#wei bios

[wontune]

𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑜𝑜 and 𝗱𝗮𝗲𝗵𝘆𝗲𝗼𝗻 soft ♡ 🌸 bios

내 사랑 ❕️🖐🏻♡ sunoo 𝑏𝑜𝑦

𝒮𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁 ✿ porce𝓁ain ** sun──oo

𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 of 🌸 ♥︎ 귀여움 is you

𝗱⍺𝗲𝗵ⴗᧉ𝗼𝗻 ����🏻 ♡ 와 my 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡 love

my 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙꯭𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒 is you love ꔫ 📃 대현'♡

🌸ᩧ ＼ your l✿ve 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗱 to 𝑐𝑎𝑝͟𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 me

[poemaojal]

  𥤃  ⠀✿͟ ͟ຼ ㅤ꯳⃘꤫  𓈒ֵ۫ ❙❘❙ ͏ྀི

𝒞ada latido

⠀ ⠀ susurra tu no͟m͟b͟r͟e

[bimyself06]

You know it'd be pretty funny? To read a fic where Wei Changze is When Rouhan's son and WCZ look's eerily similar to WRH. The kicker here is for A-Yuan to either be Wen Xu or Wen Chao's kid perhaps even WRH I don't care so long as he to resembles WRH, and since Wei Wuxian looks like his dad(at least from I remember in the flashback from the donghua, I haven't seen a description for WWX parents yet in the books) this causes people to often think they are father and son. When Lan Wangji returns to the Cloud Recesses with A-Yuan and claims him as his, many had to wonder when LWJ and WWX slept together and how WWX got pregnant.

Lan Sizhui grows up being told he looks like his other parent and that side of the family while the Lan clan keeps on trying to find features he shares with LWJ, there are quite a surprising few(wink wink, genetics work mysteriously esp when mdm lan 's fam is so unknown, wink wink) without also adding most of LWJ mannerism with WWX friendliness.

[beljin7]

𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴.

[b-brightvc]

xiao zhan icons

like or reblog if u save. don't repost pls! <3

[stiltonbasket]

Hi! In fem!wwx, when will a-yuan meet LXC, and LQR? What is their reaction to a-yuan considering that a-yuan has some similarity with LWJ? Will they make incorrect assumption? Like they think a-yuan is their biological kid or other reason? Thanks

Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren met A-Yuan a few weeks after Lan Wangji moved into the Burial Mounds, but there was no confusion about A-Yuan being his biological son. He would never have been intimate with anyone other than Wei Wuxian; and if he had slept with WWX, he would have informed LXC and LQR afterwards so their wedding date could be moved up, war or no war, before requesting punishment for breaking the sect precept against promiscuity.

[lehua1011]

Happy Valentine’s Day!!

[pctaldrunk]

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 …

𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄:  Wei Zanying

𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍: Historical/Xianxia OC

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄(𝐒): Xiao Ying, Yingtao, Xiao Si

𝐀𝐆𝐄:  Verse Dependent

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑:  Female (she/her)

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐒:  Human, ghost

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐒:  l.i k.aixin

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: Secondary, open for interactions/shipping

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘…

Wei Zanying isn't the name she was born with. Long before she had a real name she was only Wei Xiao Si, the unnamed fourth daughter of a poor family, a skinny, dirty child that sat at the street corner day after day, collecting the measly coins of the sympathetic passersby. Her parents worked by didn't make enough to make ends meet for such a large family, and she had to help her siblings make up the difference. She found her own fun in it, liking to sing - it made her feel a little bigger than her little life, and she made more money than her siblings did despite being one of the younger ones. Locals and those traveling through alike took notice of the little girl with the large voice.

It was in this way that she was sold at the age of seven to the leader of an all female theatre troop. It was the only choice, given that the family was in a tight spot for the coming winter. Her parents only signed fifteen years of her life away, rather than her whole life - she'll learn to be grateful for this years later, and only then will she really forgive her parents for giving her away, since at the time she was too young to really understand. The troop leader, Madame Fu, a single woman with hardly any living family, became like her second mother - if you ask her, years later, she would say that whatever gripes they had with each other, Madame Fu was more like a parent for her growing up than anyone else.

Madame Fu named her new charge "Zanying." A true artisan, under her tutelage, Zanying learned how to perform. From music to dance to acrobatics to specific styles of theatre, Madame Fu left no detail unturned in her education. As their audience was largely bored court and noble people who had no other entertainment but the pursuit of art and meaning, she was even taught to read, to read music, and some basic martial art forms to incorporate into her dances. With the troop, she traveled to the capital.

Zanying became the rising star of the troop as she came of age, thanks to her voice and her versatility. Her name started booking the troop gigs - in circles that enjoyed the theater, she became a subject of admiration and discussion. She made a lot of money - some sums of which she was allowed to keep - and met many people from all walks of life, gaining rich and powerful admirers. Her life was starting to get too large for her again, but she enjoyed the perks celebrity brought her, and more importantly, the buoyancy - she wanted to ride it up and up.

Madame Fu disagreed with her ambition and attitude - making clear that actors should be focused on their craft, that Zanying is a vessel for her art and she shouldn't be too focused on her personal gains. Strong-willed and stubborn, Zanying persisted. Their disagreements escalated, to the point where they fought frequently.

Until after a performance, Zanying was accused of trying to seduce a noble woman's husband when she had merely been trying to talk him into raising funds to build a more permanent theatre. Madame Fu never asked if she'd done what was accused of her. She simply slapped her then and there, and sent her to the temple in the back of the house as punishment. Despite it not having been the full length of her contract, Zanying ran away with her savings the very next day. Madame Fu never looked. She never said anything about it either. Zanying never heard from her directly.

Instead of heading home, Zanying decided to make a living in the capital. Her savings lasted her awhile but eventually ran out and so she had to take up her old trade of singing in the street corner, where she was discovered quickly by one of her previous avid listeners, a business minded young lady of new money and some rank who took her home for a short while, and eventually decided to invest in a theatre house with Zanying as the leading lady.

So Wei Zanying returned to the scene and immediately shot back into the heavens. On her own turf, at her own theatre - she quickly became the brightest star in the sky, the most beautiful and astounding spectacle, the talk of the town, the goddess of many hearts. Her arrangement with her patron made them both rich. Her fame gave her some amount of freedom. She performed for renowned artists, wizened old scholars, nobles, royals, even. Her favor was a symbol of status and taste. Despite the rumors that seem to plague a woman of this profession with such fame and capable of causing such turbulence in society - it seems like she was living at the peak of a fairy tale life.

