bunch of molded henchmen and that creepy barn, but because he's so unpredictable and yet so smart and tactical. The kids a genius and shows it all throughout the game and his DLC, but he's also probably got some form of severe schizophrenia that has clearly gone untreated for near his whole life. He's incredibly smart and resourceful though - as in most cases - is limited by his mental illness.

The whole thing was a clear episode and I almost wanna pressume it happened before the doctors visit. Though that isn't really the point, I think alot of his issues stem from Jack. Not because he's ill too, but because he doesn't take it seriously. I live in the south myself and the stigma around men and their mental health here is so awful I don't even wanna start to imagine what it would do to a kid with schizophrenia who's dad choses to ignore it. I personally think Lucas would have grown up to be alot better of a person, hell, he might not have been in the house he was so well off if Jack had taken the time to acknowledge him. From just the look of the house and the way he acts in the daughter's (?? Sorry i seriously haven't played this game in almost a year) DLC really gives me that 'man of the house' 'men don't have feelings' kinda feel. I can only assume, the only other people in their home being women, that Jack really tried to drill that mentality into Lucas and completely glanced over Marguerites worries about him.

I almost feel bad for him. He's smart, talented, "gifted" if you must, though clearly limited by who I'm guessing to be Jack. There's a whole little story in game that really stuck out to me, when you're in Lucas's old room looking through his old journal entries he writes about Marguerite taking him for what I assumed was probably an MRI or maybe a CT scan of his head showing she clearly thought something was wrong with him. In an entry pretty close to that one he talks about his friend, Oliver, who keeps messing with him so he locks him in the attic. He talks about how he could hear him banging and screaming for help for about a day before he stopped and was eventually presumed dead to Lucas after he started to be able to smell his corpse. (I actually feel as crazy as him rn I can't find it but ik somewhere there's a document talking about how bad the smell was to him. I almost wanna say he talked about something dripping from the attic too on the same page but idk maybe i made that up)

EDIT: after 18 million years I found it so I was in fact not just loosing my mind

"Untreated schizophrenia can cause severe problems that affect many areas of life. It can disrupt how the brain works, interfering with thoughts, memory, senses, and behaviors. This can lead to difficulties in daily life, such as trouble organizing thoughts and behaving in ways that increase the risk of injury or illness." Which would explain Lucas's entire character during the game- minus the mold.

Ik this isnt my usual posting and an absolute yap fest but I seriously needed to talk about him again. He's so well written it makes me wanna foam at the mouth.

#re7 #re7 biohazard #resident evil 7 #resident evil biohazard #resident evil #capcom #lucas baker #lucas re7 #jack baker #jack re7 #marguerite baker #Marguerite re7 #zoe baker #zoe re7

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bumblebeehug · 1 year ago

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Imagine if the celestial spirits don't actually need to eat food and Loke, in his first few months being stuck in Earthland and joining fairy tail, gets strange looks from Gray, Cana etc. because they don't see him eat even once?

the guild thinking loke has an eating disorder, confirmed and canon?!?!? no jk but that makes a lot of sense. i kinda feel like the celestial spirits do eat though, idk if im remembering correctly, but i think there was a bunch of food when the guild members were in the celestial world, so perhaps the spirits eat but not as often? (like once every 6 earthland months or something lol) so i can imagine loke forgetting to eat in the beginning. just him going to the hospital every couple of days asking why his body is weak and he's feeling faint all of the time, and the doctor is like "when did you last eat" and loke just. doesn't even remember. bc it's not Something he Thinks About.

anyways the idea of loke running off and never being present at meal times is really funny when u don't think of how ed-like it is. dude's just. Disappearing. and no one knows why or where he goes. another girl to flirt with? who knows lol.

also gray teaching loke to eat certain foods (like he taught juvia in that episode) and gray just thinks he's from some werid place far away (which isn't technically wrong lol)

also cana either trying to get him drunk and it's Just Not Working, or cana getting him absolutely thrashed on accident bc loke's never drank before

#loke and i kiss each other daily #jk but i'm a leo so i connect with him #also the entire loke-pre-comingoutpartythingy is so dear to me #i could talk for ages about him #fairy tail #loke the lion #loke fairy tail #fairy tail loke #gray fullbuster #cana fairy tail #cana alberona #gray fairy tail #fairy tail gray

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metacrisisdoctor · 1 year ago

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tentoorose & the gift of domestic life

in my personal opinion it's kind of deeply simplistic to say that tentoorose wouldn't settle down bc they "need" to travel when both of these things are refuted in the narrative multiple times.

i'm gonna go over this under the cut.

to start this conversation somewhere let's start with how tip/tsp is all about them not needing the tardis and travel as long as they're together, and how losing it would be hard - but they'd still be happy on any random planet because being stuck together isn't so bad - the foundation to their life in pete's world is laid here. this is really massively important because you can see that rose saying this touches the doctor, because it's him realizing that it's him that she loves and not what he offers her. if you take the doctor avoiding the subject as him dismissing it instead of him wanting something he thinks he cannot have, then you are misunderstanding the intention behind it.

it's a beautiful culmination when he literally and metaphorically allows himself to fall later in these episodes. he's asked if he has faith and he says he believes he hasn't seen everything, which is why he keeps traveling. this is left in the air until he faces the devil, without his tardis, so small and seemingly unimportant and the only thing that matters to him is the love between himself and rose. and that love translates into his belief in her; in not only his faith in her ability to also beat the devil, but also in saying that he has seen a lot of the universe and believes in one thing: her, he is saying that he has found all he has ever looked for with rose and if this is his final test; the end of it all-that is fine because he is finished searching even if there is more out there.

that's why him saying "here you are, living a life day after day, the one adventure i can never have." in doomsday is so painful, because it's a vocal confirmation of the reasoning behind his avoidant behavior throughout season two. the depth of feeling he has for rose paralyzes him because he has already lost everything, and now he knows he has found a home with her that he will also lose.

but it goes even farther than all of that. it goes all the way back to nine in father's day, "street corner, two in the morning, getting a taxi home. i've never had a life like that." that bit of yearning to slow down and just be with rose in one place is already seeping into his being then, and it becomes completely central to his character when he regenerates into ten.

the fact that he wants to settle down to a certain extent, to have a human life with rose, and cannot have it is why he represses his feelings for her after seeing sarah jane - and it's only in the later half of s2 after, poetically, visiting pete's world that he allows himself to start to open up to her a bit despite knowing he will lose this new family he has found someday. even in late season two there is a barrier they cannot cross because of his immortality, not because he doesn't want the things rose does. it's because their life spans do not match and never will, and he would never want her to be immortal because he sees his own immortality as a curse, which we see him state in the lazarus experiment.

