#nando looks so delighted.

[lesharl-eclair]

i deeply apologise for the photo quality of this monumental event

[skitskatdacat63]

2009 Singapore Grand Prix - Fernando Alonso

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Need more This or That especially with Nando x wife reader!!!

A Quiet Heart and a Racing Legend

Wors Count: 812

Pairing: Fernando Alonso x wife!reader

Summary: Y/n a shy individual steps into the spotlight for a televised interview, accompanied by her husband, Fernando Alonso. With Fernando’s loving support and playful banter, the interview turns into a heartwarming experience, showcasing the deep bond and shared humor between the couple.

______________________________________________________________

You had always been shy, preferring the quiet corners of life, far away from the spotlight. But today, you were sitting on a plush sofa, facing a camera crew, with millions of people ready to watch the interview that was about to unfold. And beside you, exuding calm confidence, was your husband—Fernando Alonso, the two-time Formula 1 world champion.

Fernando noticed your nervousness and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. His touch was warm and familiar, and it instantly made you feel a bit more at ease. You offered him a small, nervous smile, which he returned with a grin that could make the sun look dull.

The interviewer, a woman with a friendly face and a notebook full of questions, leaned forward, clearly excited about the segment she was about to introduce.

"Thank you both for joining us today! We've got a fun little game to play—it's a classic 'This or That' challenge. Y/N, are you ready?" she asked, her tone warm and encouraging.

You nodded, feeling your cheeks flush slightly. "I think so," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fernando leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. "Don't worry, cariño," he whispered, "it’ll be fun. And I’ll help you out if you need it."

The interviewer smiled at the obvious affection between the two of you. "Alright, let's start easy! Y/N, would you prefer a quiet evening at home or a night out on the town?"

You hesitated, glancing at Fernando for a moment. "Definitely a quiet evening at home," you said, relaxing a bit now that the question was something you could easily answer. "I think we both enjoy our peace and quiet after all the noise of the race weekends."

Fernando nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. There's nothing better than some good food, a movie, and just relaxing together. And I get to hear Y/N's commentary on whatever we're watching, which is always the highlight," he added with a wink, making you blush and laugh softly.

The interviewer chuckled. "Okay, Nando, this one’s for you. Would you rather be invisible or be able to fly?"

Fernando pretended to think deeply about this. "Well, I already go quite fast, so flying would just be overkill," he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "I’d choose invisibility. Then I could sneak up on Y/N whenever she’s lost in a book and see her jump," he teased, nudging you playfully.

You rolled your eyes at him, but there was a smile on your face. "You already do that, and it's not nice!" you protested, poking him in the side. "He thinks it’s funny when I get startled, but one of these days, I’m going to give him a taste of his own medicine."

Fernando laughed, clearly enjoying your shy but playful side coming out. "Oh, I’m sure you will. But we both know I’ll be ready," he said, still grinning.

The interviewer looked delighted with the easygoing banter between you two. "Alright, Y/N, here’s a tricky one. Would you rather always know what Fernando is thinking, or have him always know what you're thinking?"

You bit your lip, considering the question carefully. "I think... I'd rather always know what he's thinking," you said finally. "Not that I don’t trust him, but sometimes he has that look on his face, and I just want to know what’s going on in his mind."

Fernando raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "Oh really? And here I thought you enjoyed the mystery."

You shrugged, feeling a bit more confident now. "Well, maybe. But you’re not always as mysterious as you think you are, Nando."

The interviewer laughed along with you both. "It’s clear you two have a lot of fun together. Last question—Fernando, would you rather win one more world championship or spend an entire month on a deserted island with Y/N?"

Fernando didn’t even hesitate. "The island with Y/N, of course," he said, his voice sincere. "Championships are great, but they’re not what makes life truly special. It’s the moments we share that matter the most."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you felt your shyness melt away completely. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "Nando," you murmured, feeling both embarrassed and touched.

He looked down at you, his expression softening. "It’s true," he said simply, and you knew that he meant every word.

The interview wrapped up shortly after, and as the cameras were turned off and the crew began to pack up, Fernando turned to you, his eyes full of warmth.

"See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You shook your head, smiling up at him. "No, it wasn’t. Especially not with you beside me."

He grinned and leaned down to kiss your forehead. "Always, cariño. Always."

[player1064]

Carraville drabble idea, if you like! Present day. Gary has a really tough day, Salford and United lose, maybe he's got personal issues with his marriage, or maybe he's divorced and outed by the press or something. It's suppossed to be his birthday weekend or something but he has a totally shit day(s). Jamie notices and give him a little present or something and it's like the brightest little spot of sunshine in Gary's day. Either pre-Carraville or they are already carrying on. (NO PRESSURE just had this little plot bunny hopping around in my head!)

ASTONISHINGLY I've finally managed to write an actual short drabble length drabble rather than a full on 1k+ word fic.... love love love the idea of Jamie being in tune with Gary's moods and trying to cheer him up he WOULD do that. he'd probably do a terrible job at it but he Would try....

---

There’s a knock at Gary’s hotel room door, to which he responds by pulling a pillow over his head and ignoring it.

Except then there’s another knock, and another, and Gary is left with no choice but to call out “leave me alone, Carragher,” because there’s no-one else it could feasibly be.

Naturally, Jamie doesn’t listen, and the knocks continue. He starts drumming out annoying little patterns, until eventually Gary is forced to get up off the bed and stomp over to the door, pulling it open with a glare.

“Jesus, took you long enough,” greets Jamie with a grin. “Was worried the food were gonna get cold.”

Gary squints at him. “What food?”

“The food I text you about an hour ago,” says Jamie, holding up a large paper bag. “Got us a cheeky nandos. You gonna let us in, then, or will I have to eat out here in the hall?”

“Y’could fuck off to your own room,” Gary grumbles, but he steps back to let Jamie in. “Sorry I didn’t see your text. Turned my phone off, for obvious reasons.”

Jamie goes straight for the bed and immediately makes himself comfortable, sitting up against the headboard without even bothering to take his shoes off. He turns on the TV for background noise and starts unpacking the bag, putting the little boxes into two piles.

“You’re so dramatic, Gary, honestly,” he says absent-mindedly, “nobody cares if your shit teams lost their fixtures, there’s still months left in season.”

“’Cause you’ll be such a delight when your lot lose the league cup tomorrow, won’t you?” Gary replies, but he reluctantly goes to sit down on the other side of the bed.

“Oh fuck off, I’m always a delight.”

They sit and eat their food in a semi-comfortable silence, interrupted occasionally by Jamie talking at whatever rubbish is on the TV (usually with his mouth full). His dirty shoes stay resting up on the clean white sheets, and Gary almost forgets to care. He also almost forgets that he was meant to be moping.

Almost.

“You don’t need to coddle me, y’know,” he says quietly, staring down at a spot on the duvet rather than trying to face Jamie. “I mean, obviously thank you for the food, but I don’t – you’re right, ‘s not the end of the world that both my shit teams lost.”

“I know,” Jamie says, reaching out to lightly bump Gary’s knee with his fist. “I were gonna do this anyway, I’ve been craving a nandos all week. An’ I always find it weird, when we’re in the same hotel but don’t talk to each other ‘til work the next day. United losing earlier is just an unexpected bonus, like.”

 “Ha,” Gary says flatly, but manages to will himself to look back up at Jamie.

Jamie’s got his lips pursed, watching Gary carefully. When Gary meets his eyes, though, his whole face splits into a beaming smile. “Well, lad, since y’don’t need me to coddle you, I s’pose you won’t be wanting the dairy milk I bought, will you?”

There’s something a bit warm and buzzy building up in his chest. He does what he always does when that happens, and ignores it.

“Gimme it,” he says, reaching across to try grab the chocolate out of Jamie’s hands. “Not like you’re gonna eat it, are you, you vain fuck.”

[antimonyandthyme]

omggggg can’t wait to see you start to explore more of vettonso!! i’m absolutely love these two old men trying to comfort each other:))))….

here you go anon :)))))))))

“Slow down,” Fernando said.

“If we were still racing, you’d complain I was being slow in front of you on purpose. Traffic.” Seb seemed to be having fun enunciating the r all funny. “Look at all this traffic. Look at all these idiots.”

There was nothing to be done; Seb on the grid was insufferable then, and Seb in retirement was insufferable still. Except if you got Fernando drunk, he’d admit under duress that Seb wore all the insufferable-ness much less like an armour now and more like a very comfortable second-skin. It suited him, and Fernando had no business trying to peel that off him. And anyway, it was Fernando’s own fault for agreeing to this.

“We’re not racing though,” Fernando said. Just to say something back.

Seb tapped the wheel with a forefinger. Some of the grid found it impossible to translate their racing skills to the real world where the majority of driving took place. Where there were lights, pedestrians, and yes, traffic. Thinking about Charles and parking always got Fernando chuckling. But Seb could have been moulded to the frame of the car. He was made of things Fernando had no words for. And he was stuck behind a RAV4 going 80 in the fast lane, and he looked ready to slice the offending vehicle in half.

It was something Fernando believed he could do. Slice a vehicle in half. That was what happened when you started spending time with Seb. You started believing in the crazy.

“We’re always racing,” Seb said. “To the next destination, to the next chapter. No matter how hard we might try to dig our heels in.”

“Oh my god,” Fernando said. “It’s just a new house.” It’s just retirement, and I’ve been through it once already. “It’s not—it’s not anything. It’s just—”

“A new house,” Seb said calmly. “That I’m going to look at with you.”

“Not because we’re husbands.”

“Not because of that,” Seb said, giggling. “Can you imagine that?”

Yes, Fernando nearly said, and then was instantly mortified. He’d survived crashes at 300 before. If he unbuckled his seatbelt and took a dive out of Seb’s moving Ferrari, he might just survive that too.

Seb took his silence for offence. “I mean,” he said belatedly. “Not that—I can’t imagine you as, you know? I just meant, you know?”

It wasn’t very often, especially now, when they were no longer edging each other around track corners, that Fernando could see Seb sweat. He was going to make the most out of it. “I know?” he said, tone blander than a slice of white bread.

“You know what I mean,” Seb said. He threw his hands up, then remembered he was in the fast lane with some slow goose less than a car length ahead of him, and quickly repositioned them back on the steering wheel. “It’s not that we couldn’t be. Fuck. Nando. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean—”

“So you’re going to see this house with your not-husband,” Fernando said, gleefully drawing it out.

“Nando—”

“And you’ve talked to the realtor, you’ve set it all up. You’ve cleared my schedule.” That was the thing, Seb had. He made sure Fernando had no excuses for skipping out on looking at houses on this fine Wednesday evening. “Even though you couldn’t possibly imagine me as your husband.”

“Nando,” Seb pleaded.

“And you’re driving me there in your red Ferrari.”

The Toyota in front of them slowed down for no apparent reason, and Seb was forced to slam his foot on the brakes, and then lay a nightmare on the horn.

When the noise finally died down: “Seb,” Fernando said, and made sure to inject as much delight as he could in his voice. “Am I to be your kept woman?”

It took a glorious moment.

“Oh my god,” Seb gasped, relief evident in every unclenching muscle in his body. “You arsehole. I thought you were—angry at me, I thought—you fucker. You fucker, you scared the shit—oh my god. I hate you.”

Fernando was too busy losing it on the passenger seat. His stomach was hurting from how hard he was laughing. He was clenching the side of the car door for support. It was funny how far down retirement could fling you, to the extent that he’d move to the one thing far removed yet still connected to the sport he was trying to excise from his flesh.

This one thing that was the only person Fernando could think of that would take house viewing so seriously. The red Ferrari spoke volumes. The weaving around the Toyota and the cheeky finger out the window even more.

Ah, fuck. He’d gone all silly, deciphering car language. Seb’s influence was going to bend him all wrong, and then bend him all right again.

“If the house is painted something stupid, I’m walking away on sight.”

“Sure,” Seb said cheerfully. “Even though I wouldn’t live by your definition of stupid.”

Fernando snorted. This was going to go all sorts of wrong. Seb’s hand was on the gearstick. Fernando curled his hand atop there.

He found he didn’t quite mind.

[omegatheunknown]

Formula 1: Personal Affinity Grid 2023

F1 is a curious fan experience, due to the effect the machinery has on results, you might feel compelled to root for a team over drivers, but with miracles in short supply in this era, that trends toward cheering for either a juggernaut or a lowly midfield also-ran… so I tend to view my fandom as looking at the whole grid in terms of affinity– do I wish them well, am I more or less indifferent to their success/failure or do I want them to suffer? Two favourites gone (Vettel, Ricciardo) and several team changes shake up my affinity grid for this season.

Favourites:

1 – Valtteri Bottas (↑) – offseason debut of Bogan!Bottas solidified the continued climb of post-Merc Bottas and his impeccable vibes. For 2023, there are no drivers on the grid I’d prefer to see get an out of nowhere win than the Flying Finn (XXV?)

2 – Fernando Alonso (↑) – the irascible old man remains a treasure to watch race, few better starters or more mischievous opportunists in the sport’s history, and now he’s partnered with Stroll at Aston Martin and that’ll be good for some inevitable conflict when Lance does not fucking see Nando and they crash out, let’s set the over/under at say… 3 times this season?

3 – Lewis Hamilton (-) – stylish as ever, approaching new heights in humility after a winless season, and of course, with Seb retired, the last bastion of giving a damn on the grid, I do wanna see #104, at minimum.

4 – Sergio Perez (↑) – Checo deserved 2nd place last year, and being salty about it is fun and free. Had a great year, displaying his well-deserved reputation for defending and battling on numerous occasions.

5 – Pierre Gasly (↓) – The Alpha Tauri was sort of a dog last year, but even so, Gasly could usually be counted on for a few moments of brilliance… not sure I saw any of that, certainly not after he inked the deal to move to Alpine. Hopefully this provides either better opportunities to compete or fun problems with Ocon, or somehow both. Already missing Yuki+Pierre.

6 – Alexander Albon (↑) – Backmarker darling in the Williams, Albon felt great to cheer for last year on his comeback tour, looking every bit like he deserves to be in F1 and really cultivating a great off-track presence as well.

7 – Kevin Magnussen (↑) – Another comeback story culminating in an improbable pole position and sheer delight on the faces of the usually delightfully grumpy K-Mag and Gunther Steiner… yeah I dunno, you gotta cheer for Haas a little bit, right?

Mid-field:

8 – Zhou Guanyu (↑) – Pretty decent rookie season given the car and expectations, I don’t know the most about Zhou but he’s a good fit with Alfa Romeo, which is a stylish, good vibes outfit that I’d love to see produce an expectation exceeding car. Not holding my breath.

9 – Nico Hulkenberg (n/r) – Handsome fucker. The pair of capable veterans at Haas need miracles and opportunities for anything nice to happen, but at least both are super ready to capitalize.

10 – Esteban Ocon (-) – I kind of like Ocon. He has a reputation for keeping his elbows out on teammates and he’s sort of just ‘that dude,’ but there’s a pretty good chance he outperforms Gasly and it’s not even that tasty to watch, he just does better. In a weird way that’d be more satisfying than whatever DtS gins up.