She wanted to retire at some point. Maybe get married, maybe have children, maybe find her family if she feels steady about it. Find Madame Fu and speak to her again now that she's older, seen more, understood better. She might have had that life - until it all came crashing down. After a particularly successful opening night, she's found dead at her dressing room table. A sudden heart spasm, and when she fainted she knocked her head on the corner of the table. A shame, a pity - her admirers mourned.

Only she knows that it isn't true. She can't remember what happened in the last moments of her life - who killed her, why. When she comes back to consciousness as a ghost - all she knows is that something has to be done about it before she can go.

[tgyverse]

estás en territorio de guerra, kenta akiyama. joanna, tu aplicación ha sido aceptada. esperamos que disfrutes tu estancia, ¡gracias por tu interés!

― kenta akiyama (él/suyo) nació el 16 de enero de 1960 (26 años) y trabaja como bartender. su alianza se fija hacía la orden del fenix. formó parte de slytherin, es sangre pura, y se encuentra soltero. es un personaje original y se parece a yuta nakamoto. escrito por joanna (ella/suya, 29, méxico).

BIOGRAFÍA

datos personales.

Fecha de nacimiento: 16 de enero.

Padres: Minami Akiyama (✞)yHideaki Akiyama (✞)

Hermanos: Kazuki Akiyama, Arisa Akiyama y Yura Akiyama.

Mascota: Haru, un gato negro.

Estado Civil: Soltero.

historia.

Los Akiyama son una familia reconocida sangre pura en Japón que se jacta con mantener su linaje puro desde los inicios de su árbol genealógico como ningún otro; caracterizados por su ideología conservadora, un régimen militar con el que han educado a sus generaciones. El estatus de su apellido ha abierto las puertas que normalmente se cierran para la gente común y corriente. Es más, el abuelo de Kenta, fue Ministro dos veces seguidas.

Y su bisabuelo, un reconocido mago que implementó un sistema mágico que ayudó a la captura de criaturas mágicas peligrosas. Como toda familia purista, guardaban sus más oscuros secretos bajo llave y nunca fueron la excepción. Los rumores que su familia adoraba la magia oscura comenzaron tiempo atrás, incluso antes que su abuelo naciera.

Las apariencias estaban perfectamente cubiertas hasta que a su padre se le ocurrió enredarse con Hong Eun-suk, la hija menor de un rumorado empresario coreano. Hideaki viajó a tierras extranjeras para mantener una alianza mágica con el fin de calmar las supuestas aguas que solo incrementaban el odio entre las naciones involucradas.

Ni siquiera el mundo mágico se vio extenuado de la disputa que marcó sus generaciones en la lucha anarquista contra la opresión japonesa. Una fiesta, un coqueteo político que terminó como un encuentro apasionado que los llevó a cometer la peor de las traiciones, cuando aparentemente no pasaba nada.

Alguien una vez dijo que las mujeres eran quienes sufrían por las acciones de los hombres a lo largo de la historia. Heroínas anónimas obligaron a apagar su voz, mujeres que pintaban sus labios y servían como anfitrionas para no quebrantar el orgullo masculino; la astucia de una mujer siempre ha sido más peligrosa que la inteligencia de un caballero.

Y con el fin de no hacer un escándalo mayor para atraer la intervención del Estado muggle, Hong Eun-suk fue prometida a los Akiyama y borrada de su registro familiar con el fin de obtener el perdón por sus comportamientos anarquistas. De ser la hija favorita pasó a ser solo una mancha de la que nadie tenía permitido hablar, nada era peor que fraternizar con el enemigo. Hideaki y Eun-suk se unieron en sangrado matrimonio bajo el candor de su pasión en la nación nipona.

Un año después nació su primogénito, el adorado Kazuki. Otro año más paso para dar la bienvenida a la hermosa Arisa. Minami (como ahora debía ser llamada) tenía prohibido hablar su idioma natal en público con el propósito de adaptarse a su nuevo estilo de vida; terminaba haciéndolo en las noches al contar cuentos para dormir a sus hijos hasta que las historias dejaron de tener el mismo efecto en los mayores.

Así es como la recuerda Kenta: sentada junto a su cama mientras le acariciaba y susurraba los mejores cuentos en un idioma que, según la mujer, también le pertenecía. Y según sus hermanos mayores, era inútil. A diferencia de Kazuki y Arisa, fue el más difícil de adiestrar. Los mayores se acoplaron con bastante familiaridad a las etiquetas, expectativas y poco a poco tenían secretos que los más pequeños tenían prohibido conocer.

Con Kenta existieron más castigos que elogios. De los tres, era el más lento; de los tres, era el menos hábil. Incluso fue el último que aprendió a hablar y desde entonces las expectativas comenzaron a causar estragos en su cuerpo como un sacrificio temporal que lo llevaría a infinitos intentos de convertirse de un sucesor digno de su familia. Sus hermanos estudiaron en Mahoutokoro con las mejores notas, el mayor fue el primero que consiguió casarse con un miembro de otra familia pura para seguir con la tradición del linaje.

El motivo por el que llegaron a tierras londinenses tiene que ver en gran parte con la muerte de su madre, la inestabilidad política en el mundo mágico en esa época provocó el declive de muchos negocios y muchas familias decidieron huir en busca de una vida tranquila. Todo comenzó porque la clase alta se vio atacada por un grupo de personas que actuaban anónimamente para exponer las excentricidades de los peces más gordos.

Kenta nunca supo que su madre era miembro de ese grupo femenino que trabajaba a favor de la libertad; ser descubierta como miembro activo la llevó a su fatídica muerte. Dicen por ahí que si una vez traicionas, la segunda sucederá con más simpleza y Hideaki creía que esa era la penitencia que debía de cargar por aferrarse amar a una mujer poco común. Un castigo que aceptó por el bien de su familia. Después de todo, su apellido siempre ha ido primero que el amor.

vida en hogwarts.

Sus primeros años de estudiante los cursó en Mahoutokoro, la escuela de Magia en Japón. El cambio de residencia implicó también un inevitable cambio de escuela; es por eso que a los catorce años ingresó a Hogwarts cuando todos los demás ya tenían lazos amistosos e historias entre ellos. Para Kenta fue un cambio tan brusco que provocó en él un rechazo hacia todos en su primer año, catalogándolo como el peor de todos.