people claim rose wouldn't want to settle down either, but it takes a lot of ignoring things rose says in order to make this true, quite frankly. rose loves adventure and travel, but what she really loves is the sense of purpose the doctor has brought to her life by showing her what she is capable of outside the constraints of estate life, as she says "it was a better life. and i don't mean all the travelling and aliens and spaceships and things, that don't matter. the doctor showed me a better way of living your life." this is something she does not lose in doomsday and it's still not something she loses in journey's end.

and the thing is, we see multiple times that rose wants to settle down with the doctor and pushes it away because she has decided to spend her life at his side. since she knows he cannot do this, partly out of his duty to the univese and partly because he isn't human, she accepts that she never will either. in army of ghosts when jackie asks if she'll ever settle down she looks so sad when she says, "the doctor never will so i can't. i'll just keep travelling." this is such a heavy moment because it shows that this is something rose has considered, something that she does want because if she didn't she would just say so, and something she herself has begun to repress to support him.

not every relationship has to end with a house and kids, but the doctor and rose are a relationship where the foundation to where they got in the end is dangled in front of them, almost cruelly, the entire time. so the idea that them having it would be too boring or something they would feel isn't enough for a fulfilled life is misunderstanding what their relationship was about in the first place.

do i think they still do alien things? of course. do i think they travel? of course! do they still have a home to come back to? a family to have christmas with? a life to live side by side until they're old and grey? of course. those things do not go against each other. settling down doesn't mean they don't have fun, they don't explore, they don't break rules or grow their own tardis. it just means that they get to have an equal and shared life together with a safe place to always come back to for the rest of their lives, which is what they both always wanted.

without understanding all of these things, it dims the tenth doctor's sacrifice in journey's end and leads to people not fully grasping his descent into madness when he is denied this life that he so desperately wants but is denied in this life. in the confidential for journey's end david tennant says, "by gifting rose this other doctor he is not allowing himself to go back." because if tentoo did not exist he would tear apart reality to get her back as the timelord victorious and the only ONLY thing that stops him from doing so is that her happiness is what matters to him, and he knows that tentoo will make her happy because they are the same man with different opportunities who made different choices because the universe showed him the kindness of mortality.

tldr: the doctor and rose love travelling, but they don't need to travel to have fulfilled lives and they never did. that's part of what makes their relationship special and this is part of the canon narrative so much so that there is a song on the season two soundtrack about it.

#tentoorosemonth2023 #tentoorose #tenrose #dw #tenth doctor #doctor who #rambles #tentoo #rose tyler #doctor x rose #tentoo x rose #timepetals

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lasshoe · 1 year ago

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sorry to that man (brendan hunt) but i’m still choosing to believe the ending montage was a dream sequence so buckle up bc here’s why:

in the pilot episode ted tells beard that if they see each other in their dreams to goof around a little bit, so right off the bat there is a thinly veiled insinuation of some light magical realism and then of course the line about ted not being able to sleep on planes

so moving to the finale, ted was having serious doubts about leaving but wanted to believe it was the right thing to do, so this sets up the montage as his imagined, best-case scenarios and a kind of martyr-ism that he envisions for everyone he left behind to tell himself they’ll be fine without him

getting into it, we seen him go through each character with whom he had a real connection with in richmond:

rebecca: he could have heard about the dutch man from her or keeley so he imagines a rebecca getting sleepless in seattle type meet cute after he just mentioned a classic romcom "leave-cute" to her in the airport paired with the previous episode mentioning that SiS is his favorite ephron film, so it makes sense to want the "best" for rebecca’s life after him. (also worth noting that hannah even says in this interview to her that it feels like more of a possibility and a hint that she’s letting new love into her life but not a definitive ending. which also lol)

beard: he literally leaves the plane because he loves jane so ted concocts the weirdest, most surreal wedding between them in stonehenge that beard had mentioned them going to in the christmas episode, and because it feels so bizarre and almost incomprehensible but ted does wants to imagine him living his best beard-appropriate life

roy: he clearly respects him so much, enough to imagine him as the new coach of AFC Richmond, but understands roy’s inability to open up and how that could hinder his success professionally and personally, exactly as it did for him, and so then imagines bringing doctor sharon back to help him work through it and even imagines an army man to protect him because he never got a chance to give roy one himself. (sharon is also wearing green in this dream which is associated with safety re: the toy soldiers.) this one is also interesting bc roy opened up about his last season at chelsea saying that he wish he’d stuck around and just have fun rather than quit and leave but ted ends up doing exactly that—quitting and leaving

jamie: he imagines jamie reconciling with his father, clearly projecting that he never got a chance to do it with his own. we’ve always seen how jamie and his relationship with his father has brought out ted's own complicated feelings of fatherhood so it makes sense in ted’s dream scenario for him to gloss over the fact and create an happy, to him, vision of reconciliation

nate: nate being integrated back into the coaching staff and having a rich full life is all ted ever wished for him. we never really saw him arrive at the choice to truly forgive him but we understand through the scene with beard that he obviously did, and again in nate's return and his apology

sam: he truly does believe he’ll make the nigerian team one day, since he mentioned it back in season one after saying he was homesick and after not making it this season. also thought it was interesting we got no resolution with simi at sam’s restaurant which further proves it’s a dream because ted isn’t privy to that relationship, only we the audience are

keeley/rebecca: the women’s league is totally something he (and all of us) could see them doing together and i love that he imagines their personal and professional bond continue in something that is so special for both of them. he would have loved that :')

mae/the pub boys: he has just learned that rebecca sold 49% of the club back to the fans so of course he dreams that mae and the boys get their part of the shares since it’s a place that was a home to people who care deeply for AFC richmond and had warmed up and welcomed him in as well

trent: in another classic ted way, in trying to distance himself from the community in order to make peace with his decision to return to kansas, he imagines that trent took his advice and changed the title of the book from "the lasso way" to "the richmond way" which only makes sense in dream ted’s head because he can’t objectively define the impact he’s had on richmond and instead deflects it back to the community. but trent is a professional and in his objective opinion i truly believe he would stick to his original thesis that these changes and this coaching philosophy is 100% because of ted

roy/keeley/jamie: the last shot of him observing them together mirrors how he saw them after the man city game, and again, he’s not aware of the current dynamics between them so at the higgins' barbecue he imagines them as he last remembered them, happy, but not explicitly together in any specific coupling combination

higgins: of course he wants to imagine his found family still hanging out and actively being a found family outside of the club and he has fond memories of being at the higgins house with the whole gaggle at christmas, so this vignette is almost an amalgamation of all his best wishes come together, really working overtime to sell the idea that they will be happy without him