11 – Yuki Tsunoda (↓) – Alpha Tauri’s down season, Gasly’s regression, Yuki’s stagnation… I mean I like the kid, maybe it’s just a conjunction of signs. Fairly mistake prone last year, season 3 has some burden of expectation on it, perhaps. Yuki gets a bounce in my mind from Fernando’s pronunciation of Yuki, which lives in my head rent-free.

12/13/14 – Nyck de Vries, Logan Sargeant and Oscar Piastri (n/r) – I have nothing against any and all rookies and their unexpected early success would be a net positive in all cases. Assuming none of these young men are Mazepin-esque, which I have no reason to believe they are at present.

15 – Max Verstappen (↑) – Winning a title and then winning a second title handily has done absolute wonders for the mentality, maturity and grace of a previously certified dickhead. Minus some of the Checo stuff, which… I mean, we’re not all the way there. Talent remains, and I can come around to seeing the appeal of his weird little obsessive mindset now that the question of his destiny is not hanging directly over him at all times. I’d have hated pre-champions Lewis and Seb too, and they chilled out considerably into their thirties. Max seems a little more likely to stay kinda impossible like Alonso, but that could work for me too, in time.

16 – Charles LeClerc (-) – Practiced ambivalence toward Charles turned to some softness considering how often Ferrari managed to kneecap their young star driver with piss poor strategy and mechanical woes. I still don’t abundantly care about “thick-necked Timothee Chalamet,” but I’ve nothing against him.

Backmarkers for my Affections:

17 – Lando Norris (↑) – The continued pantsing of Danny Ric in the teammate head-to-head and some strides in maturity and while I’m still not quite a fan of Lando, McLaren’s a fun team, I don’t know, we could get there.

18 – George Russell (-) – Charitably, he does look like a WWI RAF pilot. Had a nice year in a kind of naff car, but continued to show little interest in accountability for his own mistakes. A driver allowing themselves the occasional mea culpa goes a long fucking way in my mind.

19 – Carlos Sainz Jr (-) – Hmm, no, no thank you.

20 – Lance Stroll (-) – With GOATifi sent packing, Stroll is the sole Canadian on the grid and some part of me thinks that’s kind of cool, but Nic has a very humble demeanour on and off track and Lance… just doesn’t. Great pace but easily the worst awareness on the grid, might as well not even bother affixing mirrors to his car. Drives me nuts.

[bukmrksblgs]

Discover the Best Shopping Destination in Oman: Oman Avenues Mall

Nestled in the heart of Muscat, Oman Avenues Mall stands as a beacon of modern retail, dining, and entertainment. As the best shopping mall in Oman, it offers an unparalleled experience, blending luxury, convenience, and a family-friendly atmosphere. Whether you're a local resident or a visitor exploring the beautiful landscapes of Oman, a trip to Oman Avenues Mall is a must for an exceptional shopping and leisure experience.

A Retail Haven

Oman Avenues Mall boasts an impressive array of stores that cater to diverse tastes and preferences. From high-end luxury brands to popular high-street retailers, the mall has something for everyone. Here’s a glimpse of what you can expect:

Fashion and Accessories: Indulge in the latest trends with stores like Zara, H&M, and Mango. For luxury enthusiasts, brands like Michael Kors and Swarovski offer exquisite collections.

Beauty and Cosmetics: Sephora, MAC, and The Body Shop are just a few of the many stores where you can find top-notch beauty products.

Electronics and Gadgets: Tech lovers can explore stores like Sharaf DG and Emax, which feature the latest in electronics, from smartphones to home appliances.

Home and Lifestyle: Transform your living space with stylish home décor from Home Centre and Pottery Barn.

Culinary Delights

Shopping can work up an appetite, and Oman Avenues Mall does not disappoint with its vast selection of dining options. From quick bites to gourmet meals, the mall’s food court and restaurants offer a culinary journey around the world:

Food Court: With a variety of fast-food chains like McDonald's, KFC, and Subway, the food court is perfect for a quick and satisfying meal.

Casual Dining: Enjoy a relaxed dining experience at Chili’s, Nando’s, or Paul, where you can savor international cuisines.

Cafés and Dessert Spots: For coffee and sweets, head to Starbucks, Costa Coffee, or Baskin Robbins to treat yourself to delicious beverages and desserts.

Entertainment Galore

Oman Avenues Mall is not just a shopping destination; it’s a hub of entertainment and leisure activities:

Cinema: The state-of-the-art cinema complex offers the latest blockbusters, providing a perfect way to unwind after a day of shopping.

Fun City: This family entertainment center is a hit among children, featuring a range of games, rides, and activities that ensure hours of fun.

Events and Activities: The mall frequently hosts events, exhibitions, and live performances, adding an extra layer of excitement to your visit.

Unmatched Convenience

Convenience is key at Oman Avenues Mall, with ample parking space, easy access, and a range of services designed to make your visit as comfortable as possible:

Parking: With multi-level parking facilities, finding a spot for your vehicle is hassle-free.

Accessibility: The mall is designed to be accessible to everyone, with elevators, escalators, and ramps throughout.

Customer Service: The information desk and customer service centers are always ready to assist with any queries or concerns you may have.

A Destination for All

Oman Avenues Mall is more than just a shopping center; it’s a destination that caters to all ages and interests. Whether you're looking to shop the latest fashion trends, enjoy a delicious meal, catch a movie, or simply spend quality time with family and friends, the mall provides a vibrant and dynamic environment.

Conclusion

In the vibrant city of Muscat, Oman Avenues Mall stands out as the premier shopping destination. Its extensive retail options, diverse dining choices, and plethora of entertainment activities make it a must-visit spot. So, next time you find yourself in Oman, make sure to set aside time to explore and enjoy everything that Oman Avenues Mall has to offer. Happy shopping!

[demon-twink-sharl]

Midnight’s Hotness Rating Of The Current (2021) F1 Grid

pls don’t kill me

1. daniel. i don’t care some of y’all say he is only attractive because of his personality. he is fucking hot. he was fucking hot before i ever knew what kind of person he was. everyone else is wrong i don’t care lmao

2. charles. but in the sickly victorian boy way. as i’m sure everyone knows by now. he is the little prince of monaco and maybe all the fanfic i read abt him is making me be more biased but that’s not my problem

3. carlos. people are going to LYNCH ME for saying this. but he’s hot. hairy spanish boy. that ACCENT. he’s just cute. pls let me live-

4. pierre. yes we’ve all been waiting for that name, i’m s o r r y. i don’t think i have to explain why the stupidly pretty french himbo is hot. hot girl summer pierre can get it

5. mick. now that one MIGHT actually be bc of his personality. that and i have this weird compulsion to be loyal to the schumachers. thank my dad for it. we don’t have any shirtless pics but i just KNOW i’d be all over him

6. lewis. i’m pretty sure some people want my head for not putting him on #1 but ehh i can live with it. drop ur skincare routine king. his outfits are 🤌🏼 and his happy little smile is just 🥺 i hope i’m making myself clear here that sometimes i just wanna be a bottom

7. fernando. yes i have daddy issues. yes i made my bestie almost choke when i told them i’d want nando to rail me real good. again the spanish accent. he could read me his grocery list and i’d be turned on. i seem to have it in for the spaniards.

8. sebastian. i get it i get it. he’s not necessarily attractive in that sense. but y’all need to stop being so mean to this delightful man. listen he’s a great person and at best times he looks like a teddy bear. also might i remind u of this mans MAGNIFICENT tits? yes i want him to adopt me even if he’s only 13 years older and in no way at the right age to be my dad. everyone fuck off.

9. max. OKAY IM SORRY PUT UR PITCHFORKS DOWN. he’s ugly. i have to say it. that doesn’t mean i don’t want him to fuck my brains out. ugly people need rights too

10. nicholas. okay at first i was skeptic. and i didn’t rlly think he was attractive and in most angles i still don’t think so. but have you seen this guy SHIRTLESS??? my g o d

11. checo. i have SEVERE daddy issues. quite obviously. knock me up checo

12. george. he looks like a tory but those pics in the merc suit. hot damn

13. antonio. gio baby cut ur hair and you’d be so much higher on this list

14. yuki. i’m pretty indifferent to him tbh. he’s cute and he’s younger and shorter than me and that’s that

15. lando. i can’t believe he’s the least bad of the rest of those. unfortunately i know he’s FUCKING hung so,,,i want that. give it to me. put a paper bag over his head and a gag into his mouth and we’ll be good to go. maybe tie him up so he doesn’t get too ahead of himself

16. lance? i’m not sure at this point anymore. i like the rich bitch energy somehow but something about him unnerves me. also i heard him speak french once and wanted to chop off my ears that rlly scarred me. was hotter with the longer hair, at the moment he reminds me of my 8th grade prom date and that is not someone i want to remember

17. este. he’s,,,,fine? so awkward. idk man something puts me off

18. valtteri. just no

19. kimi. retire. im not asking anymore

20. egg. this needs no further explanation

[estebanbicon]

drivers in shopping queen:

(original concept of shopping queen: 5 candidates for each day of the week. each gets 500 bucks to find the perfect outfit for a certain theme guido (a designer) provides. they have a friend with them to help find the perfect outfit. they got 4 hours. once the time is over, u have to show what u bought on a catwalk. u cannot wear anything u haven’t just freshly purchased. the other 4 candidates give u between 0 and 10 points for the outfit. guido also gives his points. the one with the most points at the end of the week wins a 1000 bucks)

lewis bottas: lewis has it all under control fr. bottas just follows him around and keeps drinking from the secco bottle he brought. he keeps the money in check. wants to argue at first, but its useless. they finish in time with very good looks. 9/10 

daniel lando: disastrous. they keep forgetting the money in the bus and gotta sprint back to get it. also suck at maths, so they spend half the time calculating. think graphic shirts are the BEST to show up to a rooftop party. wear jorts and call it a day 1 hour before its done to go eat ice cream. 4/10 

pierre yuki: organised in between their teasing and taking the piss. know exactly how much money they still can spend. buy funky hawaii shirts and ripped jeans. fuck around and yuki has way too much hairgel in his hair. still somehow make it work. 7/10 

este nando: don't really see the point. go buy the blandest fit possible with a uni-coloured shirt and blue jeans and trainers. only spice it up with leather jackets. done after 1 hour and then go sit on those massage chairs shopping centres have. 5/10

george nicky: they both agree that beige is simply THE colour. show up in blazers and beige shorts and tennis socks. buy matching sunglasses. have no money left at the end. 5/10

checo antonio: antonio keeps pulling out skin tight shirts and checo keeps putting them back. finally decide on white shirts with the top two buttons open. antonio can at least convince him to wear boots and at least not dad wide jeans. 7/10

charles mick: charles pulls out the most obscure, colourful designs with a delighted smile and mick looks dead inside. mick tries to go for less attention drawing clothing, but charles pouts and mick gives up. wear matching flannels and neon coloured bandanas with ripped jeans. mick could at least stop charles idea to get their ears pierced at claire's. 5/10

+ bonus: guido with the winners

[lesharl-eclair]

ferwis fic recs

rarepair for the ages.

this is a list of *the* literature to read if you are even vaguely intrigued by their differently flavoured toxicity :)

all fics below the cut; if you enjoyed these fics, please show the authors comment and kudo love; should you be the author of a fic that's here, and don't want to be here, please reach out to me and your wish is my command :)

Amen by sirius (M, 9.1k)

Spygate. Reimagined. With sex.

& (Amen) by sirius (M, 6.6k)

Retirement. Reimagined. With sex.

OK so this is basically what i think about every waking hour. every single minute. Amen was written 2 0 1 5 and it's so damn incredible i have only found a few other pieces that match it in terms of voicing and structure and literary genius. the toxicity is left to ferment and it is gorgeous. literally ahead of its time. look:

"Old Testament, he thinks. Fernando is an Old Testament God, piled high with fury and jealousy and fire and brimstone and needing someone to beg mercy just so that he can refuse them. 

A god so good that there's nobody else you'd need to worship."

THIS IN 2015. so so so incredible.

the sequel (?) is even richer, more nuanced, more developed. lewis and loyalty and fernando and lots and lots of questioning. the author has the voices down to a tee in both pieces and the dialogue especially is mindblowing. i come back to this so often because it's their story, and it's told so richly and lavishly.

***

In Search of the Traveling Nude by Anonymous (M, 4.5k)

Fernando didn't like sharing. He was not going to let a nude of Lewis get out of his grasp when he'd spent millions on the first three. If that means threatening someone and traveling for most of his winter break in search of it, so be it. Unfortunately for him, Lewis's final nude has to go through many people before he can finally get it.

kinkmeme prompt fill. possessive fernando alonso is a story for the ages. look:

"Fernando was a selfish man. He didn’t like others having what was his.

And Lewis, inexplicably – even if Lewis didn’t know himself – was his."

it's not a stretch to imagine this premise, every single detail is so well-imagined and the people nando meets (?!), all the nuances in dynamics etc are handled with so much love and care. valtteri and seb is just perfection. lewis is also the most oblivious person to walk planet earth and i am living for it.

***

The Thirst Trap Curse by @seafoampearlygirl (no warnings, 1.9k)

Fernando realises the power of thirst traps in vanquishing his enemies, but the magic doesn't work quite the way he planned.

this fic is so so dear to me because it hooked me on nando fics. this verges on crackfic (actually it is, what am i talking about) and it is delightful. a tasty, unhinged little morsel. the title does the talking here i think!! but i just want to say that every single scene is so unexpectedly rich. there's so much packed into so little, so you get pleasant little surprises at every turn. also look at this dialogue. lOOK.

"Lewis was silent for a moment. Then he said 'How many thirst traps are we talking?'

'Thirty-five.'

'THIRTY-FIVE??' Lewis turned to Fernando, outraged. Fernando was impassive. "Man, I only have two nipples. They're not that exciting."

'They could be. I have some ideas.'"

***

it's more than i can bear: this interminable want, turning and turning. by Anonymous (m, 2k)

George laughs. It's an ugly sound. When Fernando looks over, his eyes are dry. “Were,” he says. “You were the exception.”

kinkmeme prompt fill. we close off this list with a fic that gives me chills every single time i read it. it's not even ferwis. just ferwis as a concept, and yet. i literally don't know how to coherently respond to this still. the last line still makes me fall apart every time i read it.

fernando and george, and the concept of lewis. and mind games. so much within 2k words that it's devastating to read.

***

enjoy ;)

[loupettes]

Some Ten/Rose domestic fluff for the DoctorRose Fic Marathon, mostly to soothe my mental health but who doesn’t need more Ten/Rose in their lives?

T W E N T Y   O N E

SUMMARY: Ten/Rose. It's Rose's twenty-first birthday, and she's invited the Doctor along to a party thrown by her mum. A night of pub celebrations, boisterous friends and family gatherings, quizzes, a little bit of jealousy and some hard truths ahead, the Doctor must grit and bear the domesticity for his best friend — well, the love of his life. If only there was something to make it worthwhile..

TAGS: fluff, domestic, romance, jealousy, pub quizzes, everyone loves Rose Tyler (the Doctor being top of that list), mutual pining, longing, etc etc

Read on AO3: twenty one

***

“See you’ve found a way to pass the time,” she muttered once Laura was out of earshot, slipping her arm out from his and grabbing the napkin from the bar. She looked at it distacefully for a moment, before she passed the napkin to him.