Sus calificaciones eran las peores de su curso y algo peor que eso, terminó en la casa de las serpientes dónde los alumnos eran particularmente más hirientes que otros. Sus pergaminos eran tachados por tener un pobre vocabulario de un idioma que apenas estaba aprendiendo, regresados por escribir sus tareas en Kanji y rotos por sus propias manos cuando estaba tan harto que todo fuese tan diferente de cuando vivía en Japón.

No había un día dónde no fuese provocado en los pasillos por los mayores y terminaba en la enfermería, o llorando en algún rincón procurando que nadie pudiera reconocerlo; al final de cuentas todavía cargaba su lustroso apellido sobre los hombros.

Por lo mismo, procuró ocultar las burlas que recibía por su mala pronunciación, ya que no solo era físicamente distinto, también por el choque cultural que representaba la hora de la comida, la distribución de los dormitorios, incluso lo mucho que se oponía a socializar con alumnos de otras casas. Fue un año muy difícil, muy duro.

Todo cambió al inicio del quinto curso. En el comedor algún gracioso intentó burlarse por el hecho de que Kenta comenzaba el día sin quejarse en japonés, cuando comenzó la disputa. Terminó en detención y en esa ocasión era debido a que le partió la cara a su compañero de casa.

Ese día en los dormitorios nadie habló de lo sucedido ni escuchó algún rastro burlesco cuando se dirigían a él. Después en clases, se dieron cuenta que sus bajas notas no era porque era un idiota sino que se debía a que no dominaba el idioma. Y mientras más se esforzaba para adaptarse, sus calificaciones subían como la espuma.

Algunos alumnos dejaron de verlo como el posible blanco de burlas y pasaron a tratarlo como un igual, después de todo, también era sangre pura. Y su apellido comenzaba a sonar entre el mundo mágico por el anuncio de la boda de su hermana mayor. El problema era que Kenta no quería tener ninguna relación con quienes en la primera ocasión se burlaron de él. Sin embargo, decidió  aceptar esas alianzas porque el yugo del patriarca le pisaba los talones.

No duró su fachada como esperaba, surgieron rumores que Akiyama mantenía amistades y encuentros con personas que no pertenecían a su estatus y tampoco a los colores de su casa; mucho menos al género que esperaba la sociedad que le atrajera, el japonés se ganó una fama por lo mismo. Recibió toda clase de advertencias de parte de su familia e instaban que se juntara con los chicos de mejores apellidos como Rosier, Malfoy, Nott, Travers, entre otros. ¿El problema? Nunca fue aceptado por completo.

El muchacho traía en sus venas la sangre revolucionaria de su madre y siempre se metía en problemas por lo que salía de sus labios. En ocasiones insultos en su idioma natal, en otras, comentarios ácidos referentes al gusto por las artes oscuras. A diferencia de su familia, ni él ni Yura se sintieron atraídos a ser adiestrados a ella y lo intentaron de todas las maneras posibles. En cambio, se interesó por el periodismo cuando escuchó a uno de sus hermanos hablar que era la profesión de su madre y una vez que descubrió el poder que tenían las palabras, decidió dedicar su vida a ello.

Conoció a un grupo de estudiantes que se encargaban de repartir boletines con noticias por el castillo, interesados en encabezar titulares con sus historias como futura profesión y se unió para poder practicar su nueva afición. Para el comienzo de su séptimo año Kenta —según su padre—era un caso perdido, pensaba lo difícil que sería conseguir una propuesta de matrimonio si seguía deliberadamente siendo como era, cada vez avanzando hacia el lado opuesto de lo que esperaban que fuera.

personalidad.

Su padre solía decir que cuando caía, caía haciendo demasiado ruido. Reía demasiado, lloraba demasiado y se enojaba tan deprisa que salían chispas que eran capaces de incendiar un bosque entero. Fue obligado a tragarse sus emociones gracias a las pequeñas dosis de humillación que recibía en casa, porque según su abuelo, sentir demasiado era vergonzoso. Así era, el producto reprimido de las ideas de alguien más. Su naturaleza curiosa fue lo que lo metió en tantos malentendidos y la misma que lo ha hecho sobresalir a la hora de escribir su propia historia.  

Amigable como la mayoría de las personas que mantiene una línea divisora cuando las intenciones no son claras. Ha aprendido a defenderse por su cuenta, a ser su propia familia, su propio pilar y por lo mismo, cubría su corazón con fiereza. Una vez, un viejo amigo de su madre les dijo entre dientes en medio de una fiesta: “No olviden sus raíces.” 

Kenta se miraba al espejo y veía los rasgos de su madre, eran los mismos ojos y los mismos labios. Sus hermanos no pensaban que fuese relevante y cuando escucharon la misma frase, fingieron que entendían. Nadie comprendió su significado, nadie hablaba de eso en voz alta. Pero el sí. Él podía reconocer la lírica en sus palabras y se llenó el pecho de orgullo para seguir sus propios códigos morales ya que siempre había una vocecita en su interior que lo obligaba a resaltar.

Kenta, a quién le gusta todo el mundo; todos son sus amigos. Aun cuando hable de su peor enemigo, se referirá a él diciendo: “mi amigo”. Así que cuando dice que alguien no le agrada, se debe a que lo dice en serio. Sus intereses están dispersos por todas partes, y por eso su amor con la gente es tan impersonal: asigna un valor a cada una de las personas que conoce, a diferencia del resto que reserva su esfuerzo únicamente para la gente que representa algo especial en su vida. Para Kenta, todo el mundo es especial, incluso aquellos a quienes todavía no ha conocido.

Tiene arrepentimientos a su corta edad, cree que puede hacer una lista de cada uno de ellos. Primero empezaría con su madre, nunca supo el poco tiempo que tenía a su lado y hubiera querido tratarla mejor, pedir disculpas, amarla bien. Segundo, si se hubiera dado cuenta que sus hermanos se convirtieron en sus amigos todo ese tiempo para manipularlo, tal vez Kenta pudo haber alzado la voz como cuando lo hacía en la calle.

Pero, era cobarde. Tercero, si alguien le hubiera enseñado que no debía entregar su confianza a cualquiera que fingiera interés, todavía estaría intacto, con menos golpes en el cuerpo y en su corazón. La lista podría seguir y seguir. Sin embargo, la persona que es ahora sabe que el tiempo no vuelve atrás, lo pasado, pasado es y nada va a poder hacer con todo lo que hizo y no hizo. Está aprendiendo a aceptarlo mientras desentierra la ira que echó raíces en su interior desde que era un niño.

curiosidades.