ADDITIONALLY we’ve also seen a flash forward used as a device in the show before in 212. but there we got specific time cards to let us know when it’s happening. in the finale, it’s much more abstract as a montage (you could even say lynchian, which the official ted lasso twitter account mentioned here) which is another reason to believe it could be a dream

then of course ted waking up after this sequence and just then arriving back to kansas and henry? it was only several hours vs. the weeks? months? years? that seemed to have passed in the dream sequence? the show doesn’t ever sway from its linear storytelling, so it's logical to show all of that while ted is sleeping because it’s not real and doesn’t affect the timeline, but for those who want that closure offers up possibilities of where the characters could end up through the filter of ted’s imagination

#in conclusion: the montage is not real and therefore it cannot hurt me 😌#woweeewowwwwe if anyone actually reads all this! thanks! sorry!#i just! needed to get it out of my system!#ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers

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theninth09 · 3 months ago

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More Headcanons about Thiam and video games (part 1 here)

im slapping another greek mythology inspired game onto liams game list and claiming that he'd like hades

when theo plays stray, liam watches the entire time. even though he knows the whole game, liam plays it himself after theo finishes it because he loved it so much. and theo watches liam play the entire time too, because he also loved it <3 (im spreading the thiam kitty agenda)

liam almost cried when the wolf fenrir died at the beginning of gow: ragnarök, hated having to fight the wolf garm and then actually cried when fenrir got resurrected

he sees himself in both kratos (having been deceived into killing someone he loves, having to control his rage, evolving from being someone aggressive into being a gentle person/a god of hope and accepting that people will follow him as a leader) and atreus (constantly trying to prove himself, being impulsive and reckless.) the way their father-son relationship and their characters in general develop is very cathartic for him to watch

liam had a pokémon go phase and made theo drive him around constantly during it. he gets into pokémon in general afterwards

Liam's favorite Pokémon

Lucario (fighting, canine-like pokémon. prideful & loyal with a natural sense of justice that only trusts trainers with a righteous heart. can read the aura of their opponent)

Mewtwo (artificial/modified clone to make it the most powerful. it got experimented on, making it extremely vicious and lack compassion. in the 1st movie its later to be shown caring, protective & altruistic. liam makes theo watch the movie/explains its lore to him)

Type: Null/Silvally (chimeric pokémon that was made to be a weapon. need i say more? it turns into silvally when it finds a trusted partner & forms a powerful bond with them)

Umbreon (he mainly likes it bc he thinks it looks cute. its his favorite eevee evolution since its the result of being exposed to moonlight)

Mienshao (fighting pokémon are his favorite & he likes its design)

Resident Evil 7 & 8 (thank you to @greysonalexander for pointing out these parallels to me!!)

RE7 is difficult to play for theo. its main antagonist has some similarities to him (a child turned weapon that longs to have a family/pack, gets called a monster & punished for the aggressive way they go about acquiring it) and the setting (stuck in a house with a family that doesnt act like a family at all) reminds him of how he grew up: stuck in operating theaters with the dread doctors as his "caretakers" and the fake-families he got set up with

he has to take a lot of breaks and sometimes liam takes over for him and plays through the especially emotionally challenging parts for him until theo is ready to continue

RE8 is difficult for both of them. there are a lot of werewolf-like monsters (that were previously human) you have to fight, and the beneviento house + the DLC feature a lot of bullying, which liam struggles with. heisenberg's & moreau's area and miranda's lab are extremely triggering for theo due to heavy themes of experimentation and heisenberg's soldiers having a similar look to the dread doctors

usually they each play through a game on their own, but for RE8 they only play it once together and really take their time. they each take care of the especially triggering parts for the other. they dont skip playing it because it's also quite cathartic for them: they're in a safe environment, have control over what's happening and can pause at any time. they both have problems with being vulnerable and opening up about their trauma, so it's a good tool for them to confront these past experiences and also understand each other even better

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

they both got really excited over botw. liam absolutely hates the horses in the game, but theo has a soft spot for epona and is disappointed that she isnt in it. liam finds out that you can get her through an amiibo and buys it for theo

liam loves that you can change link's clothes and spends a lot of time farming rupees so that he can buy multiple copies of the outfits and dye them different colors

theo always drops the rocks onto the koroks' heads and once tears of the kingdom (the sequel) comes out, he makes it his mission to attach a rocket onto them and send them off into the distance every single time

More Games the Puppy Pack would Play

Pico Park (more yelling. so much yelling. uncoordinated, claws get unsheathed, threats are being made)

Stick Fight: The Game (alec loves the flamethrowers. thiam keep tag teaming everybody and keep winning without even having to use weapons)

Splatoon (alec thought the squid forms looked cool and begged the other members to play it with him. theo is the only one who ever covers the base and keeps reminding everyone that they wouldnt have won if it wasnt for him doing that. corey and liam love playing stealthily, either as snipers or just trying to otherwise surprise their opponents)

not a video game, but: mason got really into DnD when he was younger and tried to rope liam into it, who was only mildly interested. they ended up not being able to play anyway since it was only the two of them. so when the puppy pack forms, mason brings it up again as they now have a big enough group

mason is the DM. thiam basically end up playing themselves as their characters reluctantly fall in love bc they cant stop flirting with each other. alec casts fireball at literally everything. nolan plays a rogue, and all of them judge him for that at first, but he ends up getting really into character and surprising all of them. corey flirts with mason to get information out of him. gwen plays a lesbian barbarian (yes, her favorite bg3 character is karlach.) hayden is basically the only one with braincells

additionally: liam trying to flirt with theo (theo finds it endearing)

#thank u to anon (jeanette) for the asks abt liam & fashion #made me come up with the hc about botw #also thank you to my beloved captain #she helped me with the pokemon bit #i dont really know anything about pokemon #yet again quite niche #and messy #are we surprised #theo raeken #liam dunbar #thiam #thiam headcanons #teen wolf #my ramblings

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dandelionjack · 11 months ago

