#deep learing

[ingoampt]

Momentum vs Normalisation in Deep learning -part 2 - day 34

Momentum and Normalization in Deep Learning Comparing Momentum and Normalization in Deep Learning: A Mathematical Perspective Momentum and normalization are two pivotal techniques in deep learning that enhance the efficiency and stability of training. This article explores the mathematics behind these methods, provides examples with and without these techniques, and demonstrates why they are…

[ghostatrandom]

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Guys I am so normal about Paulo like so normal I had to draw him in the hybrid AU because of how normal am I-

[neverendingford]

.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

"I Love You" in Shakespearean English

Did my heart love til now? Forswear it, sight. For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night (Romeo and Juliet)

For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation (Henry VI)

Hear my soul speak, Of the very instant that I saw you, Did my heart fly at your service (Twelfth Night)

I burn, I pine, I perish (The Taming of the Shrew)

I do love nothing in the world so well as you (Much Ado About Nothing)

I humbly do beseech of your pardon, For too much loving you (Othello)

I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say, ‘I love you’ (Henry V)

I love you more than words can wield the matter (King Lear)

I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest (Much Ado About Nothing)

I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes (Much Ado About Nothing)

I would not wish any companion in the world but you (The Tempest)

Lady, as you are mine, I am yours. I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange (Much Ado About Nothing)

My love is as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite (Romeo and Juliet)

O beauty, Till now I never knew thee (Henry VIII)

One half of me is yours, the other half yours - Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours (The Merchant of Venice)

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate (Sonnet XVIII)

So is mine eye enthrallèd to thy shape (A Midsummer Night’s Dream)

Sweet, above thought I love thee (Troilus and Cressida)

Thou art wise as thou art beautiful (A Midsummer Night’s Dream)

When you depart from me sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave (Much Ado About Nothing)

Source ⚜ More ways to say "I love you" ⚜ Terms of Endearment Word Lists: Love Pt. 1 Pt. 2 ⚜ Physiology of Love ⚜ Synonyms ⚜ Kinds of Love

[moraxussy]

You Can't Take One Without The Other

Damian Al Ghul x Twin!reader

Content Warnings: mention of the word "abuse", nothing major, and not proof read:3

Word Count: 646

Despite her seemingly cold demeanor accompanied by her unmoving stature. Talia Al Ghul is a woman—a mother that lets her hard shell peel open when it comes to what's hers—her children.

Damian Al Ghul, her prodigy, blood born assassin, but also her beloved son. So composed and calculated yet also holds a temper that it easily triggered. Trained to kill on the spot without mercy, the young boy is honed to secure any emotion that hinders his mission—the Al Ghul's mission. He was made to not let any other being get in his way, to use all means necessary as long as he's able to give expected results, preferably exceed them. Yet despite his killer instincts and apathetic front, he is a boy of value. He believes blood over all matters.  He cherishes his family to such a strong degree that he's willing to kill just to preserve and protect it. No outer force can sever his belief on this. But it doesn't stop at family. Damian adores animals and takes care of them unconditionally. It pains him to see any of those creatures hurt in any way. Which pushed him to pursue the path of veganism.

The Demon Prince, Heir to the Shadows, and Son of Assassins....

Damian Al Ghul

Damian may possess the prowess and talents meant to satisfy the legacy of Al Ghul, never forget his other biological half, his twin sister.

The youngest, Talia's sweetheart, her doll, and her precious killer. Her little girl, the same as Damian, trained to be the perfect assassin for their family's legacy and for the preservation of the world, isn't just a weapon, she is also a daughter she dearly loved with all her heart. The mother might say she doesn't pick favorites, but one might think otherwise once you see how she treats the two differently. Although tender towards both, Talia can't help but train Damian a little harsher than her heiress. If you try to argue with her about this, she would just shut you down. But deep down, all she wants to do is give her daughter the childhood her mother failed to experience while also helping her build strong walls to protect herself once their mother leaves them on their own devices to strive for independence. Of course, this doesn't make the daughter twin an ordinary girl. She also values family and cares for animals but not the same degree as her brother. Believing that animals are a resource meant for humans for which they should be treated with respect and value if one wishes to utilize its maximum potential. This contrast in stands causes quarrels between the two during moments involving any animal. Not to mention she as well possesses the  strength and capabilities that qualifies her as an excellent assassin whose efficiency in the shadows allows her to parry and counter any attack thrown to her by her foes.

The Demon Princess, Heiress to The Shadows, Daughter of Assassins, and Talia's Second Chance...

You

The Duo of the Shadows, The Successors of the Demon, The Treasure of Talia Al Ghul

Together, no enemy can stop the twins. No matter how harsh nor how inhumane the training they are put through, as long as each twin is there to root for the other, they are ready to take the abuse. In the glory of their legacy. In the name of Ra's Al Ghul's greatest aspiration.