“Enduring terrible flirting and being come on to is just one of the many things I’m voluntarily subjecting myself to to be here with you tonight.”

“How hard that must be for you.”

He couldn’t put his finger on why, exactly, she seemed irritated, and when Laura put the drink in front of her and begrudgingly took the tenner from the Doctor, Rose seemed to only sadden as she swirled her straw around in her drink.

“Just didn’t think you were interested in this sort of stuff, s’all,” she shrugged.

He frowned; he assumed she must have meant flirting. “I’m not.”

Rose looked at her drink for a moment, a pinch in her brow that he couldn’t translate. It wasn’t indifference, it wasn’t even the irritation she was projecting on her voice, but he wasn’t fond of it, he knew that much.

“Only got eyes for you, promise.”

***

It was one of those days, the ones he hadn’t really ever had to subject himself to in his many years of life, and he calls them ‘obligatory domestics’. The kinds of days where he needs to drop Rose off so she can do a bit of ‘life admin’: check in on her grandparents, nip to primark to get some basics, cash her birthday cheques, all that sort of stuff.

And then, of course, there were the days he needed to attend parties.

Now, he wasn’t a party person. Awkward small talk, terrible music — depending on the decade, of course — dreadful finger food, that annoying needless obligation to stay and ‘enjoy yourself’ when all you really wanted to do was leave. This was one of those days where Rose had a party to attend, and had asked him to just drop her off back at home for the night and they could get back to travelling the next day.

The problem was, it was her birthday party.

Now, if it were his birthday — if he even had a birthday — then he wouldn’t exactly call it a mark for celebration. Not even at the turn of a new century, and he most certainly wouldn’t call turning a thousand a celebration, which he was sure was coming up soon. And the funny thing was, Rose didn’t feel the need to celebrate birthdays, either. Well, unless they were somebody else’s; she would go out of her way to make that day astronomically special for them. So when she had turned to him last week, when they were out enjoying a milkshake in a diner on Panvorix, and told him, regrettably, that her mum wanted to throw her a birthday party with her friends and family for her twenty-first, which he was sure meant something to humans, he wondered whether he really needed to be there.

But, and this is where he finds it difficult: he somehow knew she wanted him there. She hadn’t explicitly said so, she had just sort of shrugged and said ‘you can come, too, although I doubt you’ll want to’. But other than that, she had talked about it as though she was going to go, not they. And if he only paid attention to her words and what she was saying, like he thought most humans — and, well, every other species in existence — did, then he would have felt no obligation whatsoever to join her. But these humans, and especially the British, have this odd sort of way of communicating where they would say one thing with words but also without them, and usually, the things they weren’t saying was quite different to the things that they were. And it seemed as though this was the case with Rose. Her lack of eye contact, the slight reddening in her neck, the indifference that he just knew wasn’t as indifferent as she would have liked it to be. She’d slurped her milkshake and changed the subject and that was that — no need to dwell. But once she had gone to bed that night, he wondered. He tinkered away in the control room and tried to interpret all those little things and he just couldn’t, so he gave up and decided to take her for her word. So he told himself, if she brings it up again, if she asks-but-doesn’t-ask him to come, then he’ll go with her. Otherwise, he’ll leave her with her mum for the night and come back for her the next day as she asked.

That was until Jackie called.

“You’re coming,” she had said flatly, and she had said it in such a frighteningly threatening way that he only nodded and agreed.

Rose had seemed most happy when he had said they were getting to her mum’s for midday on Saturday. She had quickly tried to hide it, and once more he got the impression that she was only acting nonchalant. But he wasn't quite sure, so he double checked just to be safe.

“You sure you want me there?”

She had frowned, and again shrugged without looking at him. “Course, you’re my best mate.”

And so here he was. Waiting in the control room for her, in a blue suit this time, while she packed her things in an overnight bag.

Today was her actual birthday. Her mum had called her all excited, wishing her a happy birthday — even though she was about to see her in a couple of hours. The Doctor had made her a cup of tea and said happy birthday, too, but Rose’s cheeks had flushed pink and he took that to mean that was enough making-a-fuss over her birthday for the day. Other than that, he hadn’t seen her all morning, and so when she entered the control room freshly showered and now in her jeans and a hoodie, her backpack slung over her shoulders, she grinned quite sheepishly and said,

“Hello.”

“Hello,” he echoed, a little less nervously. “All packed and ready, then?”

“I am indeed,” she nodded, and skipped over to him with a bit more gusto. “You mentally prepared?”

‘Oh, absolutely not.”

“Me neither,” she chuckled, and tugged on his arm. “You didn’t see mum on my eighteenth — she gets several octaves higher, just to warn you.”

He shuddered. “Well, lucky for you— and me, I suppose— my capacity to detect high pitches gets less and less with each passing century.”

“That’s good to know.”

   After they had gone to Nando’s for lunch, Jackie had asked the Doctor to join her and help set up at the pub while Rose got ready back at the flat with a couple of her mates. He hadn’t been in love with the idea — a few hours alone with Jackie filling him in on the gossip of somebody called ‘Bev’ while various 90s pop songs echoed through the room, that was — and she certainly did like to talk when she was excited. They had pinned a few ‘Happy 21st Birthday!’ banners around the room, chucked a lot of small plastic ‘21’s across the floor and the bar, and, by the time Rose called to say she was on her way, the room had filled with quite a lot of people indeed. Some family members he was sure he had met before, little kids of cousins he definitely hadn’t, and a few of Rose’s friends who seemed to know her family quite well. It was the first time that day he had sort of warmed, seeing that Rose had grown up with such a loving group of friends and extended family, and he even loosened just a little as he chatted to a few while they waited for Rose to turn up.

“Everybody, she’s at the bottom of the road!” Jackie called out loudly, when she received a text from Shareen. At that, people picked up nearby birthday poppers and whistles, getting to their feet with excited and anticipatory smiles — the Doctor even had a confetti cannon himself ready to go for when she walked in.

But of course, when she did walk in, he couldn’t do anything at all except look at her.

As people called out excited ‘happy birthday!'s and set off their poppers, the Doctor found himself completely anchored to the spot while the room only burst with colour and into life. He had always found her quite beautiful, especially when she was giggling away or saying something particularly clever, and he had even found himself breathless once or twice to watch her. But tonight, goodness — he wasn’t convinced he had two bloody hearts because neither one was beating and certainly neither of them were supplying oxygen to the rest of his body.

It was her smile, without a doubt. It was different somehow, like an old smile he was sure she must have used before she met him, to see all these familiar faces of her loved ones. That, and her cheeks were dusted a delightful pink, a little shy he knew she must have been to have so many people around her for her. Her hair was wavy for once, and she wore a black dress that the Doctor was momentarily ashamed to find himself looking at; the way it sculpted her curves and defined the most enchanting silhouette, cut mid-thigh and exposing her legs — and he was especially ashamed for his gaze to linger on those, but she was simply so exquisite, everywhere, that he soon felt instead the same overwhelming awe he gets when he studies a painting, ones in which the colours tell a compelling story and the shapes express feelings that words could not completely.

He still hadn’t managed to find his breath by the time she caught his eye, and he found himself desperately trying to cling to coherent thoughts when she nervously made her way over to him.

“Hello,” she said again when she got to him, pausing for a moment before she reached up on her toes to give him a hug. He had just enough semblance of normality to return the gesture, albeit weakly — still trying to process his thoughts as he was.

Tell her!

“Happy birthday,” he whispered instead, and he heard her giggle by his ear before she released him, and there was a moment where he could have told her just how breathtaking she looked, but of course, he didn’t.

Instead, she scratched her arm and looked around the room. “Thanks for helping mum set all this up.”

“Oh, right—” he cleared his throat “— sure, no probs.”

“You’ll have to fill me in on all the gossip later.”

“Don’t worry, I took notes.”

She chuckled, and her eyes softened as she looked at him, taking him in, and they seemed to even darken somehow, which sent an odd sort of sense of affirmation through him — he was right not to shave today, then.

“Listen, er—” she began, her brow creasing in awkwardness, and she started scratching her arm again. He watched her curiously, wondering what she was about to say and feeling strangely nervous, all of a sudden. “Please don’t — I mean, thank you for coming, it— I just wanted to say please don’t stay, if you don’t want to— if you’re feeling awkward or anything just feel free to, you know—”

“Rose, it’s alright,” he grinned, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’ll be alright.”

“I know, I just didn’t want the last of the Time Lords to perish here in this pub in Southwark out of boredom.”

“Yeah, would be a dreadful end to their race I must admit.”

“Not one for the textbooks,” she giggled. “Nor one I’d particularly like on my conscience, either.”

“Blimey, you’re right — lot riding on the entertainment this evening, then.”

“Well in that case, I should remind you that mum planned this party.”

“Oh,” he groaned, and sighed defeatedly while she only continued to chuckle. “It’s just a couple of hours. I can do it.”

   He sort of regretted saying that. Well, no, he definitely regretted saying that.

He’d spent the first hour or so meeting Rose’s family, and then after that getting to know five or six of Rose’s friends, sat around in a booth. They were all friendly enough, inviting him in as one of their own and of course, he thought, Rose’s friends would be charming, since they were Rose’s friends after all.

And then there was Callum, he thinks his name was, and at first the Doctor was able to maintain a calm composure despite his irritability when the lad put his arm around Rose, but after twenty minutes or so and he still hadn’t moved, the Doctor started to sincerely regret his decision to come here tonight and wondered whether he could quietly slip away and narrowly avoid some other, less painful end. But then Rose would give him that look, that smile that just seemed to settle him if only for the fact that it was hers. And so he stayed, listening to stories of their school days and joining in with their laughter until it became just a little too much, when Callum started whispering things to Rose when nobody else was paying attention. Rose didn’t seem particularly bothered by him, nor was she giving off any signs that she was uncomfortable, but he certainly seemed to have more of an agenda than she, and just enough that it pissed the Doctor off enough for him to excuse himself to get a drink instead.

“Just a Coke, thanks,” he said as he reached the bar, but the bartender looked back at him apologetically.

“Pepsi alright?” she said.

His shoulders slumped in disappointment because why would he want a Pepsi if he was ordering a Coke—

“Just kidding,” she grinned, reaching down for a glass and picking up a glass bottle of Coke. “Wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Oh,” he only half smiled, and loosened his tie just a little to finally just be able to breathe. “Well, that’s a relief.”

“You look like you could use something stronger, though.”

“Do I?” he frowned, somewhat surprised but not entirely that he must look exhausted to others. It was exhausting, realising that he was far too in love for his own good. But the bartender didn’t look like she thought that, not at all, as she grinned over to him.

“Parties don’t really seem like your sort of thing.”

He shook his head, resting his elbows on the bar. “No, not really.”

“So what is your thing, then?”

Earth wasn’t quite ready for the question to be answered with ‘time travel, mostly’, so he flustered a little in search of an answer more reasonable for the time period. “I tried soap carving, once. That was fun.”

She looked back at him completely confused for a moment, and he only added the admission to the long list of things he was regretting about this evening, before she gave him a friendly smile.

“Not something I would have expected you to say.”

When the Doctor only shook his head in hopeless exasperation, she grinned,

“I’m Laura, by the way.”

“John,” he retorted, as she placed the Coke in front of him.

“Nice to meet you John — this one’s on me.”

It took him a second to realise she had just bought him a drink — of Coke — but a common gesture nonetheless he was sure indicated flirting. “Oh— er, thanks.”

She nodded, but didn’t turn to serve any of the other guests, not that it was all that busy up at the bar, anyway. “So, John. Did you, er, come here with anyone tonight?”

As dreadful to admit as it was, he couldn’t say that he had. And it seemed so odd to him to think about, because he went everywhere with Rose, but he had never been anywhere with her. It wasn’t really something he had ever considered, whether he would like to start going places with Rose as his and he as hers, but now, as he thought about Rose with that slimy little git behind him, he rather wished that he didn’t have to fret. Not about the dreadful moment she tells him tonight that she’s going back to Callum's, and not about any other time in the future she would admit to having fallen in love with somebody else. It wasn’t a possessive thing, he didn’t want for nobody else to want her because she was his, but he wanted to just love her and be free to; no more of this pining and hiding and instead just be able to say that he was so terribly in love with her and that wasn’t going to change, no matter how much he wanted it to. Except he highly doubted she would want that, this nine-bloody-hundred-year-old alien who had murdered and cowered to be hopelessly devoted to her when she didn’t exactly ask for it. So, he swallowed, feeling his hearts sink in defeat as he did.

“No. Just me.”

Laura’s lips curled in triumph, and she leant in a little bit closer. “In that case, what are you doing tonight?”

If he was just that little bit less in love, he might have been tempted, he had to admit. But he was far beyond the point now of needing a distraction to this dreadful torment, he was much too in love with Rose to even be able to be distracted in the first place. Yet, he couldn’t quite find his voice to decline, so he only started to fluster as he broke eye contact, and took a sip of his drink in the meantime.

“Tell you what,” she smirked, taking a napkin from the bar and began to scribble something on it. “I finish at eleven-thirty. Here’s my number, just in case.”

As he helplessly watched her, he felt somebody put their arm through his as they approached the bar from behind, and was somewhat mortified to find Rose appear beside him. She looked quite peculiar indeed, an expression he had seen a couple of times aimed directly at the woman in front of her, and he glanced down in confusion when she placed her other hand on his arm.

“Malibu and Coke, please.”

Laura looked over to her, then down to her arm, then back up with a look that only seemed to mirror Rose’s. “Got any ID?”

Rose scoffed. “This is my party, you know.”

“Can’t serve you unless you’ve got ID.”

“Tell you what—” the Doctor interrupted, reaching into his pocket for the psychic paper as he heard Rose about to counter “—this one’s on me. Can’t have the birthday girl paying for her own drinks.”

Laura only looked back at him in disillusionment, her eyes flickered back to Rose. “Okay, but it was just you I was buying the drink for.”

Rose scoffed incredulously, and wrapped her arms around the Doctor’s only tighter as the two women seemed to be engaging in a fight without actually fighting. Or from what he could tell, anyway.

“See you’ve found a way to pass the time,” she muttered once Laura was out of earshot, slipping her arm out from his and grabbing the napkin from the bar. She looked at it distacefully for a moment, before she passed the napkin to him.

“Enduring terrible flirting and being come on to is just one of the many things I’m voluntarily subjecting myself to to be here with you tonight.”

“How hard that must be for you.”

He couldn’t put his finger on why, exactly, she seemed irritated, and when Laura put the drink in front of her and begrudgingly took the tenner from the Doctor, Rose seemed to only sadden as she swirled her straw around in her drink.

“Just didn’t think you were interested in this sort of stuff, s’all,” she shrugged.

He frowned; he assumed she must have meant flirting. “I’m not.”

Rose looked at her drink for a moment, a pinch in her brow that he couldn’t translate. It wasn’t indifference, it wasn’t even the irritation she was projecting on her voice, but he wasn’t fond of it, he knew that much.

“Only got eyes for you, promise.”