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if you've watched nightmare in silver i'd love to hear what you think — it's a pretty good episode in my opinion and it's one of the few cybermen-as-the-main-monster episodes i actually liked, but it's also one of those episodes that takes some of its most interesting elements from something i like a lot more from the eu so that coloured my perception a bit (turns out constantly going wow just like zagreus makes you less capable of just enjoying the episode as it is. oops)

it’s… a mixed bag of an episode, honestly, provided how much stuff is actually in it. i liked select parts of it a whole lot, much room for thought there, whereas others … skeeved me out, to put it mildly. i don’t think neil could possibly have topped the masterpiece that is The Doctor’s Wife, and whatever he set out to do here… could have stood a little more editing??

to get the grumbling out of the way: the kids. Most Annoying Who Side Characters Ever award goes to them, singlehandedly taking first place away from that stuck-up nerd in Poison Sky. i don’t know if neil intended for them to act supremely slappable, but christ alive. just the constant dour negativity and ‘bored teenager’ unimpressed commentary … walking vibe drainers. made it hard to care about their fate tbh. oh they got cyberconverted? oh they got rescued and brought back? Whatever. call me a boomer apologist… i’ve never referred to a pair of children (fictional or real) as ‘ungrateful spoiled brats’ before but this could be the day i start.

additionally: the hell was that stuff about clara at the end? “too short and bossy and your nose is all funny” “mystery wrapped in an enigma stuffed into a skirt that’s just a little too tight” go to hell gaiman. genuinely. here i was relying on you, thinking you’re immune to casual misogyny. especially since it doesn’t even make sense… clara’s skirts are never tight? not once? i understand that the former comment was a bluff to get out of admitting feelings but, again it’s not even accurate, since jenna coleman’s nose completely fits the beauty standard?? baffles me

those are all minor nitpicks bc other than that the episode’s fun! and creative, especially all the scenes with the cyber-planner and their high-stakes chess game (you like chess dontcha). i haven’t listened to zagreus (YET) but from what i’ve gathered from internet osmosis the doctor gets possessed by an … evil nursery rhyme? lmao. seems legit

anyway nightmare in silver has unfortunately made me understand people who find matt smith attractive. i’ve cracked it: it’s a dormant gene that only activates when he’s playing an intimidating villain. especially here, when he’s mr clever, a warped mirror of eleven, with the boundaries between the two blurring so far as to confuse even clara. this moment is top notch:

which one of you said that? she’s right to question it.

he’s been quietly manipulative with clara for the entire duration of their travels so far, concealing from her the truth about the ‘mystery’ that her whole existence presents to him, while she remains the object of his puzzle-solving quest. a particularly odious example in this scene in Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS, where the doctor is fully aware that their impending doom at the cliff is an illusion, but puts on the pretense that they’re about to fall to their deaths anyway, building all that fear just to to coax clara’s “secret” out of her (“since we’re both going to die here, you may as well tell me what you are”). as soon as he gets what he wants — or, rather, doesn’t, because there’s no satisfactory answer yet — he reveals that he’d known all this time that the TARDIS wouldn’t have let them fall.

that’s what makes mr. clever so insidiously, well, clever as a plot device: eleven’s not possessed by an external force, not quite. no: it’s his own shadow showing. he’s always been like this. the cyber-code slowly taking over the right side of his brain is just as smart as him, just as manipulative, just as much of a trickster. all his darker traits turned up to, well, 11 (sorry not sorry). “allons-y!” “fantastic!” “you’ve had some cowboys in here” mr clever is a parasite that takes the worst and best parts of the doctor, cuts them up and re-attaches them in a parodic audio-collage, and isn’t that just so fucking ingenious

another line that’s just a straight banger, not much to say about it really other than the fact that it cuts straight through to the core of the narrative:

this spun out of control and turned out far far longer than expected, my apologies (not really. you asked!)

#dw #nightmare in silver #doctor who #eleventh doctor #neil gaiman #matt smith #clara oswald #jamie catches up #jamie.txt #doctor who meta

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k-s-morgan · 2 years ago

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hi ks!! hope you're doing well. i absolutely love your hannibal meta posts, and while i have no idea if youd still be open to any asks, id love to hear your insight on something im stuck on (im also rly new to analysis so pls forgive me for any dumb comments!!) tw sa mention

in the hannibal s3e13 script when dolarhyde attacks will in his hotel room, there are a few lines with notable word choice:

"postcoital" "terrible lover's embrace" it threw me off a bit bc i didnt expect such specific wording. is this scene an allegory for sa? i wasnt sure if this was just the norm for hannibal scripts or if this was something noteworthy.

as far as i understand dolarhyde is now terribly jealous of will for being the subject of hannibal's love and angry at being emasculated. lots of ppl also say dolarhyde wanted to "change" hannibal by ruining/"defiling" the one thing (will) he truly cared for.

everything seems to makes sense, but i dont know if im making something out of nothing, or oversimplifying it. do you have a take on this considering your opinions on the francis hannibal and will dynamic? id love to hear anything you have to offer!! ty for all you do <3

Another ask: hello!! so sorry to bother again, happy late birthday!! i was judt wondering if you got my ask about the will + francis scene in the script---totally ok if you dont wanna answer it! i would just love to discuss it because i couldnt find much discussion for it when i tried searching tumblr/google

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

Hey! Thank you so much for your ask and for your wishes <3

So, 'Hannibal' scripts are indeed famous for having rich sexual imagery. In this specific case, there is also context. I don't know if you've seen this already, but there is indeed evidence that Francis had sexual interest in Hannibal (apart from other kinds of fascination). From his notes made for the show, this particular bit (transcribed by Bentley):

“I think we are so similar and could be the best partners that history could have seen. Let me show you what we could do together doctor. I am so eager to please you to be your friend your lover perhaps. Why not I think we could love each other doctor. Don’t you want to have someone that is the one in your life. That special someone that is always here for you. It is me doctor? I am!”

Here’s an interesting part about Will as addressed to Hannibal:

“He faces you, he traps you but in the end he is broken! Do you think he understands you? Do you think he really appreciates your magical power? Does he realize how special and unique and wonderful you are doctor. I have my doubts, I don’t think he really sings the wonder, the salvation that can come from following you, knowing you. ”

That’s extremely interesting because it gives a much deeper insight into Francis and his motivations. For one thing, one of the phrases that always bothered me in the show is his description of Will - namely, the mention that he’s “not very handsome”. It’s from the books, so it might apply there, but Will in the show is handsome, very much so. Francis seems to resent him.

After Hannibal basically helps Will get to Francis in the museum & some more events later, Francis grows furious because he realizes that Will is the central player while he, Francis, is a pawn. Hannibal doesn't care about him the way he thought.