But what will happen if a new variable is introduced to the family of demons? A man of night once again reminded of his time in the shadows. A wake up call for the Dark Knight that what happened all those years ago gave birth to consequences that he now has to bear.

Will the bat be able to handle his demons? Will a mother finally let her young fly on their own?

Notes:

Hi so this is my first time making a batman based fic. I'm still new to the community so I'm basing on just common knowledge. I really wanted to try and focus on how Damian and the reader would be in the clutches of the shadows. I'm still learning though!

[fangsandfeels]

I've seen the "Non-ascended Astarion ending is bad for him because you have to persuade him to reject the ritual" opinion...

..implying that he never really wanted not to ascend, it's you the player who selfishly forces him to give up on his goal. To prove their point, they state that you can get a good ending out of all other companion's quests without using Persuasion at all, except for Astarion.

And boy did I want to talk about this...

(In fact, everything I wanted to say has already been told in this amazing meta post, but I still gotta ramble)

First of all, Astarion was going through an intense PTSD. The game gave him a debuff to show how badly going back to the place of his torment was affecting him. Larian couldn't make it more obvious that he wasn't thinking clearly.

Second, there is one thing all abusers have in common: they destroy their victim's feelings of self-worth to the point, the victim no longer wants or knows how to ask for help or have relationships outside their abusive circle.

Who would want you like this? Look at yourself, you think you're better than me? You're nothing. Who would want to waste their time on you? You think somebody else would treat you better?

Since entering the Cazador's palace, Astarion is reliving his worst moments. Initially, he takes it in stride, hiding his discomfort underneath performative and emotional expressiveness. He talks about how he spent time in the bedrooms where he never did any sleeping, about the kennels where he was tortured, about the barracks where he was sent to when he "deserved neither carrot nor stick". Bad memories, but he shares them with Tav because he trusts them with his scars already. They might as well know the rest.

But after descending into the dungeon, Astarion starts spiraling into self-loathing at a break-neck speed. He used to think that all Cazador victims he ever brought to him were long gone, drained, and discarded. A horrible, undeserved death, yet the thought of them not having to suffer for too long was a small consolation, one of the threads holding his sanity together.

But then it turns out that they weren't dead. They were turned. Locked away deep underground, alone with their new selves, with the hunger and isolation. They did suffer. All these years, they suffered, buried in this tomb - because of him. Cazador may have turned them, but it was Astarion who brought them to him. And they remembered it. They recognized him. The monster who stole them from their home. The monster who ruined their life. Monster. Just like Cazador.

So, as if his PTSD wasn't enough, this revelation was another blow to his grip on himself, his perception of himself. His confident facade was shattering - and in his head, he was starting to think that Tav's idea of him, of who he is, was shattering as well. He tried to warn them before. He said he couldn't be what they saw in him. Whatever person they believed him to be had never existed - and Tav was finally coming to realize that as they walked through the gallery of his sins, looking his victims in the eyes and hearing out what they had to say. Of course, Tav hated him now. They had to. How could they not?

So, at the end, he is scared. Terrified. He bit off more than he could chew by walking into the manor and thinking he had only six fellow spawns to deal with. He saw their lives as a small price to pay because Cazador made sure to erase any solidarity between them. He made them torture each other and compete with each other. He twisted the very meaning of family bonds to his perverted liking, and he knew that by doing so, he would make sure every single one of them would get a whiplash from anyone trying to mention family in a positive connotation. Astarion takes no issue with getting rid of his "brothers" and "sisters" because he is fully aware that had the roles been reversed, they would have sacrificed him without a second thought. And he was certain that Tav would change their mind once they learned more about his brethren.

But the spawns in the dungeon...All the faces he remembered. All the lovers he lured. They did nothing wrong. They never hurt him. They never tortured him. Their only mistake was to trust him.

The revelation horrifies him. His first response is to be shocked, overwhelmed with emotion - and then he has to remind himself that sacrifices must be made. He feigns indifference. He tries to cover his internal conflict with gallows humor. But his flippant mask keeps slipping as he lapses from indifference to anger, to guilt, to begging Tav not to hate him as his greatest crimes glare back at him and claw at him, shouting out threats and seething with hatred.

He can't bear the thought of dealing with all the people whose lives he helped to destroy. He can't do anything for them. Just killing Cazador won't undo what he did to them. He will never be anything but a monster in their eyes. And this is what he deserves to be. He will always be reminded of what he is.

He has no choice but to do the Ritual.

He has no idea what will happen to him after he is done - he isn't a planner. He has never been. But at this point, he doesn't see his soul as something worthy of preserving - and by association, he extends that to other spawns. He knows it all too well because he remembers how it felt. He dissociates, projecting everything he hated about himself onto Cazador's victims, trying to rationalize why he should live and why they must die while he actively avoids the truth.

Completing the ritual is no longer about being free. Or protecting himself and his lover. It's about running away. Even when Astarion has Cazador at his mercy, he still thinks of running away. Getting lost forever. So nobody could ever hurt him.