She seemed to only laugh in spite of herself at his words, and seemed to receive his joke — although he couldn’t be certain he had meant it to be one. She looked up at him through those devilishly long eyelashes of hers and he tried desperately to think of just about anything to say to change the subject.

“Having a nice night?”

Rose pulled up a bar stool and hoisted herself up, wiggling about to get comfortable. “S’been nice, yeah. So many mates I haven't seen in forever — not since we all went to get our GCSEs.”

He gazed to the side of her in thought. “Five years ago, that must be now?”

She raised her eyebrow, but didn’t smile. “Yeah. Can’t believe it.”

She started poking at the ice in her drink now, but not consciously. She was distracted, seemingly saddened by the thoughts running through her mind. He watched her hand, her nails recently painted, wearing the ring her mum had got her for her birthday.

“I’m twenty-one,” she almost whimpered.

“Wait till you get to nine-hundred.”

He was relieved to hear her laugh, a real one, and she glanced at him with kind eyes, her eyes, not those strangely woeful ones she looked at her glass with. “Yeah. If ever I’m feeling old, I’ll just think about you instead.”

“There are some benefits to being ancient, then.”

She giggled, and it only seemed to tickle her more until he saw her completely, Rose as he knew her returned back to him. It relieved him, and he realised he had stiffened to see her so glum. She glanced once more down at the napkin and he sighed, unsure exactly what she was thinking, before something told him to lift up her glass and place it underneath instead. She turned to him with a shy smile, her lips thin as she tried to hide whatever emotion was surfacing, and she was unable to hold his gaze for long when she leaned against him to nudge his arm with hers. An apology, he guessed, and he himself tittered in response. She was less saddened certainly, but her silence was not quite unburdened, so he sought,

“What’s on your mind?”

“Hmm?”

“You,” he said softly. “I know you don’t like your birthday, but something’s up.”

She once more gave him one of those thin smiles, a smile he recognised was one she was trying to put on for him but unsuccessfully — he knew her, afterall. She sighed, and shook her head.

“Everyone’s… it’s just so strange. Being back, after having been away. Things have just… happened. Like Charlie’s had a baby, can’t believe it. She’s younger than me.”

So that was it. He felt an odd sense of guilt in the centre of his chest that only sank lower, and he realised she had only been confronted with how much she had missed since travelling with him. How much she was missing out on, and how much he had taken from her while he only wanted to keep her for himself. But he didn’t suppose she needed his self-loathing tonight, so instead, he frowned as he thought.

“Charlie’s your…” he began, trying to remember as he scanned the room.

“Cousin.”

“Right,” he nodded. He was surprised to find her watching him with a gentle smile when he looked back at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she grinned, sheepishly, looking down briefly as her smile only grew less so and slightly more endeared, might he say, instead. “Just you, trying to learn all my family and friends.”

“Trying being the keyword there — there’s a lot of them.”

“I know, but it’s funny,” she teased, that tongue sticking out of her teeth that he had to quickly avert his gaze from, “You can remember something complex and yet still get lost remembering the names of my family.”

“My mind sadly is not a TARDIS,” he jibed, and she chortled delightfully into her glasses as she took a sip. “Everytime I have to remember one of your cousin’s names, I have to forget about something else. I’ve forgotten Einstein’s special relativity equation to remember you have an Aunt called Jeanette.”

“Well, that's a bummer for relativity, because my Aunt’s called June.”

He frowned at her, momentarily fooled, before he rolled his eyes. “No she’s not.”

Rose scoffed with her mouth agape in shock. “Yes she is!”

As she giggled away, he vaguely recalled meeting a month, before his eyes widened and he blinked in defeat.

“Blimey, right then.”

Rose put her drink back down on the bar and struggled to contain her giggles and, goodness, he simply couldn’t look away. Her eyes scrunched shut, her nose wrinkled and smile so bright, she was impossibly beautiful when she was like this, her laughter sounding so pure and so wonderfully joyous. He wasn’t convinced she was laughing solely at his complete inability to remember anything remotely related to something so important as her family, because he only imagined it to be quite disappointing, but he wasn’t about to step in and stop her, especially not when he felt his own smile begin to grow at seeing her this way. She shook her head and opened her eyes as her giggles subsided but smile remained and she looked at him in the most breathtaking way and he could feel himself falling, needing to physically stop himself from leaning in closer to her.

There was a moment, one terribly long agonising moment, where he thought he might just falter. Despite everything inside him begging him not to, he found himself unable to hear himself when her eyes locked with his in such a way, in fact, the only thing that was able to prevent him from kissing her was knowing how terribly awkward it would be when she pulls back, wondering what on Earth he was thinking to presume she would want him to kiss her. So he swallowed, and looked away, back down at his drink and he took another sip.

Thankfully, before he had a chance to make a fool of himself and try to string a sentence together, he was interrupted by a voice sounding from a microphone behind them. They both turned, and, over at the corner of the pub stood two of Rose’s girlfriends, both of whom he remembered were with them at the table earlier, standing with a few pieces of card in their hands.

“Ahem — can we have everyone’s attention, please?” one of them — he was sure her name was Grace — announced, a smug anticipatory smile donned her slightly flushed face, and the room went quiet a moment before the music turned down, too. “Hi! Good evening, everyone! So, in case you aren’t all aware yet, today is our very own Rosie Tyler’s twenty-first birthday!”

The room broke into applause, a few cheers and the odd wolf whistle as many turned to look at Rose beside him.

He teased quietly only to her, “Rosie?”

“Shut up,” she muttered as she elbowed him, but couldn’t stop grinning despite herself. “Little gits know I hate being called Rosie.”

“So before we get started, a very happy birthday to you!” the other girl — Cara, was it? There goes Euler’s equation, he surrendered — said into the microphone. “We hope you’re having a great night, and we love you—”

“Even if she did nick my GHDs.”

Rose snorted when Grace stuck her tongue out at her. “I did not! I just forgot to give them back to you!”

“Hmm, how convenient— anyway,” Grace stressed, and the room was chuckling to their playful teasing. “We thought we might play a little game, before we start the, er, slideshow in a bit—”

“Oh, god,” Rose muttered under her breath, and the Doctor sniggered quietly.

“— just a quick ‘How well do you know Rose Tyler’ quiz. No teams, no competition, strictly for embarrassment purposes alone.”

“Get me out of here,” Rose whispered to him, but he stayed firmly put.

“Oh, absolutely not. I’m staying for this.”

“Then I’m going to fly your ship myself and leave you here stranded.”

“Fine by me, I want to see all those pictures you’ve been so adamant remain hidden away in a box every time we go round to your mum’s.”

She groaned, and hid her face in her palms.

“So, without further ado: question one.” Grace paused for dramatic effect, reading the words on her paper with a teasing smile. “What was the name of Rose’s first boyfriend?”

“Oh my god, my mum’s here—”

“Jimmy!” one of her friends shouted, and the Doctor felt Rose bury her face against his arm.

“No,” she whispered, about the same time Grace called out,

“Incorrect!”

“Craig David!” a male voice shouted, and Rose groaned loudly as the room went quiet.

“That is correct!”

The Doctor scoffed next to her as the rest of the room erupted into laughter. “Oh, come on.”

“Rose absolutely believed she and Craig David were meant to be back in year six, and told everyone they were boyfriend and girlfriend,” Cara giggled, and the Doctor only chuckled to hear Rose repeatedly whispering ‘Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god’ into his arm.

“Had to get her a poster!” Jackie called with a squeal of delight.

“Get me— you’re a Time Lord for god’s sake, go back in time and stop this from all happening!” Rose urged.

“Not a chance.”

“Question two!” And once more, the room went quiet in anticipation. “And a little less embarrassing, maybe—”

“Thank God,” Rose mumbled. At that point, he couldn’t really stop himself from giving her arm a gentle stroke.

“— Which film was Rose obsessed with at the beginning of secondary school?”

“Easy! Back to the Future!” another one of her friends called out.

The Doctor scoffed, “You’re kidding?”

Rose pulled away, then, unashamed. “Marty Mcfly, hottest fictional character in the world, I stand by it.”

“If I dress up in that puffer vest and the TARDIS gets her act together to disguise as a DeLorean, are we just playing out your secondary school fantasy?”

“Why do you think you had me so hooked with ‘did I mention it also travels in time’?”

“And that is correct!” Grace called, and just on queue, The Power of Love began to play through the speakers. Rose shook her head, and broke into a timid but unabashed smile.

“How many gigawatts to travel in time, Rose?” Grace called.

“One point twenty-one!” she volleyed, unashamed.

“Is that all? I’ll remember that for next time,” the Doctor whispered, and she elbowed him with a smirk.

“Question three — and sorry, Jackie — but why did Rose get two weeks of detention in year eleven?”

“Oh my god no!”

“Two weeks!” The Doctor kept his exclamation hushed, and once more Rose turned back around to face the other side of the bar, but he tugged on her arm to bring her back around, leaving her unable to hide her embarrassment and red hot cheeks.

“For skipping maths to snog Jimmy in the art room!”

“Rose!” Jackie gasped loudly as the room cheered.

“This is the worst thing that has ever happened in my life ever,” she groaned to the Doctor, and he only found her that much more gorgeous as she looked so delightfully mortified.

“That is correct!”

Rose whimpered quietly to the Doctor as the rest of the room erupted into laughter, “Please do that thing again where you make me forget all of my memories.”

“The snog wasn’t that great, then?”

She shuddered. “Far too much tongue.”

“How delightful,” he chuckled, feeling a peculiar sense of victory.

“Question four!” Grace called, and waited for the room to settle. “Which medal did Rose win in the county gymnastics?”

“The bronze!” the Doctor called, surprised but unashamed for calling out himself, and the room roared in cheer and a thunderous applause broke out.

“And quite right!” Cara hailed into the microphone, and Rose bumped arms with the Doctor.

“Was only the bronze,” she mumbled.

“Hey!” he denounced, “The bronze is bloody excellent!”

Her smile was thin and bashful and begged to be attended to; he responded without thinking by pulling her into his side and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Okay, okay, our last and final question—” somebody at one of the nearby tables began to perform a drum roll as Grace paused to read the card “— What did Rose do on her eighteenth birthday?”

“Get absolutely hammered?” someone suggested, and by the way Rose only hid herself further into his chest and shook her head, he imagined they were right.

“More detail needed!” Grace called.

“My whole family’s here,” she whimpered quietly.

“How PG are we keeping it?” one of the boys from the table they were all sitting at earlier shouted, and they giggled amongst themselves.

“Oh god, was it that bad?” he whispered to her, but she just kept shaking her head.

“More PG than your eighteenth, Liam,” Cara pointed out, to which Liam held his hands up in his surrender.

“Didn’t you throw up at Tottenham Court Road bus stop?”

“That was not me!” Rose called out, releasing her hold on the Doctor. He folded his arms, now very aware that the rest of the room was looking at them. “That was Shareen!”

Shareen gasped somewhere in the crowd. “You little grass!” She slammed her hand down on the table and stood up. “And for that, I’m breaking my silence — on Rose’s eighteenth birthday, she got drunk and performed ‘Steps, Tragedy’ up on a table on Carnaby Street in front of the entire street with accompanying dance moves — and she fell down at the end.”

“And we have the video to play to you all later!” Cara beamed, just as the room erupted into an excited cheer.

Rose shrieked in protest, her cheeks burning red and the Doctor only cackled at the image of Rose drunkenly bearing her heart and soul out to what he knew was her favourite girl band of the 90s, so he could only imagine how animated that performance must have been. People had got to their feet, cheering and clapping as Rose hid her face in her palms and Tragedy began to blare through the speakers. Some chanted along, some were too lost in their own giggling and retelling of old anecdotes, and some flocked to Rose to give her gleeful hugs and cheer her on. But something about it saddened him all of a sudden, watching as Rose was swallowed up by the love of her friends so fierce and unashamed, a dull and remorseful ache somewhere in his chest that he couldn’t quite place but certainly didn’t like.

He turned back around and spotted Laura, now leaning against the back bar, and he caught her eye.

“I’ll take that stronger drink, now.”

She glanced over at Rose, now completely lost to the crowd, then back at him, and nodded.

He didn’t drink often, not at all, so he insisted only on a single, handing Laura a fiver and telling her to keep the change. He got to his feet, grabbed his jacket, and slipped quietly outside and into the pub garden.

The night was pleasant, the stars for once visible over London, but he imagined most might not catch them so clearly amidst the surrounding light pollution. There were strings of warm fairy lights hanging from the brick wall that surrounded the quite large garden, a few pub benches dotted around with even less people quietly chatting amongst themselves over a beer and the odd cigarette. What encouraged him the most was the quiet, the peacefulness that greeted him as he stepped out of the pub, sitting down on one of the vacant tables just under a tree with yet more fairy lights hanging from it.

He sighed deeply, but he found he wasn’t quite fully able to breathe in all the way, like something caged his chest and prevented it from fully expanding. He took a sip of the — what he discovered was — whiskey and shuddered to feel its heat trickle down his throat, settling something that had been rising in his body all night. He looked down at his hands, quivering now although he was not cold, and swallowed thickly.

He was in love, he had known that for a long time. But tonight he had realised how terribly irrevocable it was, how awfully trapped he had made himself in his dreadful and unavoidable addiction to her, how he had known this was going to be devastating and he was going to regret it but yet hadn’t cared. And now here he sat, alone as he always was and always would be, wondering just how he might survive this in the end.

It wasn’t that he worried about the day she would no longer be with him, although that wasn’t a thought he liked to entertain. It was this horrible ache, a dullness in his bones, a contradiction to the life she inspired within him. It was twisted, it was confusing, and it was devastating.

He looked up at the stars, a universe above him that he knew and yet didn’t. Taking another sip of his whiskey, and following another subsequent involuntary shudder, he closed his eyes to the return of that hollowness in his chest. The vacuum above felt infinitely small in comparison, and he knew there was no fighting it’s torture except to grit and bear it for as long as she stayed with him, and even longer than that.

He didn’t shudder when he took a third sip of his drink.

He had been so lost in his thoughts for so long that he only realised the environment had altered when a figure sat beside him. There were less people now he realised, only one or two at a table a few away from his, but none of that seemed to matter when he saw it was Rose who had sat down next to him.

“You alright?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

She shivered, and looked down at his drink. “Bit too much back in there, yeah?”

He couldn't reply at first, but his lie found his tongue at the time that he swallowed. “Na, it’s been alright. Just needed five outside in the quiet.”

Rose grinned, a warm smile he knew well, and shivered once more. The goosebumps began to line her skin, soft hairs rising on her arms, and he glanced down at her things to see the same pattern emerging there. He unbuttoned his jacket and slipped it off, attentively hanging it over her shoulders and she looked down with a smile, pulling it tighter around her.

“Thanks,” she whispered, a soft sound that settled on the air and he closed his eyes to it, trying to still what it did to his hearts. Once more, he breathed deeply, now that he could as she sat close to him, and when he opened his eyes on his exhale he saw her looking down at the table, mulling over something in her mind.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, and she closed her eyes to that.

“Mmm. Just needed to step out — don’t like havin’ all the attention on me, you know that.”