Le fascina el esoterismo, lo ha tomado como un pasatiempo y de vez en cuanto lee las cartas a sus amigos.

Kenta es abiertamente homosexual y es activista de la comunidad LGBT+ mágica.

Sabe japonés, inglés y lo básico del coreano.

Es ambidiestro.

Formaba parte de Slytherin durante su estadía en Hogwarts.

Tras un breve viaje a su país natal por cuestiones personales que lo hizo ausentarse unos meses, en su regresó se encontró con que le habían quitado los derechos para publicar en su revista Nightwalkers y lo expulsaron de la revista.

[snwoogirl]

she gave me flowers but all i want is a [ ] full album

se você se parece com ele *foto do [ ]* vem dm

me: thank you for changing my life / [ ]: i literally don't know you

[debut date]. that’s a date i’ll always remember.

and I blame [ ] for the way I've turned out

for you [ ] i would drink the sea through a straw (please don't ask for that)

this account believes in [ ] supremacy, for me they are more than a kpop group they are my religion !!

did u know: ⁉️ "ily" actually means "i love [ ]"

we are all living in [ ]'s world

[wontune]

☆ junseo [ wei ] lockscreens.

[carpe-noctemseries]

Character Bio: Li Xinghua

Originally from Hong Kong, Li Xinghua is a 24 year old vampire turned at an even younger age after a rough childhood brought her into the orbit of Thomas Airius. She is the most babygirl.

She has a sharp tongue and very little filter, preferring to say what she's thinking rather than pussyfooting around. There are only a couple people she's willing to attempt tact for, and even they only get so much before she loses patience.

That's not to say she's uncaring, her affection is hard to come by but it's also difficult to lose once it's been gained. She's incredibly loyal, a befitting extension of the stubbornness that motivates her most of the time.

Given her sordid past, Xinghua prioritizes enjoying herself. She is quite hedonistic and is often misinterpreted as being ditzy or shallow for it.

Appearance: Bobcut black hair, gothic fashion sense, white eyes, pale skin, 5'0 (154.2 cm), slightly childish features despite their sharpness, two sets of fangs

Likes: Chinese Traditional Metal, Japanese Metal, dogs, Starbucks, women, and crop tops

Dislikes: Loud noises, cold weather, liars, the woods, cilantro, and orange koolaid

[lunaetis]

▸▸ [ @rimefiles || wei & yinyue || starter call ]

─「银月」─  the lone female stood in the middle of cemetery. there was no echo left behind from the deceased unlike the world she had treaded and traversed. this WORLD, so vastly different from what she was used to, made it difficult for the ROVER to find her way. yinyue relied on the waves and sounds along with the lingering echo to understand the way of each LAND she came across, that was why she felt more lost than ever upon the place that already felt foreign with every step she had taken.

                golden hues glowed quietly as form knelt down, partial gloved digits hovered over the ground as though desperate to find a way to connect with it. a quiet change in the wind and aureate hues landed upon a FIGURE. there was a soft tilt to the air, a lingering of something clinging to his frame, with hair as white as the first snow. slowly, she rose to her feet, demeanor humble. after all, she was a TRAVELER in search for lost memories. she wasn't of this world.

                " apologies. have i trespassed your domain ? "

[sacredfire44]

YOU! YOU GET ME!

I’m reading a fic where Wei Wuxian was raised by Hualian and I just realized something hilariously awkward.

Xie Lian ascended when he was 17. Despite being an adult and married, he still looks physically 17.

Can you imagine Lan Qiren writing to Wei Wuxian’s parents during the study arc…. Waiting to receive them when they agree to arrive… and meeting with someone who looks barely two years older than Wei Wuxian, claiming to be his dad???

Bonus points if San Lang is there in his teenage form, which I think looks somewhere between 15-17 years old? Visibly younger than Xie Lian, at the least. Out here like, yes, this boy who seems to be the same age as me is my son. Thank you for asking, asshole. Anyway, Wei Ying, I saw the kid you punched, and the bruise is already healing? I’m very disappointed in you. Punch harder next time.

[magiccath]

TARDIS Tricks

Tenth Doctor/Reader (could be any Doctor if you squint)

Summary: In which the TARDIS pulls some matchmaking schemes

The last week had been exhausting. Life with the Doctor usually was, but this week was just a little too much for you. Not just you either, the Doctor was wiped out too.

He pushed the doors of the TARDIS open with a tired sigh, throwing his long brown coat over one of the numerous coral-like branches littered throughout the control room. Then, he made a b-line for his worn-out captain’s chair, slumping into it dramatically. His long, spindly legs stretched out in front of him, making him appear taller than he was - if that was even possible. The way he stretched was more than akin to the characteristics of the cats you had encountered.

You weren’t much more energetic about your entrance, throwing your coat next to his and moving to slump against the circular console.

“Can we please take a break from the running?”

“We haven’t been running that much,” he groaned, though you could tell he was thinking the same thing. He might have ‘superior Time Lord biology’, but he was clearly as tired as you were. Maybe there was a limit to the running he could do.

“Daleks, New New York, then that weird Bio-tech company, followed by the literal end of the universe, and wrap it all up with diamond rain on Saturn.”

“Suppose there has been a lot of running,” the Doctor grumbled again, admitting defeat. “How about a day or two of rest? Get some sleep and relax a bit?”

You nodded, glad he finally understood what you were trying to say. All you wanted was to sleep for at least 8 hours uninterrupted. Ideally, 12 hours.

“Don’t fall asleep in that chair,” you scold, noticing how he already appeared to be half asleep, “you’ll get back pain and then you’ll be insufferable. Go to bed, I know you have one somewhere.”

The Doctor grumbled, not bothering to form a full and coherent sentence. You kicked his leg, not hard enough to truly hurt him, just enough to get him out of the chair. He grumbled again and sat up in the chair, stretching his slender arms above his head.

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

He nodded, already looking slightly more alert. Slightly. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to fall asleep, you decided to head off to your bedroom.

You walked slowly down one of the numerous, winding halls of the TARDIS. You’d walked to your room hundreds, if not thousands, of times by now. You knew exactly where it was, and it wasn’t there. In the space where your door would normally be was… nothing. You tapped around the wall, wondering if perhaps the Doctor replaced your normal door with some kind of seamless door mechanism.

When the wall didn’t yield you let out a frustrated grunt, “What did you do?” you asked the TARDIS, resting your hands on the smooth surface of her walls. The wall was cold to the touch, colder than usual that is. Normally, you felt something when you touched her. The best way you could describe it was a presence. But, at the moment, you felt nothing.