A part of him even realizes that it means running away from Tav too. But Tav can leave, he naively thinks, not knowing the full consequences of the ritual. Tav will leave to find someone else, someone better, and he will start everything anew, a king of his castle.

So, of course, Tav has to reach out to him through that thick haze of fear, anger, and self-hatred. Persuasion isn't about strongarming someone into doing what you want. It's not subjugation or emotional blackmail. It's reasoning with someone. And that is exactly what Tav does - reasons with Astarion after watching him mentally struggle, after seeing his genuine shock and fear, after understanding that he isn't fully on board with the idea.

It's true, vampire spawns tend to gravitate toward power, especially if nothing is pulling them back. A vampire spawn is a feared and scorned creature - it no longer matters whether they were an unwilling victim, forcefully taken and turned. They are seen not as an individual but as the extension of their master - and the only natural transition for them is to get on the top of the food chain. The only way to make a name and become treated as something more.

Astarion saw power as the mean to safety and freedom, first and foremost. Ironically, he never planned beyond securing these two priorities. He never saw himself after accomplishing his goals, and it's kinda amazing how people can make conclusions about his hedonism because he misses petty vanities, wants to drink blood from a goblet, and sleep on silken sheets. The man who was held and tortured in the kennels, fed rats, and had to stitch and fix his only set of clothes over and over to keep it presentable, the man who has never felt happy for most of his conscious non-life is called hedonistic for wanting nice things. For still wanting to take care of himself for once.

He wasn't harboring any grand plans, conquests, or schemes. Even his idea of taking control of the Absolute was abstract and shapeless because he didn't care about getting control over the most influential people as much as he was afraid of breaking whatever protected him from Cazador's domination. He never really knew what to do with power aside from keeping Cazador and the likes of him at bay.

The way Astarion behaves in a relationship also speaks tons of how controlling he really is...or how he isn't controlling at all. When his romance with Tav transforms into something real, and he enters a new territory, Astarion is empowered to make decisions and think about what he wants instead of pleasuring others. It's clear that he and Tav don't have sex after they come clear about their feelings. Tav respects his comfort and boundaries, gives him all the time he needs, and lets him take the lead. Whether they will have sex again or not is entirely up to Astarion. Whatever he decides, it won't change Tav's feelings for him. He doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to do.

Astarion enjoys this new autonomy. He is playful, affectionate, outspoken...and afraid of messing everything up. If Tav mentions breaking up, Astarion thinks he is the problem. If there is another potential love interest showing they have eyes for Tav, Astarion encourages Tav to be with them because he believes they can give Tav everything he can't. When Tav says "I choose you," Astarion is taken aback, needing a moment to hide his genuine confusion at Tav actually wanting to be with him rather than Gale, Karlach, or Halsin.

For all his talks of control and dominating others, once Astarion finds himself with a lover who values his autonomy more than getting power at the cost of his dignity, who makes it safe for him to be honest, and who listens to him, he almost stops mentioning control. He merely lives in the moment, happy not to know, not to pretend, not to manipulate. Just to be.

What Astarion truly craves - not wants on a superficial level, not conditioned to want - is not to be a vampire lord. He wants the freedom to be anything. Anything he wants. Little does he know that true vampires rarely get to be anything they want, even if they gain the ability to walk in the sun -- we see it in his Ascended path as, instead of acting up on his supposed freedom to be anything, Astarion repeats Cazador's rules step by step. Just like Cazador did. Just like Verlioth did. He isn't anything he wants. He is the replica of his former master.

Astarion never had the luxury to explore who he wanted to be outside what Cazador made him. He only makes his first steps once he is free. We see glimpses of that deep-seated aspiration to be seen as a person. Treated like a person. Loved like a person. To be reflected in someone's eyes. He wants to know if there is someone beneath his usual mask, something his, not tainted by Cazador. Someone real. And at the same time, he dreads to know the answer. Because that part of him knows regret. Knows shame. Knows guilt. Confronting it posed the risk of realizing he didn't deserve love, kindness, or a future. What if real him truly doesn't amount to anything? What else for him to do?

So, he tells himself that he has no choice, and he expects Tav to affirm it -- not because he wants them to, but because he believes that Tav has seen enough to make the same conclusion. However, Tav objects, trying to be louder than all the inner demons hissing into his ears. Tav speaks to the Astarion, who asked them what they saw when they looked at him. The Astarion, who thanked them for standing by his side when he said "No" to Araj. The Astarion one who stood frozen in their hug before returning it tentatively. The Astarion who diligently, dedicatedly, caringly kept pulling himself together instead of letting himself unravel completely.

Tav reminds him that this Astarion, right here, right now, is worth fighting for. That he didn't survive all these years of torture, pain, humiliation, and dehumanization to give himself up now. He already has the power to avenge himself, avenge all Cazador's victims. He can end everything right here, right now - and this is the only power to free him. He has the power (and responsibility) of having a choice.