Funny, he thought, if she knew just how much she claimed all of his attention, his thoughts and dreams, his hopes and longings, even down to his physiology and heartbeat, she would flee.

Her legs had started to bounce — anxiously or because they were cold, he didn’t know — but he found himself looking at a mole on her thigh, one he of course had never seen before. He closed his eyes once more in a desperate plea to try and stop the thoughts from drowning him, of how much he wanted to see every piece of her, to know all her moles and the feel of her skin under his fingers, to learn her and know her in a way nobody else did or ever could possibly again.

“Y’know, I remember the first time you met all my family, when we were huddled in my mum’s living room watching the telly,” she grinned, and her voice encouraged him to avert his gaze, and, thankfully, his thoughts. “Said you didn’t do domestics and all that.”

“I still don’t,” he pointed out, and she sniggered. “I have no idea how I keep finding myself in these situations so often.”

“I think you like them, really.”

“I like you, there’s a difference.”

She chuckled, “So if I’m understanding you correctly, the last of the Time Lords bends to nobody’s will except mine?”

“You understood that correctly, yes.”

Her gleeful hum in response was enough for him to let her believe he was exaggerating. After a minute or two, she spoke again.

“I used to come here all the time. Most Thursdays after work. Sometimes it’d be all of us — it was quite central for where we all worked — and sometimes it’d just be me and Mickey.”

He grimaced as she rubbed salt into the wound unknowingly. He was reluctant to admit to himself just how many hours he had spent thinking about them, of their dates in the park and stolen kisses in her lunch break, of nights spent together and mornings in love. He glanced back down at the mole on her leg and knew of course he wasn’t going to know her as nobody else did, he never could even if he did ever give in to his hearts.

“It’s like a different life,” she sighed. “I always thought this sort of stuff would hit you in your thirties, lookin’ back over your school days and realising how much had changed since then. But I’m twenty-one, and it feels like a completely different me and it was only two years ago!”

He was still while she spoke what was on her mind. He didn’t get the feeling that she regretted it so much, and he was a little relieved at that. But he thought perhaps it was more the speed of time passing that stunned her, her perspective of it all shifting and she wasn’t quite ready for it. As a Time Lord, he so wished he could slow it down for her, make it just that little bit more manageable because, truthfully, it terrified him sometimes, too.

“It’s only that you fill your life with so much that it feels that way,” he tried, and she sniffed in the cold. “It feels a bit like time passed you by because, well, it has. You didn’t even see it go, you were far too busy moving and adapting but it passed, at the same rate it always does. But you didn’t.”

She frowned, and gave him a lopsided smile. “I suppose you would give me some nonsensical explanation of time that oddly makes sense.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

“Really?” She scrunched her nose. “I thought you were here to protect time.”

“Whoever told you that?”

She rolled her eyes with a more symmetrical smile now, her hands moving to cover her face as she attempted to hide just how funny she found his joke. “If it’s this bad at twenty-one, must be bloody awful for you.”

He inhaled sharply, making her giggle more. “The trick is not to think about it.”

“Take each day as it comes,” she reflected, and he hummed beside her in agreement. “They were right, all those adults. Everytime they said to live each day to the fullest.”

“That they were.”

And then she seemed to sadden again. After a moment, and with a quiver to her voice, she whispered,

“If only it didn’t make time pass faster that way.”

He nodded slowly in agreement, although he protested she be thinking such morose concepts on her twenty-first birthday. She began to pick at the skin around her nails, the nail polish on her thumb had chipped and he knew she must have been doing this all night, then.

“Why don’t you like your own birthdays?” he asked, realising that he never had.

She shrugged. “I used to love my birthdays. Birthday cakes, party bags, trips to the London Fields Lido and all that stuff.”

“Then what changed?”

She hesitated, and frowned. He waited while she thought, but he realised at some point she wasn’t searching for the answer, she was only debating whether to give it to him. Eventually, she swallowed, and spoke flatly,

“I met a Time Lord.”

And there it was. He felt his thoughts click into place, then, that strange sadness about her all day that he hadn’t quite been able to interpret finally making sense. It was, truthfully, his biggest regret, although he should have seen it coming, and he only gritted his teeth at his own negligence.

“Rose—”

“No, but think about it,” she insisted, and for once he found himself wanting to listen to her, to hear her worries about something he considered constantly. She seemed too intent on bearing herself to him here, in this garden, on this night, and he could only let her. “Every day I get older—”

“You’re twenty-one, that’s hardly you getting older—”

“But it is!” she retorted, a strange smile that wasn’t a smile by any means only holding back her tears now and he didn't know how they had got here, but his hearts ached to see her like this nonetheless. Her mouth hung open as if to say something else, but she seemed unable to and only let out a small croak instead.

“Hey,” he murmured, and he took the opportunity to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, curling his fingers as he dared himself to brush her cheek. “I do not want you to miss out on any of this because you’re afraid of getting older next to me.”

“M’not afraid of getting older,” she contended plainly. “I’m afraid of leaving you all alone.”

His breath was uneven as he exhaled, but he didn’t think she would have detected it. He dropped his hand back down to the table, and she sniffed wetly, seemingly annoyed by herself for some reason. She bit down on her bottom lip with her eyes closed before she opened them to find his, holding his gaze firm. He saw all of her, then, the things she didn’t want him to see in her eyes even in this light, and he knew she must be seeing all of him, too.

Because it consumed him to learn that this was how she felt. That she regretted each passing day because it was one less day — not that she got to spend with him, but that he had left to spend with somebody. The dreadful wringing of his chest at that, at knowing how much of her life and how many of her days she was spending in fear for his inevitable loneliness when that was only his worry, his concern. Rose wasn’t supposed to feel any of that, much less break her own heart every day, and he realised he must have been doing a terrible job at keeping those worries and concerns to himself. Rose only ever wanted everybody else to be okay, and now, on her twenty-first birthday, she was furious with her own mortality for getting in the way, stopping somebody she cared for so deeply from hurting.

So he had no alternative, really, when he leaned in to her this time. He just about had enough control to pause, give her the chance to pull away if she so wanted, and it seemed as though time completely stopped as he did. He could hear her breathing shallow, see the goosebumps line her neck and he took that moment, those few seconds, to learn her as he had wanted. His eyes found another mole on her collarbone, and upwards, the pulse in her neck at having him this close to her. A quiet and strained whimper on her lips, a plea, and then the feel of those lips against his.

He had always wondered how she would taste. The time he had kissed her on Satellite Five, he had only done so to take the time vortex from her, and for that his senses were mostly dulled. Now, as time slowly began to resume once more, he couldn’t taste a thing either; all he could do was feel. This overwhelming relief surging through him, his hearts beating as they should to feel this alive, and, for a moment, an assertion that nothing could tamper with his hope.

And then she gasped; her mouth opened and that’s when he could finally taste her. And he did, the tip of his tongue finally tasted home as it explored the texture of hers and everything he was learning about her he already knew. Because she was familiar, she was her, he knew her lips already and running his tongue along them told him nothing new about them but yet wanted more even still, to know how her bottom lip felt between his teeth, and he was a quick learner, picking up on the sensitive spots that would draw her moans and which of them would catch her breath in her throat.

His heightened senses had thus far only proven to be most valuable, until now, because she consumed all of him to a point where it was too much, and he had to break away, just to focus. But she didn’t hesitate to keep going, so keen was she on tasting him too, and she trailed her kisses across his cheek and along his jaw and this was new, feeling her learn him with her own senses, the moans she drew out herself at certain points on his skin.

“Rose,” he breathed, a plea and a promise in itself, and she brought their lips back together once more.

She began to shift without breaking their kiss and he felt her move one of her legs over him, soft chuckles she released onto his lips as she fumbled onto his lap on the most uncomfortable bench he could remember sitting on. But he quickly lost all conscious recognition of the world outside him, outside them, when he felt her hands move to cup his neck before her fingers slowly trailed up and through his hair. Her lips curled when he groaned and a second later so did she when she ran her nails back down. Their kiss was broken when her head rolled back to the feel of his hands on her thighs, sliding up to her waist where they held her hips close to his and in their respite, his lips found her neck and he sucked, just over her pulse, her breath catching in response. He felt her hands loosen as they became less conscious of their actions and more reflexive to her feelings and he felt her pulse drum fervently beneath his lips. With a final nip to her skin, he released her, the darkened bruise forming he could see even under this light, and pride raptured his veins to have finally claimed just a part of her as his. But then the trouble was he wanted to claim all of her as his, if she would let him, and by the way she rocked into his hold when he pulled away only confirmed that she would. As her lips began their descent once more down onto his skin, pressing sweet and messy kisses down the bridge of his nose and to his lips, he realised he couldn’t find the trouble in it at all.

He deftly slipped his jacket off her shoulders and shuddered at the speed in which her goosebumps prickled beneath his fingers, before he dragged them slowly across her shoulders and down her back, as far as her dress would allow. One hand stayed where it was, exploring the planes of her shoulder blades as they contracted with the movement of her hands, and the other travelled south and to the small of her back where he pressed, gently, until she arched into him. That move released another sound from her lips, much lower this time, much deeper and hungrier and his was only lustful in response. She tore her lips from his to bow her head to his shoulder, pausing only to catch her breath with the intent of resuming, so he peppered his kisses this time further down her neck, softening as they pressed across her shoulder until he felt her lips on his neck, her teeth grazing his skin as she matched the mark made on hers. He shivered to know she was doing the same, marking him, and he moaned into her skin as he allowed her to.

“I want you,” she breathed, he was sure she was trying to sound firm but her need strained her request. “But not here.”

He remained still as his surroundings began to settle into their rightful place and he remembered where they were. He was in no way ready to pull back, but he couldn't exactly keep going, so instead he kept his eyes closed as he followed the trail of his hands on her body, slowly tracing the curves and dips of her frame. She didn’t move either, but it seemed she too was focused only on his hands, as she had since stopped exploring him herself. To feel her in this way, to roam freely as he wished while she remained compliant and willing above him, prevented him from asking if she was sure she wanted him, and if was even a little bit more level-headed than he was at the moment, he would ask if she had really thought this through.

But all he could seem to focus on was her words, the sound of her telling him she wanted him. After that, nothing else mattered.

“Doctor,” she whispered again, and he opened his eyes to find that mole on her collarbone beneath him. He swallowed, and with considerable difficulty, and pressed his lips to it before he finally pulled away.

She cleared her throat and started to shift off of him and he spotted the other table glance over in their direction. Right, he thought, scratching the back of his neck and neatning his — he was sure — disheveled hair. Public decency, must remember that one.

Rose was grinning sheepishly by the time she settled down next to him, and for a moment, neither looked at the other. He swallowed, now that he was finally able to, and ran his palms over his trousers to neaten them down just a little. Rose tugged on the hem of her dress to bring it a bit further down her thighs and he swallowed again to see her legs bare, having only very recently felt them beneath his hands, and the tips of his fingers tingled at the memory.

Rose let out a breathy laugh, then, and he glanced over to her just at the time she looked up at him. She drank him in, her eyes flickering across his face, but he couldn’t quite do the same; he found himself transfixed only on her eyes.

“C’mere” she grinned, licking her thumb and rubbing it across his cheek. “You’ve got lipstick all over you.”

He nodded, before he gestured to her. “Funnily enough, so do you.”

She pressed her fingers to the side of her lips and giggled while he fumbled around in his suit pockets for some makeup wipes, and then she brought them down to her neck to press gently into the bruise beginning to form over her pulse.

“Bit more worried about everyone seeing that.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Didn’t hear any complaints from you when I was giving it to you.”

“Nope,” she affirmed smugly. She tugged at the wipes when he pulled them out, taking one and began cleaning up his face. “Think I’ve got some concealer in my bag, anyway.”

“Your bag’s inside.”

“Bugger,” she cursed, and he chuckled. “Reckon you could go and grab it for me before anyone sees?”

He pointed to his neck. “I think we just have to own this one, Rose.”

“It’s a lot easier to own it when everyone doesn’t know you.”

“It’s only you they know.”

“Right,” she beamed, “so you won’t have a problem going and getting my bag then, will you?”

“Bugger,” he cursed, and she chuckled.

He watched her, then, the golden lights shimmering in her eyes as she smiled, her lips still a little swollen and hair messier now. She wasn’t aware of him watching her, he didn’t think, so she was caught off guard when he began to smooth down the strands, running his fingers softly through her hair to bring back a bit of order. As he did, his gaze remained fixed on her, the shy way she kept herself still and allowed him to sort her out, to fix her back up as if she needed fixing in the first place.

“You are…” he tried, but the word was lost on his lips. He had no way of surmising her beauty at that moment, and he supposed that's why people looked to poetry or song in times where words weren’t adequate to suffice.

Perhaps she didn’t need any of that, because she seemed to understand exactly what he was trying to say, or at least the depth of it. She took his hand then, which had since frozen in his quest to articulate just how captivating she was, and brought it to her lips. She kissed each of his fingers deliberately, carefully, attentively, her eyes closed as she spoke the words caught in her throat on his skin and all he could do was listen.

God, she was divine. He felt the way his hearts completely responded to her alone, their slight quickening as her lips brushed his skin and the harder they beat for her when she released him. He was sure they had a song about them, her song, and he could have them converse with her for as long as he lived.

“What are you thinking?” she murmured, and he had been mostly — no, completely — unaware of her watching him. He wasn’t quite ready yet to translate his hearts’ intent, so instead he leaned back into her, touching his lips to the corner of hers to kiss her where he was hesitant to pull back, captured instead by a sweetness that lingered on her skin. When her lips curled beneath his, he finally did pull away; not too far though, just enough for her to hear the words he didn’t speak.

Neither said anything, for a while. Not through their searching for something to say, but simply because this was unlike them to be so close and they were familiarising themselves with it.

He was falling in love with it.

“You know,” she whispered with a smile, “I don’t think I’ve ever known you to say so little.”

“Would you prefer it if I were babbling away instead?”

“God, no,” she chuckled as he pulled away. “Think I can safely say that’s one of my preferred ways you’ve made use of your tongue.”

He raised his eyebrow and her cheeks flushed pink furiously.

“Oh my god, no! I didn’t mean— not that!”

He raised his other eyebrow and, after quickly searching his eyes, she raised hers.

“Wow, okay so maybe that, if you’re—”

He chuckled, and kissed her shoulder before climbing to his feet. “I’m going to go and get your bag.”

“Or—” she grabbed his hand to stop him “— how about we both go back to the TARDIS and pick up where we left off?”

He snorted. “No chance am I missing your drunken Steps performance.”

“Not even for a good shag?”

He stilled to hear her say it, and only then did it occur to him that that was where this was heading. It was sobering, but he couldn’t say in any way it was repellent — not at all — only completely unbelievable.

“Oh god—” she slapped her hands to her face “—you didn’t— that’s not what.. what you— oh my god you didn’t say that’s what you wanted—”

“Rose,” he stressed, although gently, pulling her hand away as he crouched down in front of her. He tried to look at her, peering up from underneath her, but she wouldn’t look back at him. “I don’t think we’d be fooling anybody if I said I didn’t want that, too.”

She nodded firmly, still unable to look him in the eye. He rubbed his thumb over her fingers as they rested firmly in his, still a little nervous was she while he was completely certain.