Aggravated, you sulked your way back to the control room.

“Where is my room?” you glared at the Doctor, hands on your hips. Normally, you’d play along. Hide his Sonic Screwdriver or coat somewhere he couldn’t find it. This time, you were far too tired to humor him.

“What d’ya mean?” the Doctor frowned in confusion. “Did you get lost in the hallways again?”

“No, I know where my own room is and it’s not there!”

The Doctor’s frown deepened as he got up from his seat, brushing past you and into the hallway. He took long strides down the corridor, stopping in front of where your room normally was. He slipped his glasses out of his inner pocket, sliding the specs onto the bridge of his nose. His head tilted to the side as his hands ran over the smooth wall, examining the space with his characteristic curiosity.

“Did you do this?”

“What? No, why would I steal your room?” He peered over his shoulder, almost offended that you would suggest such a thing.

“You’ve done weirder things,” you argued, crossing your arms.

“Name one,” the Doctor challenged, mirroring your defensive stance.

“The time you put a pigeon in my shower,” you responded immediately, not needing time to think about weird things the Time Lord had done. It was one of the things you liked best about him, he was constantly strange. It made things fun, but it could also make things incredibly aggravating.

“He needed a bath. Have you met pigeons? They’re filthy.”

“Wash your pigeons in your own shower!”

“That's… that’s not the point here,” he mumbled, clearly deflecting the conversation. “Your room is missing.”

“I noticed,” you deadpanned, not looking away from him. “Can I have it back?”

“I told you, I didn’t take it.” The Doctor threw his hands up defensively.

“Rooms don’t just walk away,” you say, glaring at him. By now, your irritation was bordering on anger. All you wanted to do was fall into your soft bed and not leave until this exhaustion wore off, but you needed a bed to do that.

“Maybe the TARDIS sorted it away,” he shrugged. As if accentuating his point, the TARDIS let out a soft hum. You weren’t even sure it was real at first, maybe it was just the air conditioning kicking on.

“Did she just…?”

The Doctor nodded, confirming your theory that the TARDIS had responded to him. What reason did she have for storing your room away? You were about 98% sure that you still lived on the ship.

“Is this her way of kicking me out?” The TARDIS let out another hum, this one in clear disapproval. Not kicking you out, then.

You let out a small sigh of relief. You’d never admit it, but you had never felt more at home anywhere else in your life. Realistically, that wasn’t because of the TARDIS. It was the Doctor, he could make any place feel like home to you.

“Well then, can I have my room back please?” you asked the TARDIS

The corridor was silent. In fact, the whole ship was silent, if that was even possible.

Something you learned early on in your travels with the Doctor was that the TARDIS was the one really in charge. What she says goes. Always. It doesn’t matter if you were promised a beach vacation and ended up in the middle of winter in Victorian England. And it most certainly didn’t matter if you wanted a bedroom or not. She was a force to be reckoned with, and you respected that.

“I’ll sleep on the couch in the library, we can deal with this in the morning.” You decided it was easier to just let the TARDIS work through whatever tantrum or scheme she was cooking up. Sometimes when traveling with the Doctor it was better to just go with the flow - and that didn’t just apply to ship malfunctions or sleeping arrangements.

You trudged down the corridor, heading for the vast library. It really was an impressive library, even better than the one in Beauty and the Beast. Shelves lined the walls and extended up high for multiple stories. It was easy to get lost in the room because it was so large. Most of the time you just asked the TARDIS for directions if you needed a specific book. Mostly, you just used it as a calm and quiet place to take a break between your chaotic adventures with the Doctor.

Usually, there were at least three couches in the room at a time. Your favorite was a mustard yellow, not a particularly nice color (especially for a couch), but it was beyond comfortable. The issue was that the couch wasn’t there. Furthermore, there wasn’t any couch in the large room.

“Doctor!” you call out loudly, staring blankly at the space where there should be a couch. There were small circles on the wood where the legs of the couch would normally sit, leading you to assume that you weren’t going crazy. The TARDIS had stolen your room and now your favorite couch.

“What’s the issue now?” the Doctor grumbled, rubbing his face tiredly as he strode into the library. He came to a standstill next to you, staring at the empty floor with equal confusion.

“She got rid of the couch.”

“I can see that,” the Doctor said, his eyebrows raising in interest.

“I’m exhausted, I'm grumpy, and I just want to sleep,” you whisper urgently, almost on the verge of tears. It felt silly to be upset over such a small thing, but you were beyond tired. Your brain was functioning on sheer willpower and that was quickly running out.

“I know, I know,” the Doctor whispered sympathetically, gently lifting your face up to look at him. “Look, you can sleep in my room. She hasn’t taken that.”

“That's where you sleep,” you point out, trying not to show how flustered the endearing touch had made you.

“Normally, yes,” the Doctor smiled slightly, finding your response slightly comical. “It’s a nice bed, though I’m not sure it would matter much to you either way at this point.”

“Where would you sleep?” You frown, knowing that he needs the sleep just as much as you do, even if he would never admit it.

“I don’t need to-” he started but cut off once he saw your glare. “I can sleep in the console room, that chair isn’t really that bad,” he amended.

“You’ll hurt your back, I already told you not to fall asleep there.”

“It’s not like we have any other options,” the Doctor shrugged. It wasn’t that big of a deal to him. He would do anything for you, sleeping on a chair that hurt his back was nothing in comparison.

“I’m not letting you sleep in the chair,” you insisted, crossing your arms defensively. “I’ll sleep in the chair.”

“No one is sleeping in the chair!” the Doctor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“I could just sleep on the floor, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“No, I’m not letting you do that,” he said seriously.

“What do you propose then?”

“Well… we could…” the Doctor trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. By now, you knew it as one of his many nervous tics. “We could share the bed,” he finally said, his eyes glued to the floor.

“Share your bed?”

The Doctor nodded, still not fully looking at you. At this point, you were too tired to question it, or even really think about it.

“Can we even do that? Are you ok with that?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t. As you’re comfortable with it,” he said back, his tone only slightly less panicked. He wasn’t even sure when the last time he shared a bed was.

“Alright,” you whisper with a slight blush.

“I’ve never seen your room,” you add after a few seconds.

“You haven’t?”

You shake your head, “it could be a torture dungeon for all I know.”

“It’s- it’s not-” he struggled before realizing you were joking. “It’s a normal bedroom,” he whispered, already walking out of the library.