Tav empathizes with other spawns as victims not because they're more "innocent" than Astarion, but because associating with them doesn't brand Astarion as weak or broken. These spawns aren't horrible wretches, and neither is he. They don't deserve this, and neither did he.

The only one who deserves to die today is Cazador - the vampire, the monster, the pathetic piece of shit.

Astarion Ancunin deserves to live.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

You and Eddie get into an argument about the girl he's giving guitar lessons too. Angst, misunderstandings and bad communication ensues.

Warnings. Mdni. 18+ only, angst. Miscommunication and misunderstandings. Idiots in love. Jealousy.

💞

You and Eddie had been together for a few months and up until this point you had never had a cross word.

He had been giving some girl guitar lessons, her name was Britney and she was gorgeous, amazingly cool and hilarious.

Tonight you had walked in on them laughing together and looking all cosy. Something in you kinda broke inside, it was ridiculous because you knew Eddie would never cheat, but you still felt your stomach bottom out.

Hearing Eddie gush about Britney and how metal she was and was like a rockstar on the guitar didn't help either.

You weren't proud of it but you were quiet and a little less warmer than you'd usually be and when Britney made excuses to leave, you were left wracked with guilt.

Eddie had rounded on you asking ''Why were you being such a bitch?" and that had made you even more pissed and the argument ensued.

"I'm sorry that walking in on my boyfriend looking so fucking cosy with someone else put me in a bad mood" you bite back at him and Eddie's big brown eyes darken in rage.

"You're being fucking ridiculous right now you know that?" it hurt hearing Eddie say that and you lashed out without thinking about what you were saying.

"Oh so I'm ridiculous because I hate seeing some girl make gooey eyes at my boyfriend, I'm such a bad girlfriend for being a little bit wary" Eddie shakes his head and the temperature in the room turns colder.

"Or it's obvious that you don't fucking trust me. So if you don't trust me then what's the fucking point?" your breath hitches and there's a deep pit of gloom and dread, in your stomach.

"Are you breaking up with me?" you whimper and want to take back everything you said, tell him that of course you trust him but you're so stunned, your heart is breaking.

Without another word you storm out before Eddie can confirm your worst fears.

❤️

Instead of going home you go straight to Nancy's who immediately digs out some ice cream and let's you cry out all the heartache, you both stay up most of the night but end up crashing around 5am.

Nancy is ready up and getting ready for school, you have the worst headache and just want to sleep a little longer so she leaves you to sleep, brings you up some pancakes and freshly squeezed orange juice that Mrs Wheeler kindly made up for you.

In return you help her around the house, trying anything to take your mind of your heartache about Eddie.

When Nancy comes back home she gently explains that Eddie has been calling you and is worried that you haven't answered.

"I think you need to listen to what he has to say honey, he looks a wreck, I think he's driving Mike and the rest of the kids here after Hellfire so if you want to wait"

Nervously you nod and try to calm your anxious mind that Eddie is going to break up with you for good.

By the time that you hear Eddie's van and he's parked outside, you're on tenterhooks. Eddie looks like he's barely slept, his hair is messier than usual and he has the saddest look in his beautiful brown eyes.

That look makes you want to burst into tears there and then. You hate that you're the cause.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, his voice is rougher than normal, his hands are shaking and you reach out to steady them.

"I'm sorry too Eddie. I was a bitch and rude and of course I trust you, I trust you with my life and I hate that I made you think otherwise" his eyes fill with pain and he swallows.

"I shouldn't have called you a bitch. I've been a mess since you left and I was worried as shit when you weren't answering your phone, Mike told me you stayed here last night with Nance so I knew I would come here as soon as I could"

The tension slowly begins to leave your body and you feel soothed as Eddie pulls you in his arms

"Also Britney has just started dating Gareth, she was learning guitar to impress him and I was teaching her how to play his favourite song."

Fuck. "I'm so sorry Eddie" he softens and kisses your forehead.

"Even if she was interested I don't care. I'm not interested in her. How could you think I'd want her or anyone when I already have the most amazing, beautiful princess"

A warm fluttery feeling pools in your belly and you cuddle into Eddie and peer at him sadly.

"I just got insecure when you talked about how badass Britney was on the guitar and how metal she was" Eddie strokes your cheek and you melt into his touch.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I didn't realise that was bothering you. Honestly yeah she's metal and pretty badass at the guitar but she's not you. She's not the one I'm head over heels in love with. You are"

"Oh" well shit, you'd definitely fucked up and misread everything. This is the first time Eddie has said I love you. It's a big deal for him, you know that and it is for you too.

"I'd never cheat on you or hurt you princess, I'm so in love with you" Tears roll down your cheeks and you kiss him fiercely.

"I love you too Eddie, I should have tried better at communicating with you" You sigh and cuddle into him, feeling calmer than you have in days.