“But it’s not all I want.”

“Yeah?” she said as she chewed her bottom lip. He nodded, and she paused for a moment, hesitant, before she spoke. “But…”

And then it was lost on her, either the rest of that sentence or her confidence to say it. Her fingers began to fidget in his, and he loosened his hold but not entirely, simply only allowing her the freedom to dwell without letting her drift entirely.

“But what?” he probed.

She looked even further down now, her chin tucked to her chest. “Wither and die, and all that.”

Ah yes, he grimaced. That.

The truth was, of course that’s all he could think about. And he regretted saying that to her every day since he had, because it shouldn’t have been her problem and yet he had made it her problem. By only showing her how much it anguished him, she had taken it upon herself to fix it for him, only to realise that she couldn’t. Nobody could, and for that, she couldn’t simply rest and allow herself to be happy while he only awaited misery. He wondered, then, if that was why she was so hesitant — not because she didn’t want this with all her heart, but because he had given her reason to believe he was petrified for his own survival, for a future of solitude without her but it was specifically that last part that tortured him now.

Without her. How could she possibly begin to resolve her heartache when she worried tirelessly over something she couldn’t control? He had to unburden her, assure her that he wasn’t scared for him, when truthfully he felt sick by his awaited grief. So for that, he bent his head to kiss her knee, and swore to inherit all her anxieties himself and free her of them.

“I know you’re a whole twenty-one-years-old now, but I don’t see you withering anytime soon.”

She didn’t laugh, but he still smiled reassuringly, intent on fulfilling his promise.

“But I will, one day,” she countered, and he fought back a sigh. 

“Are you always this miserable on your birthday?”

“Doctor!” she pleaded, but she was beginning to smile despite herself. “This is serious!”

The worst part was that he had had this exact argument with himself, time and time again, only he was normally on her side himself. But it had all changed when he had heard her tell him she wanted him; up until then, those arguments with himself were a response to the very hypothetical situation she might want him, but now that she actually did, he found himself quite unable to see her side now.

“Alright, alright,” he held up his hands in defeat. “You’re right.”

She didn’t exactly bask in it, but he knew he wasn’t about to give up anytime soon. So he perched himself down next to her, the picnic bench groaning as he settled his weight. A silence extended between them and he watched as Rose played with her ring, fiddling about with it in the interlude as she tried to find her words. But as the silence passed and she remained quiet, he realised perhaps she had nothing to say unprompted, so he asked a question he was sure he never would in the hope that she might finally release herself.

“What do you want?” he whispered.

She hesitated even still, before her breath carried her answer in a sigh. “You.”

He could have her say it over and over again and never tire of it; perhaps that serenely restful truth caused the words to tumble from his lips so desperately. “You have me. Christ knows why you want me out of anyone else in the whole bloody universe, but whatever you want is yours.”

Perhaps it was the slight inflection on just the right word, or perhaps it was all of them together, but he felt her somewhat loosen beside him. Determined though he was, he was misplaced to hear himself say it, something he only ever imagined might terrify her now only somehow consoling her.

“This is… mad,” she shuddered with a smile. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?”

“I can take an educated guess.”

“And you really want this too?”

He shrugged. “Probably— I don’t know, haven’t really thought it through.”

She whacked his arm with a chuckle she couldn’t quite suppress. “Oh my god—“

“Rose,” he whispered, urged perhaps, and she all but stilled completely to hear him say her name in such a way. He turned to look at her but she had closed her eyes, so he took her hand, small and fragile and soft as it was, and started to settle the ache in his fingers by running them across her skin. So warm, even if she didn’t think so in the cool April chill, and the softness against his, coarse and tired, was sublime.

“Why me?”

“Why you, what?”

“You said I could have anyone in the whole universe, well what about you? You’re a Time Lord,” she breathed the name of his race with such wonderment while he only regretted it, but he kept still. “And you’re the last one! You have literally all of time and space to choose from, why would you choose somebody with such a short life span— somebody who you can’t exactly share the rest of your life with or even a substantial part of it. Sixty years, that’s all I have! That’s all we’ll have!”

“This is a bit like talking about breaking up before you’ve even gotten together,” he pointed out, and she grinned again despite herself at that, and it only seemed to frustrate her that he joked when she searched for an answer much more reassuring. But the fact was, it would seem she had thought about this, and perhaps had even used it to convince herself he didn’t want her in return, which was utterly absurd to him. Joking with her wasn’t seeming to do the trick, lightening the mood in the hopes of lightening her worry was proving to serve no end to her own perceived stalemate, and she wasn’t just taking him at his word and allowing herself this.

So he bent his head to kiss the ball of her shoulder and he lingered there, breathing her in, unable to stop himself from kissing the same spot again. He needed saving from this, he realised, because kissing her seemed entirely unpreventable since he had allowed himself to only minutes ago, and right now she needed his reassurance.

“I’ve seen it all, Rose. Nine hundred years of travelling, I’ve met some spectacular people. But you have something on me that I can’t describe, and I know for a fact it’s irreversibly binding. I know, because I feel it in the way you smile, the sound of your laugh, I know I don’t stand a chance when you say my name as you giggle and I’m a complete lost cause when you touch me in any way. What I’m trying to say is I’ve met so many people in this universe, from so many corners of it across so many ages and none of them have ever given me something so completely tangible to hold on to.” He frowned, realising how he must sound completely bonkers, and he wasn’t exactly the greatest romantic of his time, but he really was limited by his words in describing what she was to him, so he settled instead on one final, simple sentiment. “You’re everything.”

He sniffed, because it sounded so terribly feeble and uninspired, and pulled away. She had been watching him as he spoke his mind, perhaps thinking he was an absolute nutter, but her palm touched his cheek and she leant forwards, brushing her lips to his and only holding on to time, savouring each passing second in this point in time and he felt how overwhelming it was, even to him. All the seconds passed, all the ones following it were immeasurable, literally, and for only a few of them, just one or two, they kissed. When she pulled away, he found himself wondering how he could possibly not chase more of those seconds.

“And don’t even get me started on that,” he breathed, and she giggled delightfully.

“You know, when you told me you were coming tonight, I thought maybe I might be lucky enough to hear you tell me I look beautiful—“

“Which I still haven’t done,” he chastised.

“— I never imagined any of this might happen, not for a second.”

“You didn’t?” he retaliated. “I was spending my day hoping that I could just survive it — and I have to say, there was a moment when your mother was telling me about Bev’s one night stand where I really, honestly, thought I might not.”

“And yet, you stayed,” she grinned, somewhat smugly and a little sweetly. “And you hate domestics!”

“I could get used to them,” he shrugged, and she only looked back at him in surprise. “Well, okay, I could learn how to tolerate them.”

“For me?” she said, still a little in disbelief.

“I told you, anything in the universe, time and space, all of it, is yours,” he assured. “If that includes family gatherings and ‘life admin’ days, then so be it.”

“Christmas dinner?”

“I’m there.”

“Even Mum’s fiftieth birthday bash?”

“Even that.”

“Christenings, baby showers, all that stuff, too?”

“If Charlie pops out any more kids, you bet I’ll be meeting them all.”

Rose scoffed, “Who are you and what have you done to the Doctor!”

“S’what you’ve done to me,” he corrected.

“It’s what domestics have done to you.”

“No, no, it’s definitely you.”

The sound of these giggles in particular, the ones where she was endearingly timid as he all but worshiped her, were entrancing; a new world he had yet to explore lay in their sound and he was a traveller, after all. It was far too tempting, she was far too tempting, and her darkened eyes as she looked at him here and now held a map to a path unknown, a whole universe in itself and he was ready to be lost in this one.

Her eyes flickered to his lips and she licked hers almost straight after, before she met his gaze once more and they were somehow even darker now. He found himself falling before he had even let go; their noses touched and her hand on his thigh sparked, and this was ridiculous, it was completely without sense that it all should feel like this. How many times had he fallen in love, how many moments had passed like this one and yet none of them were like this one, nobody looked as she looked at him, nobody’s touch was as devilishly hypnotic and never before had his hearts drummed so mercilessly for a moment in time to pass and yet remain—

“Rose!”

They both tore away to the sound of her name being called from the door, and all at once it came back: the sounds of merriment inside, the rustle of the leaves above them, the very harsh reminder that they weren’t alone.

“We’ve been looking all over for you, your mum wants to do a speech.”

“Oh, god,” Rose groaned as Shareen trudged over to them. But her steps slowed as she got closer, until she stopped completely just before them, her mouth open as she realised what she had interrupted.

He wished, with everything he had really, to be anywhere else but here.

“Oh my god, are you two—“ she gasped, narrowing her eyes at them before she pointed at their necks. “What! is that a— have you two got hickeys?”

Rose fidgeted excessively, pulling her dress down as much as she could before slapping her hand to her neck. “Shareen— please can you go get my bag?”

She scoffed indignantly and folded her arms. “Concealer ain’t gonna cover that up— what did you do to her!” she teased at the Doctor, and he only hung his head low and desperately willed for this to be over.

“Shareen,” Rose groaned. “Please, c’mon— I got two bloody weeks of detention covering for you when it was both of us skipping science to snog our boyfriends!”

The Doctor scratched his neck and shuddered to realise he was now in a situation akin to snogging his high school girlfriend when he should be in science class. He’d always wanted the human experience but this was not so high up on his list.

“As your mate, it’s my duty to have you completely mortified on your twenty-first — but—“ she insisted, when Rose began to protest “— as your best mate, I’m going to do you this favour and help you cover up the fact that you were out here neckin’ with a bloke none of us have really met before.”

The Doctor leapt to his feet, finally deciding to remove himself from this dreadful situation, but Shareen put her hand on his chest to stop him instead.

“Nope— you stay here, you look even worse than she does,” she smirked, before turning back to Rose with a wicked grin. “Give me two mins, but if your mum finds you in the meantime then I can’t help you.”

“Nobody could,” the Doctor muttered, mostly to himself, but Shareen caught it and giggled in agreement, before she turned to head back into the pub.

“I take it back,” he insisted as Rose got to her feet, too. “None of it, you can have none of it.”

“Nope,” she grinned. She took his tie in her hand and began to fiddle with it, but the look in her eye told him she was doing this deliberately, the little minx, and, worse yet, she knew exactly what it was doing to him. But she released him from it, this torture of being in a very public place when he so very much wished that they weren’t, and stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down for a chaste kiss, smiling into his lips as she whispered, “No taking it back now, Time Lord.”

And it was worth it, he thought, to see a smile he hadn’t seen before. Well, that and the way she had called him “Time Lord” in a way that sent shivers down his spine. But her smile now was one where she was so completely happy and at ease, and he was quite happy indeed to bear the weight of her concerns if it meant she could enjoy her time alive.

He supposed, then, for her twenty-first birthday, he might have given her time itself.

[mercurial-madhouse]

Anon prompted me with a Disney drabble and several plot-bunnies bounded and burrowed into my brain. This is the first that insisted on coming through my fingers and it is Sleeping Beauty inspired. I just couldn’t get the idea of Louis, Liam, and Harry as the three fairy godmothers (fathers? non-binary magical beings who aren’t parents?) out of my mind. The official prompt will come with the other drabble! Enjoy the light-hearted humour!

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*< 

Got this spell on me (’cause everything you do is magic)

Niall loves his flatmates.  Truly, there’s never a dull moment when the four of them are all home. The three Brits are oddly protective of him, something about him living in a strange land or summat.

Louis will fight the weather to make sure they’ve got a footie match to watch. Harry will create a new designer store to keep Niall in the latest fashions that work for him. And Liam pulls every delicious food Niall ever wants out of thin air. No, it’s never a dull moment when they’re around.

That insanity might have a wee bit to do with their magic.

Something whistles through the air.

“Blue.”

As Louis’s tart declaration rings behind him, Niall flops back into the sofa and makes himself comfortable. He flicks on the telly and finds the most recent match.

Harry huffs somewhere on the opposite side. Another whistle sings from his end of the room. “Pink.”

Schwip.

“He looks brilliant in blue.”

Schwip.

“He’ll stand out in pink.”

Niall probably shouldn’t have let Harry and Louis decide his outfit for the Gala Friday night.

Schwip.

“He doesn’t need to stand out. He needs to look good.”

Schwip.

“He always looks good.”

“Batter?”

Niall glances up at Liam, holding out a bowl to him. He’s got a spot of chocolate dough on his cheek and some hair falling over one eyebrow. The bowl he’s holding has mostly been emptied, but he always lets Niall lick the containers.

Niall takes the bowl, peering over Liam’s shoulder.

The dishes are washing themselves, there’s another bowl stirring itself on the worktop, and Louis’s guarding the border between kitchen and living room. Hair fluffy and torso wrapped in a loose, royal blue jumper, he’s facing Harry, who’s defending the window on the other end of the flat. The early-afternoon light filtering in glitters off Harry’s rings and the shine in his fitted lilac shirt.

True to form, they’re glaring daggers past their wands in a British standoff over a flamingo-coloured Paul Smith suit that’s floating on its own in the centre of the room.

Niall tips his head left then right, impressed. “Full sentences, proper grammar, no swearing or name-calling. Sounds like progress,” he says to Liam.

Liam screws his face up skeptically. He sticks his wand over his upper lip like a mustache and rolls it between his fingers as he thinks, which twists his features up to look even more doubtful. “Ah...”

Louis twips his wand and crosses his arms in one fluid movement. Not quite a twirl, not quite a whip, it’s what Niall has dubbed a twip. Sapphire sparks shoot out of the end of his wand as it’s being tucked under Louis’s arm. They smack into the suit and it transforms into a beautiful periwinkle.

“Blue.”

Harry scrunches his nose and swishes his wand in an understated pointing motion. Magenta sparks shoot from the end and the suit blooms a lovely pale rose. “Pink.”

Without missing a beat, Louis flicks his wand up like he’s flicking Harry off with it. More cerulean sparks. The suit reverts back. “Blue.”

Niall rolls his eyes.

Liam just shrugs and taps the side of the bowl with his wand in a nudge, completely unaffected by the madness behind him.

Niall scoops a heaping fingerful of chocolate batter onto his tongue. His eyes widen. Feet flattening on the floor, he stares between Liam and the traces of batter. “Nandoca’s Choice?”

Liam winks. “I get it right then?”

Niall loves his flat mates. He’s certain there’s no one in London who would try to recreate Nando’s for him with magic. Actually, he doesn’t know anyone else with magic, just these three eccentric misfits who it feels like Niall’s known all his life.

“Pink.”

“Blue.”

Niall swipes up another glob of perfection, sucking on his finger as he jerks a nod towards the other two. “Is this still because Haz ‘flirted’ one smile too many with that bloke at the pub last night?”

Harry had turned on his blinding charm to distract the bartender because Louis got a mite too tipsy too early. Alcohol loosens the link with their magic and Niall, in his non-magic role as damage control, hadn’t been expecting anything to happen so soon. Louis’s pint had frothed teal and spouted out like a volcano when he’d burst out laughing. Niall hadn’t covered it fast enough and the bartender saw it.

But Niall knows that’s all semantics to Louis when he’s halfway to flutered and watching his partner make googly-eyes at a stranger.