Francis’ attitude to Will undergoes some changes: at the start, he touched his photo, which denotes his interest. He threw him away like a toy in the museum, and while it’s just an interpretation, to me, he looked pissed at Will in particular. When he tells Hannibal later that Will interests him, it can’t be just from their museum encounter. Francis clearly knows a lot about Will (likely from Freddie’s articles), but he doesn’t like him because he thinks him unworthy of Hannibal, which his notes prove. But in TWOTL, in the moment you mentioned, Francis is very unsure about Will. He is no longer certain what to think of him (since he thinks Hannibal has chosen him). He automatically treats him with some sort of respect because of who he is to Hannibal and what he must represent.

I think this explains how they chose to describe the scene of the attack. It's not necessarily a sexual assault, but violence frequently has erotic undertones in 'Hannibal.' Here, Francis might be trying to look at Will like Hannibal, like a lover, hoping to understand what he sees in him. He's respectful and almost reverent at some points after Will regains consciousness. In his eyes in these moments, Will is Hannibal's partner, the man who has what Francis wanted.

Notably, this respect turns into fury in the finale, where he attacks Will viciously. Interesting that he goes to ruin his face first and foremost. Considering his own insecurity, it says a lot about his many-layered jealousy, from deep to a superficial physical level.

#hannibal #francis dolarhyde #hannigram #will graham #hannibal lecter #season 3

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mrfandomwars · 2 months ago

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As we get further away from WWII, DC Comics will have to explain why the JSA* exists and is probably still alive (even if retired) in the present day

*bc, if I recall correctly, they are often created bc of World War II, right?

so here are some solutions that DC (or fans, honestly) can and possibly will use - if they haven't used them already:

Different Earths Colliding - no need to explain why the JSA exists and was made during WWII if they are originally a different earth which was earlier in time!

Time Isn't Real - DC Comics refuse to acknowledge any dates beyond moth and day, at most, and time beyond what happened in the comics - so you will get 'my birthday is on March 6th' and '3 years after Bruce Wayne took up the cowl...'

Time Is Real, But I'm Not Telling You - The Earth operates under a different calendar, in the sense that only the event that is used to define the BCE and CE is different. So you can have people naming dates and years But it's completely different from our years, so for example: Damian could be born in the year 1903 because of this - Bonus Points: Vandal Savage (or any other immortal) is somehow related to the Event that is used, if he didn't outright cause it

Humans Live Longer, idk what to tell you - Suddenly humanity can live for more than 100 years at least!

JSA Is Just Built Different™️- Event happens with the JSA and they all live longer lives than normal humans, be it because they were in the area of a crazy scientist, being around Doctor Fate has Positive Side Effects, magic amulet, this one gem that they used to make a jewellery that every member was given secretly has a magical ability to prologue the health and life of whoever has it - someone could have become immortal with no side effects had they not split it up.

One Way Time Travel - Either by accident or on purpose, the JSA (and possibly people they care about, if DC/the writer is nice) ends up time travelling and can't go back to their correct time so they are stuck in present day and have to adapt

Regular Time Travel - Barry Allen found out how to time travel and now people tag along with him to interact with the JSA and bond with them - possibly accidentally starts a different timeline that will have to be handled or declared a 'branch' timeline.

#dc comics #jsa #mr talks #my favourite rn is 2

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picnokinesis · 1 year ago

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Loved your 13th Doctor headcanons! Do you have any for the Master as well? (Loving Campervan p6 btw 💛)

Aaah thank you! And ooh hm I'm walking to work so just quickly:

Talking about dhawan master specifically, @taardisblue has infected me with the headcanon that because the Master regenerated close to a black hole (hello, time dilation) AND only came into being because simm master killed missy, which is a mess in and of itself but also we know that when timelords cross their own timelines it messes with their heads a bit afterwards simply to preserve the timeline's integrity. So then - the Master regenerates in the temporal and spatial proximity of BOTH of these things....and it completely messes with his timesense. I feel like it's both extremely sensitive (possibly even painful) but also extremely difficult for him to interpret in a coherent way, and like...man, what is his perception of time even like, then? I don't know, I need to write a fic going into it more deeply (I actually have an idea for a timeloop oneshot where the Master can tell that they're stuck in a loop waaaaaay before the Doctor, but because his timesense is a mess and way more sensitive then it starts to genuinely hurt him and he steadily gets more incoherent as it goes on. Meanwhile the Doctor clocks it a few loops later because it smells like quarantined time and the temporal loops they used to weaponise in the Time War, and once she realises and starts to mess with the timeline within like, the two minute loop they're stuck in, she starts to get temporal nitrogen narcosis SKKSKS). Anyway, I also infected @taardisblue with a certain Stargate: Universe fic in return where a character has issues with time perception, and now we both say things like "the Master has trouble with temporal sequencing" in relation to this headcanon skskks so that's fun

And then - I've definitely done this in one of my fics before (notches in your spine, if you want to know which one) but I think that when Tecteun encoded the Doctor's division memories into the matrix and corrupted the files, she would have absolutely put a failsafe on what was left of those memories just in case the Doctor went digging. The failsafe consists of psychic barbs that only go one way, so it means that if you force your way INTO the files, then you just slip past them, but when you try and get OUT again, you're moving against the barbs and it rips your mind apart. And so then my hc is that this is exactly what happened to the Master, and it SHOULD have completely destroyed his mind probably, but 1) he's so used to his mind being something to fight against/pain to fight THROUGH, that he managed to pull himself back together but also 2) he was SO ANGRY about what he'd discovered, and he used that anger to pull himself through the other side of it all. Which is in part why he is drowning in his fury so much this go around - it was the only thing that got him through, and he literally used it to stitch his mind back together

AND THEN finally bc I'm almost at work - because Twelve and Missy, dhawan master actually learnt to feel a lot of empathy, and so that plus his extremely volatile and overwhelming feelings of his own, he feels a LOT of emotion as a rule, and does not know how to deal with it. Hence: literally everything he does in the show.

I've probably explained everything terribly (see: walking) but hope that it makes at least a vague semblance of sense!!!

#taka replies #doctor who #the master #sacha dhawan #dhawan!master #anon #SKSKSKS THANKS FOR THIS!!#love rambling #long post

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apprenticestanheight · 9 months ago

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All is Well That Ends Well: Lawrence Gordon x gn! afab! reader: Part II

oooooooookay!! Here we are with part two in this series. If you missed it, here's part one.