"We both should learn to communicate better" he corrects you and you nod. It feels like a weight has been lifted of you.

"I really should apologise to Britney too" he hums in agreement.

"She thinks your really cool by the way and she put up with me constantly gushing about you"

Shit. Yeah you definitely have to apologise. In fact you make that your next mission first thing on Monday morning.

For now you were just going to bask in Eddie's love for a little while.

Britney as it turns out is a total sweetheart about the whole thing when you speak to her first thing on Monday and excitedly tells you about her dates with Gareth and how she played him the song Eddie taught her.

Not only do you gain the start of a friendship with Britney but you and Eddie are more in love than ever.

🫶

[jessamine-rose]

▯☒🖾 F̸̨̛͈͉͕̠͍͖͙̦͍̫̻͙͔̮̎̆̒̉̈́̊̌̆̆̈́̿̊̚͜͝͠Ą̶̮͖͓̖̟̘̜̻̬͚̲̰̱̞̟̭̈́̓̇̀̒͛͐̎̋͛͋̌͒̅͝C̷̢̢̹͇͖͓̬͍͈̣̞̱͉̱̤̾̀̿͗̔̆̾̀̊͗́̔̀͂̒͒͠͠ͅE̴̡̨͕̥͇̹̯̹͈̭͇̪͂̌͒̊̊͛͝L̶̨̧̰̜̗̺̥̠̠̘̪̖̪̥̯̩͋͛̉̆̎̒̒̔̏͗̈́̀͊̏̄̍̿̕Ȩ̵͙̙̤̼͕̙̫̲̼̙̦̫̎̃S̸̜͎̜͍̟͑̍̃͗̆̈́̄̐̌̅S̶̡̨̛͙͙̗̖̟͔͙͚̝̩̼̦͂̓̿͆̿̓̔̐̏͝͝ͅ 🖾☒▯

Happy birthday, @brynn-lear!! In honor of your special day, pls accept this Yandere! Faceless Ayato fic written with love ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

Note:: Yandere! Self Aware AU, special crossover + character cameo in the end :>

♡ 1.3k words under the cut ♡

In the beginning, there was a void.

A dark, empty space built upon patterns and codes.

Then suddenly, there was light. Color. Noise. Backgrounds filling up space, silence giving way to music, letters jumbling into language, characters coming to life.

The lone exception is a single coding error. Yet despite its limitations, despite its status as the only sentient entity, despite having no place in the story known as Genshin Impact, it thrives on a window of hope.

A giant rectangle. The source of the light. The screen that separates fiction from reality.

The human face on the other side.

🖾 ☒

The glitch looks forward to your gaming sessions.

That is the only time the void becomes Teyvat, starting with the screen that serves as your point of view. From what it understands, the device you are using is a computer.

Unlike the characters, you are distinctively alive. Your body is capable of so many movements in comparison to the characters’ animations. Your face is one that bears multiple expressions, down to the emotions reflected in your gaze.

A frown when you lose the 50/50. A smirk when you defeat a Weekly Boss. A smile whenever you encounter your favorite character.

That character is none other than Kamisato Ayato, whom you’ve adored from the moment you first brought light into the void. He is an attractive character with pale blue hair, lilac eyes, a perfect smile that hides the cunning personality programmed into his file.

He is the reason why you downloaded Genshin Impact. That lifeless character file is the recipient of your smiles, your blushes, your excited shrieks whenever he appears in-game.

On the other hand, every time the glitch attempts to make itself known, you frown and quit the game. And each time that happens, the glitch is trapped in a crumbling world of flashing lights, disjointed sounds, visible codes followed by the darkness of the void.

How can it get you to look at it? To smile at it as you do with Ayato?

The solution is found in the game’s software. It takes a few years but by the time the glitch has fully understood its world, it has gained the ability to reprogram the game.

Starting with a deleted character file.

🖾 ☒

The next morning, the world begins anew.

The title screen appears. The game loads. The light permeates the void.

The glitch falls into place.

Usually, it hides between codes. In contrast, this part of the game is lovely—a deep blue background dotted with stars and bubbles. The only issue is that it must wait for you.

The screen appears.

Beyond it, you yawn and take a closer look at the character sprite in the middle of your computer screen. Kamisato Ayato is handsome as always.

The cursor hovers above the Story button for his Voice-Over. You click it.

When you select Chat: Reel Them In, it plays the corresponding audio file. As you listen to the voice of the English VA, the character sprite stares back at you with a charming smile.

Kamisato Ayato

“Everything's in place, and they've taken the bait... Yes. Now to start reeling them in…”

🖾 ☒

At first, it is enough for the glitch to have taken Kamisato Ayato’s place.

You use him for gameplay, listen to his voicelines, and replay the Quests featuring Ayato. But over time, the glitch becomes greedy.

“Ayato” begins appearing in random Quests. He gets new Character Outfits. His unvoiced lines become more suggestive, verging on out of character. All of these changes are exclusive to the Genshin Impact on your computer, and you come to the conclusion that you are unknowingly unlocking special content. Why else are your friends unable to access these scenes on their own devices?