Liam shrugs a yes, scooping out a small sample himself and giving it a taste. His eyes pop in delight. “They’ll sort it tonight.”

Niall snorts. “With which wands?”

The question is rhetorical because he knows the answer, but Liam responds anyway. Liam’s got the strangest and honestly quaintest quirk of being incapable of perceiving what’s rhetorical.

“Both, I reckon.”

“Blue!”

“Pink!” The tempo increases until Louis and Harry are practically shouting overtop each other. Magic whips behind him and Liam and ruffles Niall’s hair.

“Blue!”

“Pink!”

A small implosion resounds through the flat. Liam glances up and sighs. Niall gathers the last of the glorious Nando’s batter and hands the bowl back to Liam. He takes the bowl and disappears back to the kitchen, fwipping his wand by his shoulder towards the suit without looking.

In the silence, the excitement on the telly from the announcer buzzes as though the proverbial dust is clearing.

Louis flops down next to him and twists, throwing his legs over Niall’s lap. In the far edge of his vision, Niall watches Louis’s wand twirl in a circle. A bowl of Coco Pops appears in Louis’s hand.

“Should’ve gone left. Chelsea’s defense is weaker on the left,” Louis grumbles with his mouth full.

Niall glances at Louis and tries not to laugh. With his eyes trained on the telly, Louis dings his spoon against the bottom of his bowl like his hair and eyebrows aren’t a vibrant shade of bubblegum pink that, combined with the sleep-fluff of the strands, make him into a life-size piece of cotton candy.

The sofa dips on his other side before Niall can answer Louis.

“You say that every time,” Harry mutters as he lifts Louis’s feet and drops them on his own lap. The pout on his face matches the cobalt blue his brows and curls are now dyed. With the expression and colour combination, Harry looks like a caricature of an anime character and Niall barely manages to keep a straight face.

“Because it’s still true,” Louis gruffs back. His legs dig into Niall’s thighs when he shifts. Niall glances down to see him burrowing his feet under Harry’s hands until Harry starts rubbing them.

Niall chuckles and shakes his head. The suit is now a boring grey, like a canvas waiting to be finished. Whatever colour it is the moment he walks out the door will be fine with him. His flatmates are ridiculous, but he wouldn’t give them up even for the chance to have magic too.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

(I need to create a post on Tumblr and AO3 where all my drabbles can be found. Alas, it is not this day. But I promise there’s at least one more drabble coming that is Disney inspired, beautiful Anony!)

Have something else you’d like to see me write? Go wild! Pairing, situation, feeling… Send me an ask (anon or not) completing the sentence ‘I wish you’d write a fic where…’

Superpowers Drabble 

Invisible Drabble

Only one bed (H-POV)

Only one bed (L-POV)

ABO new-omega!Louis drabble that became a fic on AO3.

Spy AU Drabble

[sincerelyreidburke]

The first Halloween party of college goes extremely successfully for Ben.

So successfully, in fact, that he doesn’t even get back to his room until approximately four in the morning. Unfortunately, his roommate is asleep, so he has nobody to rave to about the very very sexy girl from the basketball team he spent the wee hours of the morning with, but then again, Nando is a responsible citizen, and Ben doesn’t want to wake him so he can dish about a hookup. Instead, he sheds his costume, crawls into bed in his boxers, and waits until morning.

When morning comes, Nando wakes up first. Ben knows this because when he comes to, sometime around ten in the morning, with autumn light beaming into his eyes like a hangover laser through the window, Nando is not only already up, but already showered and dressed. He’s chilling on his bed typing on his phone, and smiling at his screen while he does it.

When Ben sits up in bed, blinking the light out of his eyes, Nando gives him a wave. “Hey, man.” He’s chipper, still grinning, and definitely not feeling the effect of last night the way Ben is.

Ben yawns, and stretches both arms to the ceiling. “‘Sup,” he gets out, after what feels like a prolonged, yawn-caused delay. He rubs out a crick in his neck, then, to Nando, says, “How long have you been up?”

Nando is typing on his phone again. “Like an hour?” he says, then shrugs. He sleeps his display, then puts the phone down on his chest. He’s still smiling. “What, uh… what time did you get in?”

Ben pretends like he has to think about it for a second. “Around four,” he remarks, after the consideration.

Nando lets off a vaguely impressed chuckle. “You don’t fuck around.”

“Actually,” Ben corrects, finger-gunning him, “that’s exactly what I was doing.”

Nando laughs. “I hate you so much.”

Ben winks at him. “Most people do.” He grabs his most recent half-finished water bottle from his bedside table, and downs the rest in one gulp— which definitely clears his head a little. From next to the bottle, he takes a blue scrunchie, and starts to tie up his hair while he looks again to Nando. He’s texting again, so Ben gives him a minute before he begins his dishing about Jess.

And he intends to tell him about Jess. Or at least to make an offhand comment about how he’s lost his basketball team virginity, to be funny. Nando may not be able to relate to his sentiments about girls, but when Ben comes back from a hookup, Nando usually asks where he was.

So he’s about to tell him. He waits for him to be off his phone before he does. But when Nando puts his phone down again, he folds his hands on his stomach, and he talks first.

“So, like,” he says, smiling at the ceiling, “not to jinx it?” It’s only right then that Ben realizes something might be up for him , and his next sentence confirms it. “But I’m pretty sure I met the cutest guy on this campus last night.”

Ben’s internal simp sensor rings off the hook. “Oh, did you?” he chirps. “Did you really? The cutest guy on this campus?” The doofy smile on Nando’s face is a fucking delight to behold, and so is the way it keeps widening as Ben makes fun of him. He can’t believe he didn’t notice this right off the bat. “You better start talking right fucking now, Seb,” he declares, and lowers his voice in his unparalleled glee to whisper, “Did you get lucky?”

“What? No!” Nando laughs, and shakes his head. He twists his hands where they’re resting on his stomach, and shrugs, with the simp smile lingering. “We just talked.”

“ We just talked ,” Ben mocks, and cackles, as he drums on his own pillow. “ Dude !” He wants to jump on his bed. Nando meeting a guy is good on its own, and even better when you consider the sheer amount of chirping this gives Ben ammunition for. “Who? When? At the party?”

“Yeah, at the party.” Nando ruffles a hand through his curls, then his smile widens. “He agreed to go on a date with me.”

“ What ?!” Ben very well may be waking up all their dorm neighbors, and he gives a literal negative amount of fucks about that. He slaps his pillow again. “You fucking casanova!”

Nando says nothing, but peeks at his phone, and keeps smiling when he goes to type again. “Jesus Christ,” Ben whispers, in his awe. “Are you texting him right now?”

Nando nods, and Ben yells into his pillow. His best friend, who got cheated on and dumped the third week of school, is a complete ball of mush over some guy right now. Ben could not be more fucking amped. And also he’s going to get details. ASAP.

“Who, who, who?” he says, as soon as Nando’s attention is away from his phone again. “Who is it? Do I know him? Do you have a picture?”

“I don’t think you know him,” Nando replies, “but, uh, yeah, I think I have a picture. Hold on.” He picks up his phone again, and Ben does his best not to vibrate out of his skin. While Nando surfs through his phone— not texting, this time— he announces, through his smile, “His name is Quinn.”

Nando looks about to melt, and Ben is going to combust over it. Wait until Remy gets a load of this. “Nanny’s fucking wheeling,” he shouts, for nobody to hear, and claps a couple times. “ Dude . You’re a fucking legend!”

Nando laughs. He taps something on his screen, then says, like it’s no big deal, “All I did was get his number.”

“And get him to agree to a date with you!” Ben cries. “All in the same night? That takes skill!”

Nando rolls his eyes, but doesn’t stop smiling. “Look who’s talking,” he says, and then announces, “I sent you his Instagram.”

“Oh, say less .” Ben leans to grab his phone from the nightstand, and grins a little when he opens Instagram to find a follow request from Jess. He accepts it, then clicks on the profile Nando sent him. It brings him to a quinn cooper🌈🌷🧏‍♂️ , whose bio informs Ben that he’s kiersey college ‘22 and GRTA , whatever that second part means. A few taps through an aesthetically coordinated profile in muted, warm colors land him on a post from September 24th, in which a ginger twink with a white scarf is smiling in the apple orchard next to a very pretty blonde girl dressed all in pink. “Ginger boy?” he asks Nando, who’s texting yet again.

“Yeah,” Nando says, and then smiles up from his phone. “He’s cute, right?”

Ben cackles again, and nearly falls off his mattress. “Dude, you’re fucking simping right now.”

“Stop!” Nando’s smile hasn’t faded. Ben takes a minute to look through other pictures on Quinn’s Instagram. His most recent post is from October 6th, and it’s a shot of a tree Ben recognizes as one outside the performing arts center, in peak foliage. it’s a lovely time of year🍂 , reads his caption. Other, older posts include a big cast photo from some kind of play, a bunch of tulips in a huge garden, and three cats on a sofa. “Wow,” Ben remarks, once he’s done stalking (for now). When he looks up at Nando, he has to shake himself out to keep from yelling again. “ Dude ,” he says, instead. “You’re in deep. I can see it on your face.”

Nando presses his cheek into his fist, like he’s trying to rub the blush out. “I had a good night,” he murmurs, smiling down at his downturned phone in his lap.

A ‘good night’ seems like an understatement.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Ben announces, and jumps out of bed. “I’m gonna get dressed,” he starts, sauntering to his closet to prove it. “And then,” he adds, looking over his shoulder once he yanks his KMH sweatshirt off a hanger, “you’re gonna buy me brunch.”

Nando laughs. “Whaaat? No fair,” he says, but he doesn’t seem too pressed about it.

“And then ,” Ben continues, while he pulls out a pair of jeans, “you’re gonna tell me all about your new ginger friend.”

He waits for Nando to protest, but he doesn’t. Instead, when Ben turns again, Nando is smiling all the same, with his arms folded all smugly.

“Okay,” he says. “I can do that.”

Ben is going to lose his mind. For the first time, things seem to be looking up for Nando in the love department. He’s still smiling at his phone, like a fucking simp ass.

Ben laughs as he gets dressed. Good for him .

Ben doesn’t know it, but years down the road, he’ll tell this story— among many others— at Nando’s wedding to this new ginger friend. For now, though, he’s getting brunch and a dishing session out of this. It’s going to be even better than the dishing session he expected.

That’s another win for the fucking boys .

[spidercakes]

Here, have a high school ABO AU featuring Tony trying his best while Peter plays coy.

*

Tony knows he’s staring but he can’t help it, Peter Parker is pretty okay and he has poor self restraint. Its why he decided to disrupt shop class by squirting whipped cream into his mouth out of one of those ridiculous cans every time Hammer went to speak. Fucking priceless.

“If you stare at him harder, maybe he’ll agree to date you and sex will fall out,” Pepper says, earning a sharp laugh out of Rhodey. He gives her a high five and Tony gives them both a dirty look.

“I hope you both get an STI,” he mumbles.

Pepper snorts, “neither of us are as slutty as you so I think we’re safe,” she says, pushing a copy of Hamlet at him and he wrinkles his nose. Like he wants to read more fucking Shakespeare. That asshole one hundred percent faked his talent and none of his shit makes sense, Tony refuses to believe there’s teaching value in it so he goes back to looking at Peter.

Today he’s wearing a short white pleated skirt, thigh highs, and an oversized baby pink sweater with a fuzzy scarf wrapped around his neck just looking delectable. Tony’d like to unwrap that scarf like a fucking present, exposing the soft, pliable skin underneath and-

“Jesus Tony, you’re literally licking your lips. What is he, a fucking pork chop?” Pepper asks. “This is why omegas think alphas are useless and a burden on society,” she mumbles.

“Amen,” Rhodey adds, shrugging when Tony gives him a dirty look. “Sorry man, you know I love you but all alphas do is start pissing contests that turn into wars and expect us all to be happy about it,” he points out.

“And yet its you that wants to join the military,” Tony says.

“Unlike some rich assholes not all of us have immediate access to education money, thank you. Also Air Force, planes are cool as hell so do not insult me,” Rhodey says, flicking his fingers at Tony.

“You remind me that betas aren’t as reasonable as I like to think they are,” Pepper tells him and Rhodey makes an offended noise. “Don’t look at me like that, you’re just as dumb and reckless as Tony, you’re just better at sounding reasonable about it.”

A book slams shut to his left so Tony looks over, noting that Peter is sticking stuff in his bag and right, okay. He can do this, he can ask him out its not like he hasn’t done this a million times before. Well, not a million times but still he’s never had a problem with it until now and- Pepper smacking him gets his attention.

“Do you want him to think you’re a stalker? Because that’s how you get him to think you’re a stalker,” she says.

“Uh huh,” he says, getting up and taking off after Peter. He can do this, its not that hard and its not like he gets turned down often. Or ever.

He catches up with Peter in the hallway in front of his locker looking just as delicious as he had before, except now he’s unwrapping that scarf from his neck and his head is just tilted to the side and oh. He must notice Tony staring because he turns and gives Tony a bored look. “Do you need something?” he asks, tone also bored.

Oh dear god. Tony makes a small noise of some kind, holy hell he’s awful at this, and then tells himself to suck it the fuck up. “Um, yeah. I’m having a Christmas party in like, a week or so. Wanna go?” he asks.

Peter looks up up and down and what does that mean? “I’m Jewish,” he says, shutting his locker and walking away and no fucking way.

“Is he actually Jewish?” he asks the girl standing next to Peter’s locker. Michelle maybe? MJ? He can’t remember, but she hangs out with Peter so he figured she’d know.

She gives him a judgmental look. “You didn’t know he was Jewish?” she asks and Tony lets out an annoyed breath.

“Shit.”

*

Peter can feel the way Tony is looking at him and at this point he’s perfected playing it cool. Its not like he’s never seen this before, Tony deciding someone is the object of his affections only to lost interest whenever they showed an interest back. Peter doesn’t have any interest in being some kind of tryst so he figures maybe all those ‘play hard to get’ things might have a point. So far he’s managed to keep Tony’s interest anyway, so maybe that’s not total junk psychology anyway.

He keeps an eye on Tony in a much more subtle way than Tony does with him, only diverting his attention when Ned walks into the library. He grins, hoping that Ned’s bearing good news about Legos. “Guess who managed to wrestle the last Death Star Lego set away from a white mom crying about her kid wanting one for Christmas?” he says, looking pleased with himself.

Peter snorts, “oh my god, did she yell about you ruining Christmas?” he asks.

“Obviously but if you think for one second I feel pity for Karen’s little unvaccinated mucus machine you’ve got another thing coming,” he says, resulting in them both laughing.

“Awesome,” Peter says. “Now all we need is to get MJ to agree to come and then we can eat like, so many Oreos.”

Ned nods, probably strategizing in his head when he notices something. “Oh my god Tony Stark is walking over here,” he hisses at Peter, looking over his shoulder and damnit Ned, play it cool!

He doesn’t say that though, he just takes a calming breath and turns to give Tony a bored, maybe even a little disinterested, look. Tony only pauses for a half a second and Peter sure shit hopes this works because he’s wanted to climb Tony like a tree for like three years but he’s not about to be some hookup either. “Um, hey. So I’m having a party this weekend, not at all Christmas related and uh. Wanna go?” he asks.