You smile to yourself and follow him down the hall, the only sound the soft tap of your footsteps. His room wasn’t far from where yours would normally be, just a few turns down the hall and to the left. The door was the same blue as the TARDIS, almost identical to the front doors of the ship.

The Doctor opened the door and slipped inside, leaving it ajar so you could follow.

Whatever you had expected when it came to the Doctor’s room, it wasn’t this. Almost every square inch of the place was covered with things. Gadgets and gizmos, rocks, keys, books, alien-looking things, and-

“Is that Starry Night?” you frown, looking at a framed picture leaning against a corner.

“Oh, yeah, Vincent gave that to me,” the Doctor shrugged like he didn’t have one of the most recognizable paintings in all of history on his bedroom floor.

“Isn’t it supposed to be in the MoMa?”

“That one’s fake. Don't tell anyone though, I’m not really supposed to have this one,” the Doctor shrugged, undoing his tie and slipping it off his neck. You tried to not follow the movement with your eyes, the nimble movement of his hands as he undid the knot capturing your attention.

You looked away embarrassed, turning your attention back to the painting. “Did you steal Starry Night?!”

“No, I told you, Vincent gave it to me,” he frowned at you, wondering if the exhaustion was finally getting to you. He had just told you that.

“And you just… decided to keep it on your bedroom floor? Next to your trash can and first editions of Lord Of The Rings?”

“That’s not a trash can, it’s an artifact from B-739. Priceless, don’t touch it.”

“Right, 'cause that’s the priceless item in here that I’m worried about accidentally defacing.”

“If you’re going to bully my possessions, I’m not gonna let you sleep in here,” he grumbled, a pout barely evident on his face.

“I’ll shut up,” you say, looking around the rest of the room. You kept your comments to yourself, instead taking the time to admire the strange collection of things the Doctor kept in his room. It was like a personal museum of all of time and space. That is if the museum prioritized shiny objects and children’s toys from the early ‘90s.

It was all very him, and you couldn't help but feel safe in the room. Sure, you felt safe everywhere on the TARDIS, but this was different. If you could, you would have spent hours scouring every inch, wanting to learn everything you could about the Doctor.

You tugged your attention the the bed. It wasn’t a small bed, but it also wasn’t ridiculously large for one (albeit, strangely tall) Time Lord. The sheets were dark blue silk with a thick woolen blanket on top, also in a matching blue.

“Do you need PJs?” he asked, poking his head out of the closet he was currently in. The doors were a dark oak with a row of ties hanging on the inside of one. The patterns ranged anywhere from solid colors to cartoon characters from your childhood you had forgotten existed. You smiled as your eyes caught on a brightly colored tie with Winnie the Pooh on it.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” you nod, turning your attention back to him. A few moments later he came back into the main room carrying two sets of PJs. You’d only seen the Doctor out of his trademark suit once or twice, for all you knew he just slept in it. Maybe he invented some kind of sleep suit, like a three-piece made entirely out of comfortable knit fabric.

He handed you one set of PJs, a classic striped set. He held in his hands another set, that one also striped, just in a different colorway. You’d never put much thought into what the Doctor wore to bed, but for some reason, this made sense to you.

“Bathroom’s over there,” he tilted his head in the direction of a door in the corner. You took the clothes and made your way over to the room, closing the door gently behind you, the ‘click’ reverberating through the silent space.

There wasn’t anything spectacular about the bathroom. By most standards, it was a perfectly ordinary bathroom. Even still, it’s clear to you who this bathroom belonged to. Various products (mostly ones for hair styling) were scattered across the countertop, but you didn’t feel like it was a mess.

There was a bright, puffy, flower-shaped rug in front of the sink that reminded you of something you might find in a Barbie Dollhouse circa 2002. In contrast, the shower curtain was a bright striped pattern that reminded you of a beach ball. In any other room, the decorations wouldn’t have matched, but knowing this was the Doctor’s doing made it all make sense to you.

You slipped the pajamas on quickly. You looked a little ridiculous in the Doctor’s clothes, like you were playing dress up in his closet. They didn’t fit you perfectly, but that much was expected. Even still, the fabric smelled like the Doctor, leaving you with the aching feeling that he was hugging you. You pressed your nose against the sleeve, breathing in the familiar smell before realizing you were smelling the Time Lord’s pajamas.

You shook yourself out of it and exited the bathroom, poking your head tentatively into the main room. The Doctor was sitting on the bed, having already changed into his PJs. His head turned at the sound of the door, smiling slightly at the sight of you.

“Do y’a need anything else?” he asked.

You shook your head, standing in the doorway awkwardly. Seeing him sitting there, on the bed, made it all seem real. You couldn’t do this. How could you share a bed with the man you had the biggest crush on ever?

“I- well, I can’t-” you stammered, trying to put your thoughts into words. Your brain was tired and panicking, the combination leaving you unable to fully express anything. “I can just sleep on the floor.”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the floor, just get in the bed.”

You shift anxiously, tugging at the sleeve of the PJs he gave you. There was no way to explain it to him without admitting your feelings. It was a double-edged sword. Or maybe it was paradoxical. It didn’t really matter.

Begrudgingly, you slide under the covers next to him. You lay like a corpse, your hands firmly tucked at your side as you stare up at the ceiling. He had those ridiculous glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. They weren’t even just haphazardly stuck up there, he took the time to form them into actual constellations. The ones that he’d shown you up close.

You felt a twinge in your heart. It took everything in you not to turn to your side and hug him right now. His hugs felt like oxygen to you. You could be having the worst day ever, but a hug from your favorite alien never failed to brighten it.

The Doctor turned the bedside lamp off, sending the room into darkness. Your eyes were still glued to the stars, their soft glow highlighting them against the black of the room. He settled down in the bed next to you. You felt every single shift as he got comfortable, the feeling of him next to you distracting. It was hard not to think about how much you liked the Time Lord when you were literally in his bed. It was impossible not to feel his presence next to you, the weight of another person weighing down your mind.

“You ok?” the Doctor whispered, pulling you out of your spiral.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. Maybe if you said it, it would be true.

You felt his hand slide against yours, his fingers brushing against the back of your hand. You didn’t dare move, you didn’t even pull your gaze from the cluster of glow-in-the-dark stars above your head. Tentatively, he slid his hand into yours.

This wasn’t the first time you had held his hand. Far from it, actually. You held his hand almost every day. It was easy to get lost in space, it was just easier if you held onto each other. But this time was different, the intimacy of it making your heart thunder against your chest.