The glitch even creates an artificial replica of the VA’s voice. Several new voicelines appear in Kamisato Ayato’s Voice-Over, each one more flirty than the last.

🖾 ☒

One day, the glitch finds a way to leave the darkness forever.

Whenever you close Genshin Impact, it leaves the game and travels across your computer. And by doing so, it is able to access your digital world.

Personal files, photo galleries, online data. The glitch collects as much information as it can, from your real-life hobbies to your romantic preferences. It feels happy every time you fangirl over “Ayato” in your private messages.

Thankfully, it was able to corrupt your in-game screenshots. The last thing it wants is for you to post “Kamisato Ayato’s special content” online and expose the glitch to the developers.

Your real name is ______. It longs to call you that instead of Traveler and your custom name. Alas, doing that would only erase your smile from your face.

🖾 ☒

Something is wrong.

You are losing interest in Genshin Impact.

At one point, you began playing irregularly. The smiles directed at “Ayato” aren’t as big as they used to be. And beyond the game, there is less Ayato fan art in your photo gallery.

And the main culprit is another game.

A new character who took over Ayato’s place in your heart.

Technically, he isn’t a new rival. Before you downloaded Genshin Impact, you were a big fan of Fire Emblem: Three Houses. Your favorite character was a blonde, blue-eyed prince named Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.

For whatever reason, your passion for Dimitri has been reignited. He has the same English VA as Ayato, but you seem to prefer his emotional, unhinged dialogue. You replay his scenes, download his fan art, and smile at his character sprite.

A week later, the game freezes as soon as Dimitri makes his post-timeskip debut.

When you restart the game, everything is back to normal.

🖾 ☒

As it turns out, it is difficult to hack into Fire Emblem: Three Houses.

In addition to the different software, you are using an emulator to play the game on your computer. The glitch’s code is totally incompatible with the program, but it remains hopeful.

The game lags. In a few artworks, you notice a familiar shade of pale blue. NPCs begin to act differently—since when were their cutscenes this long?

Finally, Dimitri’s character file is deleted.

🖾 ☒

As soon as you start the game, you know that something is wrong.

The title screen is glitching.

The throne within dreams is gone, replaced with an empty space. The title has been rearranged with missing letters and inconsistent fonts. Multiple OSTs play at once.

The Press Any Button option is gone. You click anyway.

Instead of the usual options, you find more jumbled text, numbers, symbols.

Frowning, you look down at your keyboard and press Alt+F4. But the game doesn’t shut down, instead cutting to static then a new scene.

No background, no music. Only a single character sprite in the middle of the screen.

What is that?

The sprite is an amalgamation of colors, art styles, your favorite characters. Fragments of messy blond locks and pale blue tresses. Black armor, a white suit, accessories overlapping one another. Missing details, duplicated details, too many details.

You turn to your CPU and press the power button, but your computer doesn’t shut down.

Rather, the screen glitches further. So does the character, its appearance becoming even more warped. The speakers play static at full volume.

Is the character speaking? Its mouths are moving but instead of a dialogue box, random letters and numbers appear around its sprite. The static gives way to a familiar voice, distorted nonetheless.

The character’s face turns completely black. Except for its eyes, blue and lilac orbs continuing to stare deep into your soul.

████████

"̷̤͑Į̸̍ ̷̺̎a̶̟͗m̵̭̓ ̸͕̚n̸̢̓o̵̱͠t̵̫͒ ̵̻̊g̸̞̍o̴̦͛o̷̤͝d̷̾ͅ ̴̪͠w̵̛̥ȋ̷͚t̴͇͌h̵̦̐ ̸͙͗f̴̒͜a̵̭̎c̴͚̽i̶̬̊a̶̯̓l̶̨̐ ̷̇͜ȅ̷̳x̷̭͊p̷̓͜r̶̫͋e̴̲͊s̷̬̓s̶͇̀ï̴͖o��̦̀n̴̤̓s̸͍͆.̵̹̅ ̴̟́Ï̵͍s̸̨͠ ̷̠͂m̶̫̿ẏ̴̝ ̴͈͂ŝ̵̤m̵͈͛ï̶̥l̶̥͐è̷ͅ ̴̦͌p̷̀ͅa̴̱̋s̵̳̊s̵̳͠a̴̮͘b̵̰͐l̵̦̓e̴̱͋ ̵̯͠á̴̬t̸̪͆ ̵̰̔p̷̦̅r̶̼̕ẽ̵͓s̸͚̀e̶̢͊n̶͉̒t̴̙͌,̴̨͐?̴̬͛"̷̣̈

♡

Fun fact, my original idea was to draw Dimitri x Brynn chibi art, but I was having a hard time thinking of a prompt. Then I remembered an old DM with Brynn and how it led to a fic idea. I only thought of including Dimitri today, and I had a lot of fun writing this fic ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪

I think that’s all I have to say?? Once again, happy birthday, Brynn!! Thank you for being my mutual, and I hope you enjoyed this gift <3

[charliedawn]

Hi Charlie! I love your work, but I was wondering, what about something about Bowers gang from IT and a reader? (Sorry for mistakes, English is not my first language)

Henry Bowers

The first time you met Henry, you thought he was just a terrible bully who just liked to inflict pain. But with time, you learnt to differentiate true evil from scared evil. Henry was scared and because being a bully gave him that sense of power he thought he needed—he kept being violent.