Peter pretends to consider it even though he already has an answer. “I have a date with Ned,” he says, phrasing it that way on purpose.

Tony looks a little confused. “You’re dating Ned?” he asks.

“No, platonic date but he battled a white mom for Lego Death Star and I’m sure he nearly contracted measles so I’m not bailing on him,” he says.

Tony lets out a soft snort, covering his mouth as he starts laughing harder. “Congratulations on winning your battle,” Tony tells him, amused.

Ned nods, “I ruined Christmas for her kid, so I feel real accomplished. We’ll probably have time to swing by after the Death Star thing though,” he says and Peter swears to god. He turns and gives Ned a look, making sure Tony can’t see his face while he does it and Ned looks confused.

“Awesome, see you guys then,” Tony says, grinning ear to ear like he’s just won something and he hasn’t won shit, damnit!

“Dude, what the hell was that? You’ve had a crush on Tony for like, seventeen years,” Ned says, “so what’s with the look?”

Peter sighs, “I’ve been carefully cultivating a cool aloof nature and you came in here and ruined it by accepting his invitation! Now he thinks he’s won,” he says, slumping in his seat.

Ned frowns, “have you been reading bad nineties dating advice columns?” he asks.

“No, Ned. I’ve just noticed that any time Tony decides he’s interested in someone he’s not interested as soon as they’re interested and I’m trying to make myself interesting enough to keep around here,” he says. “And then you off and made me available.”

“Fine, next time I play wingman I’ll tell him about that time you got violent diarrhea at that Nandos when we went to Britain last year,” Ned tells him.

Peter lets out a panicked squeak. “Oh my god Ned, no!”

*

Peter didn’t want to go to this damn party but MJ wanted to go just to see what Tony Stark’s house looked like and honestly calling it a house is like calling a whole ass parking lot a single parking space. It takes him, MJ, and Ned all of five seconds to lose each other and another ten seconds for him to be completely lost. God damn MJ, they should have just eaten way too many Oreos and gone to sleep and then Peter would be back to having Tony think he’s unavailable and it all would have worked out in the end but no, couldn’t do that.

A hand curls around his arm and for a moment he’s relieved because he’s sure Ned found him but when he looks over its Tony. Well shit, he’s unprepared for this what the hell does he do? “You came,” Tony says, smiling wide and aw man its hard to seep his cool with Tony so close and like... actually touching him and stuff. God, he’s desperate.

“Yeah, MJ wanted to steal all your toilet paper,” he blurts out like a fucking moron.

Thankfully Tony has a weird sense of humor because he starts laughing. “That all you came here for?” he asks and Peter hadn’t paid attention to how close they were either. Okay Parker, play it cool.

He turns so he’s facing Tony and steps in a little closer, allowing Tony to move his hand from Peter’s arm to his waist as he reaches up and pulls Tony a little closer to him by the lapel of his shirt. “Depends,” he says, looking Tony over. “If you’re worth my time or not.”

Tony looks delighted as he settles his other hand on Peter’s waist. “I haven’t had any complaints,” he says.

Yeah, Peter’s heard the stories and then probably a lot of rumors. He circles an arm around Tony’s neck, “well, I’m not fond of being left cold in the morning and I’ve got a good consensus on where you stand on that so,” he says, pulling away just as fast as he came close but Tony pulls him back.

“Mm, something tells me you’ll be worth keeping around,” Tony murmurs.

“Mm, and something tells me I might want to hold out on you a little, make you beg a little,” Peter tells him, not at all anticipating the way Tony’s features cloud over with arousal and okay, he can work with that. He grins, pulling out of Tony’s grasp almost completely, “why don’t you come back when you’re prepared to grovel a little, hmm?” he says, moving to walk away but Tony pulls him back, wrapping his arms around his waist again.

“Oh, I’m plenty ready to grovel now,” Tony tells him enthusiastically. Peter happens to look over and finds Ned and MJ at the end of the hallway looking way too enthused for their own good. He turns back to Tony and smiles, “well, go on then,” he tells him, pushing him back into the room he’d come out of when he’d found Peter here to begin with.

[omegatheunknown]

F1 Affinity Grid, 2024

last year

Curiously, though the driver lineup is entirely unchanged from the end of last season, my whims continue to mutate.

Podium Places 1. Fernando Alonso (↑) -- Please, fickle fates, let Nando win a race before he rides off into the sunset. Self-identified villain or not, his undeniable pluck and wiliness persist and his character is now one of a 1 of 1 legend.

2. Alex Albon (↑) -- Williams remains a safe place for Alex, the car looks poor, his competition is below par, he just needs to gut out points and keep smiling. Bit concerned if a good run of form might put him in position to be put back in the fire at Red Bull, then again what if he ends up with George at Merc? Regardless, I want Alex to get everything he wants.

3. Lewis Hamilton (-) -- Well, he asked for this. LH is waiting for next year all year, but then again, aren't we all... I do, however, hope for a surprise breakthrough, even as he runs out his term for Merc.

4. Valtteri Bottas (↓) -- Clearly the mothballed Sauber operation gave him nothing to work with last year but I also struggle to remember even one instance of him outdriving the sled. The bright green car is fun, if unpromising. Bottas remains a fun personality and a surprise appearance in the top of the field would make me quite happy. 5. Yuki Tsunoda (↑) -- Make or break, Yuki lately looks like he'll make. Knowledge that he has to keep Danny Ric at bay looked to have done wonders for his focus over the back half of last season. A podium result would be delightful.

6. Oscar Piastri (↑) -- Oh, this kid's smooth. Pushed Lando as a rookie, which is not nothing.

7. Pierre Gasly (↓) -- Alpine was bad last year and looks... significantly worse this year. This, I'm afraid, will age Pierre and his youthful exuberance irrevocably.

8. Sergio Perez (↓) -- Aw, Checo. Terribly challenging year to try and root for the guy, he just... constantly failed to turn it up, rose to very few of the challenges thrown down... but he did finish 2nd, which, for all the grief, is the first time the bulls have finished 1-2, which I might suggest is indicative of the long term climate for their 2nd drivers.

Mid-field

9. Kevin Magnussen (↓) -- The kinder, gentler, mellower K-Mag continues to do what he do, which is qualify well and hope his Haas doesn't fucking die mid-race.

10. Zhou Guanyu (↓) -- Honestly, probably a better driver than Bottas at this point but it's hard to tell, think Valtteri's spent his spell with not-sauber trying to cope with a car that sucks to drive, whereas Zhou's been making do.

11. Nico Hulkenberg (↓) -- Copy and paste from K-Mag, still the best pair of drivers Haas has had (oh, that's a funny phrase) in ever, but to what end? Consistency in car not designed for race length races.

12. Esteban Ocon (↓) -- Did not, in the end, create much fun drama paired with Pierre, because it's easier to get along when there's little competition to be had. Could be a long quiet season.

13. Max Verstappen (↑) -- SuperMax continues his slow climb in my personal esteem (I'm sure he'd be thrilled to hear this,) he's just been so... consistent, and absent any challenge, sort of zen, reaching for a sort of pure mechanical athleticism mixed with unerring drive for further perfection. Gotta respect that. It's not the band I hate, it's the fans.

14. Charles LeClerc (↑) -- I don't want to feel bad for a rich, handsome Ferrari driver with the kind of life of leisure that allows the globe trotting Monegasque a vocation as a dilettante beat-maker... but his luck is so bad. So so bad.

15. Daniel Ricciardo (n/r) -- Oh, silly me. How could I forget. I have genuinely enjoyed Danny, he's the undisputed driver-side star of DtS. I just don't think he's... well, prove me wrong, Danny.

Backmarkers for my affection

16. Logan Sargeant (↓) -- Okay. Fair points -- he's green. Paired with Alex, he looks poor, Alex looks good. I do more or less hope he shows something this year, it's time to prove it.

17. Lando Norris (--) -- Still not really for me. He's maturing, he's putting up results. I just would not be surprised if Lando was a flat-earther or moon landing denier based on something he saw on tik-tok.

18. George Russell (--) -- I simply do not care for his demeanour.

19. Carlos Sainz, Jr (--) -- Do I feel bad that Lewis is taking his spot? No. No I do not. Feels cruel of me, but...

20. Lance Stroll (--) -- I will try to be nicer to Lance Stroll. Has he learned to check his mirrors before slamming into the side of or slamming his side into someone? Not as of yet.

[xavinisms]

2019 Round-up | A Vintage Year

Wow... What a ride it's been.

Between trips to places I have never been before, from Copenhagen to Tasmania, Melbourne to Ahmedabad and New Delhi, I have worked with and met so many amazing artists, thinkers and activists that have shaped the way I came to understand the world this year.

I felt equally privileged, delighted, sad and unwelcome in various capacities throughout the year.

The quality and breath of work I had the pleasure to engage with this year has been incredible. Every artist, producer, curator, tech manager, designer, and overall colleague, has shown me what humanity can create: a sense of risk, ambition and most of all, humanity. For that, I am incredibly thankful.

The political and social developments in the UK continue to disturb me and at the same time meant I joined groups of activism that I consider to be of the utmost importance right now, namely Momentum and Migrants in Culture.

It is no surprise that I am quite tired with constantly being told - directly and indirectly - that I am not welcome in the UK. It's been like that for a while and if it wasnt for the people here mentioned (and many,many more) I most probably would have left by now. The fight continues though, and as the UK enters a new darker period where fascism is ever creeping up our public and private systems and life, we must never loose sight of the end goal: each others and our well being. So much is dependent on our generations to turn this around, and it all feels impossible at the moment. I don't know exactly what I can tell you about the future. What I know is that things wont be the same in the new year and beyond, personally and professionally.

Nonetheless, there is plenty to celebrate...

2019 in Chronological-ish order:

🇮🇳 Travels to Ahmedabad and New Delhi in India where I was privileged enough to work with my friend Pankaj Tiwari on a performance research and then spent time exploring, learning and adoring the culture and people I met.

The project, Coding The Currents, is set in the river Khari in the vicinity of Ahmedabad, in the Gujarati state. Led by Pankaj and Agat Sharma. You can read more about the work here and the overall project (which you should, because it is excellent). https://codingthecurrents.cargo.site/Post-Human-Dinner-Party

I will forever cherish the time I spent there, the people I met and that made me feel so welcomed. Experiencing the local cultures, the food, the history of the country and learning how to get around was a breathtaking experience - and I look forward to returning in the future.

🇦🇺 Travels to Australia, where I hang out with my friend Bek Berger and met some new wonderful friends and colleagues, swam in the ocean and the swimming pools of Melbourne, went to music festivals in Tasmania, and generally relaxed.

💃🏼 Toured POST a bit more including a run at Battersea Arts Centre and gathered some of the best feedback and reviews of my career. Some info here: https://www.xavierdesousa.co.uk/post/165981228414/post-tour

👑 Got commissions, residencies and performances booked and engaged on for new show REGNANT which I will open in 2020. A durational play, REGNANT focuses on structures of power and local government. This project will be the biggest of my solo career, and it will be a new chance to work collectively and learn new skills along the way, as well as collaborating with new and exciting artists.  

🌆 Curated and delivered a lot of New Queers on the Block across the UK:

·       Returned to the towns and cities we visited in 2018, from Folkestone to Blackpool, via Hastings and Bradford, to present small to mid-scale performances, film works, talks and events by Ira Brand, Last Yearz Interesting Negro, Harry Josephine Giles, Demi Nanhdra, Marikiscrycrycry, Harry Clayton-Wright, Rachael Young, Mandla Rae, Lucy Hutson, Samir Kennedy, Istanbul Queer Arts Collective, Benjamin Sebastian, Nando Messias and Subira Joy, amongst many others.

·       Commissioned local LGBTQ+ artists such as Sea Sharp, Subira Joy, Wandia Wahogo, Kirsty Taylor and Adam Frost to create their first theatre shows, with development and producing support from us, as well as producing teams around them.

·       Commissioned Oozing Gloop, Marikiscrycrycry and Rachael Young to create new work and upscale their practices to larger, tour-able models or to experiment with new forms.

·       Released ‘New Queers On The Road’, a documentary following our first ever tour and explores the impact the work has already had in local communities. Directed by the incredible Rosie Powell, this has been seen by over 100,000 people across the country and online, as well as local TV stations.

·       Worked more closely with our Local Ambassadors Bean, Benjamin Sebastian, Elis Johnson and Sonia Sandu across those locations, and developed new local audiences; Welcomed new members to the New Queers team, such as our General Manager Carmen D’Cruz, Marketing Manager Rasheed Rahman and Associate Producer Lee Smith, who, together with our PR Anna Smith have taken the projects to new hights of efficiency and awareness.

·       Partnered with new friends, such as SHOUT Festival and FIERCE Festival (Birmingham), Art BnB and Abingdon Studios (Blackpool), Brick Box Rooms (Bradford) and Camden People’s Theatre (London) to present new performances, a full day symposium on care practices in the queer arts scene and co-produce the development of local queer artists.

·       New Queers on The Block is a Touring and Artist Development Scheme led by Marlborough Productions in partnership with Attenborough Centre for the Creative Arts (Brighton), Theatre in the Mill (Bradford), Left Coast & Art BnB (Blackpool), Home Live Art (Hastings), Creative (Folkestone), FIERCE Festival & SHOUT Festival (Birmingham). Funded by Arts Council England, Jerwood Arts, Esmée Fairban & The Space.

✊🏼 Curated and delivered a LOT of performingbordersLIVE with my friend Alessandra Cianetti

·       Commissioned new performance for camera by Istanbul Queer Arts Collective and Tara Fatehi Irani

·       Live interviews with Nima Séne and Tuna Erdem (Queer Contact, Manchester), Sim Chi Yin and Annie Jael Kwan (Attenborough Centre for the Creative Arts, Brighton) and Anti-Cool & osborn&møller (Artsadmin)

·       Commissioned All The Tea in China by Burong (曾不容) and Patrolling by Critical Interruptions

·       Curated and produced the event Curating Borderless Spaces at Live Art Development Agency, which included provocations, talks, interventions, workshops, key notes, performances and food by Season Butler, Instanbul Queer Arts Collective, Raju Rage, Bojana Janković, Dana Olărescu, Kai Syng Tan, Helena Walsh, and Lois Keidan.

·       Online interviews with Pelin Başaran and Warehouse9

📻 Did an extensive residency with Warehouse9 in Copenhagen with An* Neely that resulted in an exhibition and a series of podcasts with Lasse Lau, Jupiter Child, Sarah Lamming and Lukas Raki.

✊🏼 Co-founded Migrants in Culture and launched an investigation and the final report on the Impact of the UK Home Office's policy Hostile Environment against Migrant Culture Workers. You can read it here.

👨🏻‍🏫 Taught at Central St Martins for the first time and had a great time, although this time no-one called me Professor X. A bitter highlight.

🥖 Presented a new work in progress of a one-on-one piece, Breaking Bread, at ARC Stockton as part of Curious Festival

And more... much much more...

May 2020 be the year we turn things around politically and socially. And may it be a vintage year for you, for me, and for us.

Xavier