Neither of you said anything, the silence filling the room. Eventually, your eyes fluttered closed, the fluorescent greenish afterglow of the plastic stars remaining in your mind. It didn’t take long for you to slide out of consciousness, the heavy weight of sleep taking over and dragging you down.

-

You woke up of your own accord, a pleasantry you couldn’t remember the last time you experienced. No droning alarm, blinding rays of early morning sunshine, dogs barking, or anything else of the sort. Just your mind and body, having decided they were thoroughly rested, arising of their own accord - an internal affair rather than an external one.

After the initial fogginess of waking up after hours of deep sleep, you became quickly aware of your surroundings. Not just the Doctor’s bed or even his bedroom, but the Doctor himself. More specifically, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

At some time during the night, the exact timing unbeknownst to either of you, the two of you had found your way into each other’s arms. The action was seamlessly smooth, so much so that it almost felt rehearsed.

Your legs slotted together like expertly crafted puzzle pieces, fitting together in a way that made more sense than it should have. Could legs even fit together? You suppose they must if you were experiencing it. His chin rested on top of your head, his nose occasionally bumping the crown of your head as he shifted and nuzzled in his sleep. Your own head was tucked against his chest, your ear positioned right between his beating hearts.

The steady thumping of the twin organs pumping blood through his system was mesmerizing, the sound strangely familiar and comforting. You could feel the vibrations through your body, the asynchronous beats reverberating around in your head.

Slowly, the panic started to creep in, invading the sense of calm you had felt seconds before. You were in the Doctor’s arms. You woke up in the Doctor’s arms. Even worse, the Doctor was going to wake up and find you in his arms.

As if on cue, the Doctor started to stir awake. Low grumbles left his mouth as he buried his face further into the pillow beneath him. You stiffened, the change in posture immediately noticeable. You cursed yourself for drawing more attention to the situation.

The Doctor looked down at you, his tired brown eyes boring into yours. You blinked slowly, unsure what else to do.

“Good morning,” he whispered groggily, his voice at least an octave deeper than usual. You felt your cheeks heat up, almost certain that a blush was rapidly spreading across your face. He wasn’t moving you away or screaming in horror. If anything, he was holding you tighter now.

“Good morning,” you patored back, unable to form any words of your own. What was there to say? “Sorry, I’m a compulsive sleep cuddler, this totally isn’t because I have a massive crush on you please don’t read into it.”

The Doctor’s thumb rubbed small, concentric circles on the small of your back, his eyes still hung up on your face. You wished he wouldn’t look at you like that, like the most beautiful thing in the whole galaxy, like it was nothing.

As if suddenly realizing what he was doing, the Doctor stopped immediately. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and released his arms from around you, the sudden loss of contact disjointed. You frowned slightly and scooted to the other side of the bed, sitting up in the process.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hurriedly, his eyes purposefully avoiding you.

“It’s ok, I really don’t mind, I mean honestly it’s probably my fault,” you responded too quickly, your words falling out of you without much thought. “It’s really not that big of a deal,” you lied.

The Doctor finally looked over at you. By now, you were in expert in reading him. The secret was to look in his eyes. It didn’t matter what face he had, his eyes always told you everything you needed to know. You’d never seen them like this, though. An unfamiliar emotion him, a combination of his emotes you were so familiar with creating something you didn’t know. That worried you.

“Yeah,” he whispered, the look gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. He was back to his cheery self in minutes, stretching his body and springing up out of bed. “Let’s get on with it, maybe the TARDIS has found your room. I’d like to go visit The Beatles, what do you think?” he babbled on, striding across his room.

You scrambled out of his bed, almost begrudged to leave the silky warmth of his sheets. You scurried after him, practically running into his back as he came to a sudden stop. An annoyed groan escaped your lips as you peered over him, searching for the cause of the sudden stop.

The Doctor was pulling on his door handle, struggling to get it open.

“Forget how to open a door?”

“I’m over 900, I didn’t forget how to open a door,” he frowned, still tugging on it.

“Let me try,” you pushed him gently out of the way, tugging on the door handle yourself. Sure enough, it refused to budge. You pulled on it again, using both hands this time. Nothing.

Sheepishly, you turn back to the Doctor, ashamed to admit that he was right. “It’s stuck.”

The Doctor crossed his arms and nodded, an ‘I told you so’ look plastered on his face. He swiftly pulls the Sonic Screwdriver out of his pocket, pointing it at the door with his usual flourish. When it does nothing, he presses a few buttons on the device before trying again. After a few minutes of this, he finally gives up and resorts to kicking the door.

“Doctor!” you cry, grabbing his arm and forcibly dragging him away from the door before he can damage it or himself.

“Do you think…” you sigh, feeling guilty for even insinuating such a thing, “that the TARDIS locked us in here?”

“The TARDIS didn’t lock us in my room,” the Doctor says like it’s the most preposterous thing he had ever heard.

In response, the ship lets out a low groan of disagreement. More versed in the language of the ship, the Doctor noticed first. “You locked us in here?!” he hisses at seemingly nothing, but you know who it’s directed at. The TARDIS hums again, this time in a more approving tone.

“Why?” you butt in to ask. You’re met with nothing but silence.

“I don’t think she’s going to answer that,” the Doctor whispers in your general direction. The ship lets out another hum of approval.

You groan loudly, throwing your hands up in defeat. Not knowing what else to do, you slump back down onto the Doctor’s bed. You sit there for a few seconds just staring at the carpet (‘90s arcade patterned, of course) before the mattress dips next to you. You pull your eyes way from the garish carpet to look at the Doctor, his face equally as dejected as yours.

“I suppose there are worse places to be stuck,” you offer, “could be Mars.”

“There’s more to explore on Mars.”

“There aren’t ‘priceless’ artifacts from B-739, a mobile of the solar system that I’m pretty sure is intended for children, a box of Hotwheels cars, and a collection of pirate maps all in the same corner.”

“The mobile was a gift,” the Doctor defended.

“That’s what you got from all of that?” you chuckle. “It’s like the world's most clustered, excentric, space museum in here.”

“I don’t really sleep in here much. I suppose it’s just become a storage room of sorts,” the Doctor says sheepishly, almost embarrassed to be this open with someone. Sharing this much of his life with you felt strangely raw.

“I think it’s perfect,” you smile, the expression lighting up your whole face, “it’s very you. Chaotic, unorganized, other-worldly, and… beautiful,” you whispered, eyes scanning across the room. It didn’t matter how much you looked at it, there always seemed to be something new and fascinating to look at.