This one is coming out eight days later than originally planned--work has absolutely kicked my ass since I started a week and a half ago and most of my days off have been spent sleeping and relaxing in recent, so I haven't really had too much of a chance to edit this like I'd been hoping to do, but here it is eight days late and I promise, as long as I remember to use the next two and a half days wisely, part three will come out on time.

Fic type - It gets very spicy very fast, so this one is both fluff and smut. Minors, do NOT INTERACT WITH THIS SERIES.

Warnings - slight petplay (the nickname puppy has once again taken the stage bc I will never ever stop blanking on petnames), mentions of praise, degradation, somno, free use, masochism, there are mentions of watersports + scat (they're both barely talked about and, not to yuck anyones yum, both stated as hard nos), the reader has a slight oral fixation (they enjoy sucking dick), begging is mentioned and depicted in a kinky way, the word cunt is used, plus Lawrence is vanilla, eating drywall is mentioned once (I love me an unhinged metaphor), car crashes and driving after having drank is mentioned (lawrence does so, but he's not drunk out of his mind and is sober by the time he does the driving)

A week and a half later, you find yourself at that dive bar again. That time, you’re with Aurelie Summers, fellow struggling PhD student and best friend of twelve years, having walked to the bar together as it was within walking distance of your apartment.

You take the bar in a bit better that time around—it’s nice despite how small it is. There's a bar counter at the back and several different booths littered across the space. Aurelie tells you she’s covering food and drinks and you let her do so because there’s no point in refusing as it were, and the two of you sit down at the bar counter. She buys you a double brandy and orders whiskey for herself, watches the way that you look around the bar keenly.

“Did you and one of your hook ups meet here?” She asks, tucking a strand of bright blue hair behind her ear. She slides her dark blue, thinly-framed glasses up on her nose, wrings out her hands as she waits for your response.

“I wish,” you laugh. “I did meet someone, I just didn’t have the sense to fuck him. He was older than we are by at least a decade, but fuck was he handsome. Tall, blonde, doctor, sexy as hell voice.”

She laughs, brown eyes squinting. “If you see him again, I’ll find a girl to take home so that you’re not fucking him in our apartment.”

She was a year older than you and had been your best friend since you were eighteen, and she was nineteen, and the both of you were getting your bachelors in the arts. You’d met in your first class of the semester, struck up a conversation at random, and had been stuck together like glue ever since. You’d been living together at your crappy apartment since you were nineteen and twenty, and your bond had been one that you knew would out last both of your degrees and the full-time jobs in your careers of choice that you’d take up in the aftermath.

Her skin was a warm brown and her hair was bright blue all around, typically done in protective braids that framed her face well and sat just a few inches below her shoulders. That day she'd worn a black button up with white pants and the heeled combat boots she cherished since buying them the previous decade, and per usual, she looked gorgeous.

“Thank you,” you grin. “If I do see him again, I am to regale him with tales of art history and some about writing.”

“And I think I owe you some medicine talk?” The sound of his voice makes you jump, which in turn makes him laugh. Aurelie scans the handsome man just a few paces behind you, watches you watch him approach.

“You do,” you grin, recovering from the shock easily. “I want to hear all about oncology so that I can stop thinking about art and writing technique for a few seconds.”

Lawrence looks so good that it has to be criminal to some extent—he wears a black button up, a maroon tie and black pants. It’s clearly not something he’d wear in his day to day, but the black looks fucking marvelous, and it matches the glasses he wears in a way that makes you want to start eating drywall as a means of distracting yourself from noticing it.

“Tell him about surrealism. The residents I’ve met have always found interest in that sort of thing,” she whispers, taking your hand and giving it a squeeze. “If he’s an attending, go with surrealism still. Very interesting artistic genre. As for authors, all white men are prone to enjoying a Stephen King novel or two.”

You laugh, flustered and nervous. “This is my friend, Aurelie Summers. I believe I might’ve mentioned her to you when we met initially.” In a throw-away style that Lawrence probably couldn’t remember, even though you could.

Lawrence holds out a hand to her, and you watch them shake hands.

“It’s lovely to meet you, but on another note, take care of my Y/N,” she says. “They’ve got studying to do tomorrow, and I bet them the next five takeaway orders we do that they would procrastinate at least half of this month away. Quiz them if you want—I am going to flirt with the pretty brunette giving me sex eyes in the corner now.”

She glances at you, winks and mouths “have fun!” as she walks away.

You let Lawrence buy you another brandy when you’ve finished the one that Aurelie had bought, end up sitting with him in a booth near the back right corner of the bar.

The two of you spend the next six or seven hours talking. Lawrence eggs you on about art history first and so you blab about surrealism, street art, the art of the renaissance era, and the pop-art era of the 50s and 60s until you’ve run out of things to say.

When he bugs you about writing you blab for a bit about classic lit, and accidentally go on a rant about how The Great Gatsby is not as great as the title makes it seem, the sheer excellence of all of James Baldwins work and the fact that you’re not really privy to much of Austens work, however, given that Pride and Prejudice was your introduction to the classics genre as a whole, it’ll always hold a place in your heart unlike anything else is capable.

You talk about how you think Stephen King is prone to going into a bit too much detail—which is a point that Lawrence laughs at and agrees with, noting that he doesn’t hate Kings prose, but often finds that the excessiveness with which King can go on about something random is too much for his particular tastes—and after that, you blab for a bit about Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.

Then you listen to Lawrences discussion. He regales you with tales of medical school, basic medical stuff and a couple of different tactics and techniques. You listen almost gleefully because he’s clearly very smart and has a very interestingly unique way with his words. It’s an amazing adage to the fact that the talk of all things medical pretty much shuts your brain off—in that it lets you focus on something other than writing, art, or the troubles of your day to day—and eventually, you know a lot more about medicine and surgery than you did beforehand.

Then suddenly, it’s nearing midnight and Lawrence is leaning back, pressing his back against the leather cushioning of the booth.

“There is something more I find myself wanting to discuss with you,” he says. “But for that to take place, I would admittedly find it preferential that we went back to mine. The type of conversation I’m looking to engage in shouldn’t really occur in a dive bar.”

You’re agreeing before you can even think about it, checking your phone to find that Aurelie had texted you when she and the brunette left the bar.

Thirty minutes later, it’s gone midnight and you’re sitting on the couch of what clearly used to be a family home, waiting for Lawrence to open up the discussion he has planned and wanting for a glass of red wine to ease your nerves, though you don’t go so far as to ask for one directly.