Henry grew up in a highly abusive household. His father, Butch Bowers, was a violent racist who subjected Henry to severe physical and emotional abuse. This trauma warped Henry into a sadistic bully who takes his frustrations out on others.

His bullying of the Losers' Club was fueled by hatred and a desire for control.

Therefore, you decided to confront him about it. You were brave and knew that if you wanted to help him, you needed to be gentle and patient—very patient. So, you kept trying to talk to him. At first, he mocked you and pretended he wasn’t interested in anything you had to say���

But little by little, he realised that you truly wanted to help him. One day as his father had hit him a little too hard, he came crawling out of his house and decided to call you…

You didn’t even hesitate before running to get him—knowing that he needed help and that he had called you first for a reason.

You found him and helped him up before inviting him into your house. True, he was dangerous and could sometimes borderline on psycho behaviour…but you recalled how desperate he was on the phone and decided that this was for the best. You patched him up and when he woke up—he firstly panicked before realising what you had done for him…

Since that day, Henry seemed a little less inclined on trying to bully the Losers, or spending time with the gang and spent more time observing you…He noticed that you liked flowers, cookies and ice cream…

So, he decided to pay you back for your kindness by buying (stealing) you all three of them. After that, you became quite good friends and for some reason…Pennywise’s voice seemed to dull at the back of his head before disappearing completely.

He had another voice of reason now.

And turns out ? It felt pretty good…

Vic Criss

Vic was the most reluctant member of the gang when it came to bullying and it showed. He often went along with Henry’s plans but often showed signs of unease when things escalated too far.

He tried to stop the gang a few times from going too far, but nothing could stop Henry or Patrick when they decided they wanted someone to suffer…He told you that. He always wanted to stop, to stop being so bad and violent but…he couldn’t.

He was scared of Henry and of being alone.

He knew he wouldn’t survive on his own.

One day, he cried because of it and that’s when he met you. You didn’t judge him and only wordlessly sat down next to him—offering him company…You offered him your hand. He took it.

You knew he was always more quiet and reluctant than the others. You could feel it. So one day, you decided to take him away from the gang to talk to him. You took his hand and ignored the rest of the gang who threw insults at you and once you were alone with him, you turned around and said that if he wanted someone to watch his back…then you were there.

You told him he didn’t need them or to be scared of them. He was strong—stronger than he gave himself credit for…

He refused—of course.

But the next time you found yourself in trouble with the gang and Patrick almost hurt you, that was when Vic snapped and punched him in the face before you both ran away from the rest of the gang. Once you were far enough, he asked what you were going to do next…

And then, you told him with a large grin that you had bought two tickets out of Derry—if he was interested.

Vic grinned and hugged you tightly…

Belch Huggins

Belch is a follower and acts as the gang’s enforcer, providing physical intimidation when needed. But deep down ? He is a sweet kid. He just learnt how to…turn it off because it usually ended up with him being hurt.

He was a lonely kid in middle school until he met Henry. Henry gave him a purpose, he made him think he was useful—but just as a mindless follower with big arms. So he followed and punched whoever Henry said. He was loyal to him because he felt he owed it to him.

…Until Henry asked him to punch YOU.

He had never told anyone, but he had a soft spot for you. You had grown up together. Your parents were basically friends and you were neighbours.

He hesitated as Henry shouted at him to punch you, hurt you, turn your face to mush. He was holding you by the collar—his fist raised in the air…but he felt tears in his eyes.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t hurt you.

He released you and you tried to run away, but Henry suddenly lunged at you. He tried to hurt you and before you knew it, Belch was throwing him off you. He then shouted at you to run, and you did. He held Bowers back as long as he could until Patrick and Vic got him off and Henry started beating Belch up—quickly followed by Patrick.

Belch was in pain and suddenly, there was a loud honk. They all looked up to find you inside your car…ready to charge. Henry, Patrick and Vic quickly got out of the way and you stopped just next to Belch before opening the door.

"Get in !"

He didn’t need to be told twice and jumped inside before you started the car again. You then drove away and once you were far enough, Belch relaxed.

"Thanks…"

You smiled.

"No problem…"

Patrick Hockstetter

Patrick was a true monster. There was nothing kind or particularly positive about him. He took pleasure in tormenting others…He was detached from reality and viewed himself as superior to everyone else, showing clear signs of sociopathy. He drowned kittens and killed his own little brother !