The Doctor, on the other hand, was looking at you. He was flabbergasted at how interested you seemed in it all. The tiny twinkle in your eye reminded him of all the stars he had shown you, all of the alien planets and beautiful corners of space. Yet, you weren’t looking at something particularly odd or beautiful, you were looking at his room. His messy, haphazard collection of strange objects and patterns.

Then, you turned that curious gaze in his direction. He felt his hearts speed up, a subtle but noticeable shift within his body. It was a nasty habit, his body getting excited every time you looked at him like that. He was 903, pretty people smiling at him shouldn’t make him react this way. Yet, you did.

-

Neither of you could figure out what the TARDIS wanted from you, so you eventually gave up trying. There was no point in fighting with the ship, both of you knew that was a losing battle.

You read the Doctor’s first edition of The Hobbit in the comfy warmth of his bed. In that time, the Doctor opted to pace back and forth and fiddle with the door relentlessly. Finally, he gave up and joined you on the bed.

“Do you have any ideas of why we’re in here?” he asked, pulling the book from your hands. You let him slip the paperback from your hands, throwing it on the duvet without bothering to mark your place in the book.

“If I did, we wouldn’t be in here,” you pointed out, looking at the discarded book longingly. The Doctor popped his head back into your field of vision, clearly not taking ‘no’ for an answer.

“It has to do with both of us, otherwise she wouldn’t have hidden your room.”

“Maybe she just thinks we need a few days off.”

The Doctor shakes his head, “She wouldn’t lock us in a room for that, she would just refuse to fly anywhere.”

“Maybe she thinks we’re fighting. Are we fighting?”

“Not that I know of,” he shrugs.

“I didn’t think so. Maybe we pissed her off?”

The Doctor shook his head again, “she doesn’t seem mad.” You didn’t need to question any further, you knew that the Doctor could read the TARDIS’ emotions better than his own sometimes.

“If it’s not anger, what is it?”

“Annoyance?” he said. You couldn’t tell if he was guessing or just generally unsure.

“Has she ever done this before?”

“Once she locked me out of the ship when I complained about her never taking me where I wanted to go, but this is different.”

“Have you said anything mean about her lately?” you asked more out of curiosity than animosity, but the Doctor interpreted it as the latter. He could be quite sensitive.

“No! Have you?”

“I have nothing but love and respect for the ship. She has put up with you longer than any of us ever could.” The TARDIS hummed in agreement while the Doctor scowled.

“I don’t know what we did!” he groans, falling back dramatically on the bed.

“Are you hiding something from me? A big secret?” you say as if you aren’t the one hiding feelings for the other.

The TARDIS lets out a quiet hum that lets you know you’re on the right track and you grin, poking the Doctor.

“I’m not hiding anything!” he swats you away, “maybe you’re the one hiding things away.”

You shake your head. For a second the two of you just look at each other. It’s hard not to get lost in his deep brown eyes, they’re endless pools of wisdom that can only come from centuries of living. Beneath the wary tiredness and stoic armor you can see who he really is, a lost wanderer looking for a place to call home. It was foolish, but you secretly wished you could be that home.

“You have really nice eyes,” the Doctor whispered.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you whisper back.

“You were also thinking about how nice your eyes are?” he frowns in confusion.

You laugh, a smile taking over your face at his blatant obliviousness. “No, I was thinking your eyes are nice. I like them.”

“Oh… thank you?”

You nod, momentarily getting lost in his eyes again. Your mind was a mess, a kaleidoscope of him, the TARDIS, and your feelings for the former. You wanted so desperately to tell him how you felt, as you often did. Albeit, now was not the opportune moment. If he reacted poorly, you’d still be stuck in the room with him for an unknown amount of time.

And then it hit you. The TARDIS wanted you to admit something. She knew you had a secret, she maybe even knew what the secret was.

“Doctor?” you whisper shakily, surprised to find your voice uncertain and wavy.

“Mhm?” He pulled his attention to you.

“I just wanted to say that I love you.”

The room was silent for a moment. Neither of you moved or said a word, the normally quiet sounds of breathing and movement heightened by the lack of words between you.

“You too,” he finally said, his voice quiet. You knew admitting feelings was hard for him, especially when it came to things like love, so you couldn’t really blame him for the lackluster response.

You nodded, “I mean as more than a friend.”

“I know.”

Now it was your turn to sit in silence, your brain whirling as it tried to process his words. Was it hopeful to assume that he felt the same? That was what he had said, no?

“I’m very fond of you,” he added, sensing your confusion on the matter. “As more than a friend.”

You studied his eyes again. That unfamiliar look was back. For a minute you entertained the thought that it might be a look of admiration, love even.

The Doctor moved his hand into yours, his thumb brushing across the back of your hand. It was a normal action from him, but it still sent your stomach into a frenzy.

“It’s quite an inconvenience, honestly. Makes it hard to get anything properly done when you’re around.”

You chuckle, a small smile forming on your lips.

“You’re my favorite distraction,” he said earnestly. In his own way, it was his way of saying you were the most fascinating, beautiful, unique, and magnificent thing he had ever seen. He’d rather have a day with you than centuries with anyone or anything else.

He leaned closer to you, his face hovering inches away from yours. He waited, giving you time and space to move away or protest. When you didn’t, he slowly closed the gap.

His lips connected with yours, the kiss short and light, but it conveyed the years of affection and yearning. He pulled away, both of you smiling like love sick idiots.

Satisfied, the TARDIS opened the door with a click, the sound echoing around the room.

[sunnysam-my]

Whenever someone mentions that Venom and Eddie have a child together people always say it's Sleeper. And while yes, Sleeper calls both Eddie and Venom 'parent' separately, the two raised him, and Eddie kinda gave birth to him, Sleeper isn't Eddie bio child. Dylan Brock is their child.

He is the son of Eddie Brock, Anne Weying, and the Venom symbiote. When Anne bonded to Venom, basically the will of the Symbiote Hive made her pregnant with a human/symbiote hybrid so that they can destroy their god Knull. I'm not gonna explain how that works, because most people probably don't know what I'm talking anyway. Traumatized Anne left Dylan as an infant with his paternal grandfather, Carl Brock, who abused the boy, and would eventually commit suicide.

Eddie didn't know about any of this for a long time, but eventually took Dylan with him as an 'older brother', and found out the truth.

Don't get me wrong, I love Sleeper, but can we please focus on the Human-Symbiote hybrid? Please? He's so cool.