The living area is dimly lit—a few lamps, the kitchen light coming in from behind you, but not much else. A wooden coffee table with magazines and books sits in front of you and there are stairs to the upper level of the house in the left corner of the room. The walls are a dark beige that borders on light brown and Lawrence stands across from you, face showcasing that he’s deep in thought, trying to figure out how to phrase whatever it is he wants to say.

“This might seem a little forward,” Lawrence begins. “But—you have student loan debt and you’ll end up with more come the end of your PhD, and from what you told me in between your attractive ramblings about Stephen King and other sources of modern lit, you’re living in a crappy apartment with a roommate. I figure this way we can do something a bit more mutually beneficial. I have a condo I don’t use because Alison gave me this place in the divorce, and I cannot will myself to move out.”

“A bit of clarity as to what you’re trying to be forward about would be nice,” you murmur before you can stop yourself. “And if it is what I think it is, you’ve had a week and a half to think about it. I have, but that is not to mean I've thought about it consistently, let alone consistently enough to make a decision of any kind.”

The remark you’d made as a joke but had thought about in fits and starts since. You’d not a clue of Lawrences finances and thus wouldn’t’ve insinuated it otherwise, let alone mentioned the idea you’d come to think was stupid even if you’d meant for it to be a joke.

“You mentioned that you spoke of being a sugar baby in jest with the friend I was introduced to, I believe? Aurelie Summers was her name.” The stupid, idiotic joke you'd made haphazardly but hadn't been able to stop thinking about. The one that you'd thought Lawrence had forgotten about, though it seemed he hadn't.

You snort ungracefully, lean forward and stand. “No. This is not a discussion that’s happening without a glass of wine. The brandy that Aurelie bought me and the one you bought me have worn off and I will not do this without at least a sip of good quality red stuff down my guzzle.”

Lawrence laughs, and you follow him to the kitchen. He grabs a bottle from the small cellar next to his fridge, pours you a glass and watches you take a sip of it.

“Okay,” you nod, take a deep breath in. “The sugar discussion can happen now. First and foremost, you’re a handsome guy, yeah. You’re within the pool of men I’m willing to have sex with, and you make it sound like you have a lot of disposable income, but I’ve met you twice across the past two weeks and we’ve talked for a grand total of maybe seven and a half hours. What do you want out of this potential arrangement? How can I trust you won’t try to kill me or turn out to be completely insane?”

Lawrence laughs. You hate yourself for it, but your guard slips and you find it attractive.

“I promise you, your death is not among my interests,” he says. “I find myself quite vested in your remaining alive, though, so if someone does try to kill you once we get to know each other more, I’ll do what I can to ensure you’re protected.”

You nod. “And what—generally—from this arrangement, do you want?”

“Firstly, the aforementioned condo—you should move into it, otherwise it’s collecting dust.”

“Why the fuck would a married man have a condo as it were?” You ask. “What, were you cheating on her over the weekend and using that as some kind of fucking bachelor pad? If that’s the case, then I am not moving into what used to be a sex motel.”

Lawrences gaze turns cold. You take a sip of your wine.

“I did not use the condo as a sex motel,” he says. “But—for your information, they were mine and Alisons fail safes, so that, if the marriage didn’t work out, we’d both have a place to go in the fallout. She divorced me and moved into the condo she’d bought that’s an hour into the city. This house is in my name and selling it is too much of a hassle now, but I really do like the condo and selling it wouldn’t be worth it anyways. If you move in, it stops collecting dust, you don't have to live with a roommate in a shithole anymore, and I can sleep a bit easier come nightfall for the knowledge that the condo is no longer sitting unused.”

“Secondly?” You ask, referring to his earlier words which implied that the condo was only the first point of the discussion he’d aimed to have “What’s next?”

“These types of arrangements typically involve sex,” Lawrence says. “Ours will, if you say yes. I can give you at least four thousand dollars a month and still be living well within my means after bills and other expenses.”

“If I say do yes?” You ask. “What does that mean from here on out?”

“Then ground rules will need to be discussed, of course. Rules will need to be set, too—things like days to meet up, other forms of compensation that are allowed, the specifics of the arrangement that we have yet to make clear.”

“I’ll move into your condo,” you shrug. “Aurelie loves me but I know she hates the fact that I never really leave the apartment except to study at the uni library, grab take out, or go to work, so she’ll be glad to be roommate-less and might just be overjoyed that she’ll finally be able to bring the rarer hookups back to our apartment instead of going to theirs. Now lets discuss the rest of it.”

“You’ll get four thousand a month for meet ups at least two or three times a week,” he says. “In two installments—the first at the beginning of the month, the second during the middle of the month. I won’t ask you what you use the money for but if you’re making the minimum payments on your loans and give a shit about your credit score, don’t use too much of the money to pay them off. Paying off your student loans will worsen your credit score, something I learned when I paid the last of them off circa ’99.”

“First rule: no staying over,” you say. “Second: no Mondays. I work 11:30 to close on Monday because my classes are in the morning and I will be pissy if you try to approach me when I’ve worked ten hours.”

“Third: no feelings,” Lawrence says. “Neither of us are allowed to fall in love. The minute feelings start coming through, the arrangement ends.”

You nod at that. “I promise not to fall in love with you, Doctor Gordon.”

“We both should pass an STI screening,” Lawrence says, ignoring your remark. “Unless you’ve done one in the past six months? I get them done after every sexual encounter just to be safe.”

“Aurelie makes me do them with her once every two or three months to steer clear. Last one says I’m clear as crystal and sexually transmitted infection-less.”

“That makes this easier, doesn’t it?”

“I’ve always liked things convenient,” you shrug, taking another sip of your wine. “Kinks. Go. All of them.”

Lawrence laughs at your directness, takes the wine from you and takes a sip.

“I like to be dominant,” he says. “Don’t mind ordering people around—it comes with my job—but that’s about it.”

You lick your lips. “Very vanilla, Doctor Gordon.”

Lawrence scoffs. “Well, in a loveless and sexless marriage, there is not a lot of room for kinky bedroom play. In terms of kinks I will never engage in as those are just as important: if you have any interest in watersports or scat play, this ends now.”

“It seems our hard nos are the same,” you laugh. “My kinks, which are by far a lot less tame than yours: free use, somno, praise, degradation, pet play to an extent—you call me puppy and I am at risk of being smitten—I can also occasionally be masochistic, have somewhat of an oral fixation from time to time, and have a thing for arms, hands, and voices. I also don’t hate being ordered around but I like directives to be specific as vagueness is just flat out fuckin’ annoying.”

You take the wine glass from him, take a sip. He steps forward. “Mind if I do a quick test?”

“Test of what kind?” You ask, head tilted. You want to know what he’s thinking, are so curious to find out what thoughts are running through his mind that you almost say yes right out the gate.

“Just to see how good you are at doing what you’re told,” he says it like it’s the most innocent thing to ever befall his lips. You don’t know whether to find that hot or extremely annoying. “Our meetings can begin tonight if this is to go well.”

“I have studying to do, and I already said no staying over.” You want to agree to do whatever he wants, though. You have to fight yourself in order not to.

“I can drive you back—a few sips of wine and a scotch on the rocks is pretty much nothing.”

“That’s not very doctor-y of you,” you say pointedly. “I would assume even oncologists are against driving after a few drinks.”

“I feel very sober,” he says. “I promise, if you let me drive you back, not to crash into a tree. Do you want to do this?”

You bite your lip, nod before you can stop yourself. You want to give in, and so you do. Lawrence grins at that, juts his tongue out to wet his lips.

“Be a good puppy for me, yeah?” He pauses, watches the way that your pupils dilate when he calls you that and laughs a little. “Kneel, mm?”

You set the wine glass on the counter and do as he instructs, gaze moving to find his. His hand ghosts near your face and you lean into it, grinning when he slaps you lightly before pressing his thumb against your lips.

“Wait,” he says gently. “Don’t lean into my touches, mm? Good puppies wait until their owners touch them.”

You nod. “’M sorry, Lawrence.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “Go on.”

You take his thumb into your mouth, licking the tip and moaning. The oral fixation is something that pops up randomly, but Lawrence seems to be the type of guy that’ll enjoy it and use it to his fullest advantage.

He laughs contentedly. “Good puppy,” he whispers. “You’re loving this, yeah?”

You nod, wanting desperately to fuck him until you’re seeing stars.

“Good. Gonna stand up for me?”

You do as he tells you, whining slightly when his thumb slips from your mouth, fighting back a scowl as he laughs at you for it.

As one hand unbuttons your pants, two fingers from the other slip into your mouth. You lubricate them without thinking, core growing wetter by the second. You want to feel him somehow—his fingers, his cock, his gorgeous mouth would even be acceptable—but you’re also wanting to witness how he dominates someone as a guy who’s been divorced for five months and thus can’t have very much experience.

He slips his fingers from your mouth, moves them to your clothed clit. “Want me to fuck you, puppy?” He asks, his tone dripping with sweetness.

“Lawrence—yes. Please. Please. I’ll be so good for even just a taste of your fingers inside me, please. I’ll do whatever you want.”

He laughs. “Add begging to the kink list,” he whispers, rubbing slow circles around your clothed clit. “You sound so good when you beg for me.”

You whimper at that, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

Lawrence grabs the glass of wine, uses his free hand to gently move your head from his shoulder. “Don’t want to waste this, do you?” He asks. “I mean—I’m not finish if off because I’ve gotta drive you back. I’d just hate for this to go to waste.”

You drink the last of the wine without him needing to ask you further, and when your head once again falls to his shoulder, Lawrence calls you a good puppy and moves the glass to a spot on the counter where the glass breaking isn’t a risk.

After a long, mind numbing few minutes of him rubbing circles over your clit through your underwear, his hand pulls away in order to pull your pants down. You let him, horny and dazed, moaning when his fingers find your bare clit and the other hand slips beneath the fabric of the white cable knit sweater you’d chosen to wear.

“Lawrence,” you moan. His hand moves up your torso until it finds your nipple, and when his cold hand meets your warm skin, you grind against him thoughtlessly.

He stops the ministrations on your clit, smacks your cunt in a way that both makes you wet and makes you jolt.

“Such a slut for me already, yeah?” He asks. “It’s been what, twenty minutes since the discussion about your being my sugar baby so much as began, and already you’re such a slut. Just a toy for me to use when I want, mm?”

You level your gaze with his, fighting the urge to be a bit bratty.

You grind against him again while you make direct eye contact. He laughs.

“You did mention masochism,” he tsks while shaking his head, slapping your cunt a little more aggressively. “Should’ve remembered that. Don’t know how it already slipped my mind. You like being slapped, yeah?”

You nod, a little flustered. “Feels good.”

“Take off your sweater,” he says. “I promise, you’ll benefit from it more so than not.”

You do as he tells you eagerly, moaning when he slaps your cunt for the third time.

It makes him laugh, and when he starts rubbing circles over your clit again, the pace speeds up just a bit.

“Fuck,” you moan when his lips kiss along your shoulders and down to your chest. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth and bites harshly, moaning when you grind against him.

“Good puppy,” he says, pulling his mouth away from your nipple as he slaps your cunt again. “Tell me what you want, yeah? Gonna make you come. We can worry about me in the meetings ahead.”

With the end of the sentence, his teeth are on your nipple again, the force of his bite increasing just enough, and you’re so turned on that you’re just about ready to go feral.

“Fingers—inside—fuck, Lawrence. Your mouth is so good.”

Lawrence obliges, slipping two fingers into your cunt while his lips move up to yours and he captures you in an open mouthed kiss that devolves into your moans and his praise within seconds.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet for me,” he says. “You like how this feels, yeah? Like how my fingers feel?”

You moan in response, grinding against his hand. He laughs.

“Gotta use your words, puppy,” he says. “Gonna be a good puppy for me and speak?”

“So good,” you moan. “F-fuck, Lawrence. Please keep going. Please don’t stop.”

Lawrence kisses your top lip in response, lets you come over his fingers.

As you’re coming down from the high, all Lawrence does for clean up is simply lick his fingers clean, helps clean you up with an unused, clean washcloth.

Then, he kisses you deeply, and all you can taste is yourself and his saliva and fuck, it’s so depraved but it’s so fucking hot.

Lawrence buttons up your pants, zips the zipper as you pull your sweatshirt back on.

“Move into the condo this weekend,” he says. “I have a spare key, and if your free use kink doesn’t hate me for it, I’d prefer to be able to meet you per my convenience as well as your own.”

“I can send you my schedule so that you know when you won’t find me there,” you say. “Meet me at the bar tomorrow. I’ll get you a paper copy.”

He nods, and you let him drive you back to your apartment.

You’re surprised to find it empty, but even despite that, you only pack a little bit before you end up going to sleep.

#lawrence gordon #lawrence gordon x reader #saw (2004)

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