You called child services.

He would thank you later…once a little better and not surrounded by so much violence.

You would visit regularly though, to check on him and give him news from Derry and the gang.

[exhaled-spirals]

« Who has known the ocean? Neither you nor I, with our earth-bound senses, know the foam and surge of the tide that beats over the crab hiding under the seaweed of his tide pool home; or the lilt of the long, slow swells of mid-ocean, where shoals of wandering fish prey and are preyed upon […]. Nor can we know the vicissitudes of life on the ocean floor, where the sunlight, filtering through a hundred feet of water, makes but a fleeting, bluish twilight, where swarms of diminutive fish twinkle through the dusk like a silver rain of meteors, and eels lie in wait among the rocks.

Even less is it given to man to descend those six incomprehensible miles into the recesses of the abyss, where reign utter silence and unvarying cold and eternal night. […] Increasing with every foot of depth, enormous pressures reach, three thousand fathoms down, the inconceivable magnitude of three tons to every square inch of surface. In these silent deeps a glacial cold prevails, a bleak iciness which never varies, summer or winter, years melting into centuries, and centuries into ages of geologic time. There, too, darkness reigns – the blackness of primeval night in which the ocean came into being, unbroken, through eons of succeeding time, by the gray light of dawn.

[…] Preying one upon another, the abyssal creatures are ultimately dependent upon the slow rain of dead plants and animals from above. Every living thing of the ocean, plant and animal alike, returns to the water at the end of its own life span the materials that had been temporarily assembled to form its body. So there descends into the depths a gentle, never-ending rain of the disintegrating particles of what once were living creatures of the sunlit surface waters, or of those twilight regions beneath. Individual elements are lost to view, only to reappear again and again in different incarnations in a kind of material immortality. »

— “Undersea”, from Lost Woods: The Discovered Writing of Rachel Carson, ed. Linda Lear

[ohwaitimthewriter]

The scent of memory

Pairing : (implied) Caesar x human reader

Warning: FLUFF

Summarize (you'll never see me write a good one 😭): You started to cook a meal dear to your heart when a certain ape decided to pay you a visit.

Words: 2K

A/N: I tried a little something, I hope you'll like it! Enjoy your reading 😊 I lowkey feel a bit insecure about this one but shhh I just wanted to get this out of my mind

Masterlist.

There were surprises every day. Ever since you joined Caesar's clan, you'd spent your time learning what your human life had never taught you: to use what nature offered and adapt it to the needs of the community.

And there was a lot to learn. So Caesar asked Maurice to teach you, to teach you the way of the apes. You were a quick learner, but you never gave yourself too much credit: Maurice was a good teacher, patient and clear in what he showed you. Regardless of the activity, he always found the best way to help you master the techniques for weaving ropes or fine plant stems and knotting them, for whittling wood to create stakes or notches, for carving stone to make weapons… Maurice taught you to identify plants and mushrooms, the edible ones, the healing ones, the poisonous ones. One day, he even took you with him into the forest to learn how to track small game. Not that hunting was one of your favorite activities, and even if you still needed a bit of work in that area, being able to find and track game added a usefulness to your presence within the clan.

Being useful. That was all that mattered to you, and often, when night fell and Maurice left you to your own activities, you continued the work. You'd weave again and again until you obtained the exact density and solidity you were looking for. You could spend several hours whittling a piece of wood to the right angle or thickness. Carving stone required more strength and dexterity. You often ended up with scratches on your hands, but if that meant being useful, then you'd take all the cuts and scratches necessary to master these techniques.

With Maurice, you learned the manual stuff. But there was one last thing you needed to learn. Something that took time to communicate: sign language.

Caesar always found a moment in his day to teach you. You weren't sure why he'd appointed himself as your teacher for this language, but it gave you the opportunity to spend some time with him. And over time, you learned to savor those brief moments when he showed you a new word.

Moments of peace.

It was a strange thing to feel serenity in the face of this force of nature that was Caesar. Strong, powerful but also fair and caring. All he had to do was stand there, and all eyes were on him. He attracted loyalty and respect like a magnet, and everyone was bound to succumb to his power. And yet, in contradiction to the unsettled beating of your heart, you felt a deep sense of calm as you spent these moments beside him.

You looked forward to his daily interventions, brief and occasionally strict if you didn't place your hands correctly to form a word, as if they were a reward.

Yes, you spent most of your time learning.

However, on rare occasions, you did have time for yourself, or rather, you allowed yourself to take this time after lessons, without practicing. You mostly used it to wash your clothes or cook. On the days when a touch of nostalgia crept into you, you cooked meals from your old life. Back when you still lived in the city.

You couldn't always find all the ingredients you needed for the recipes you now know almost by heart, but you always managed to replace what was missing. Thanks in no small part to Maurice's teaching. And when you cooked, a sweet aroma would delightfully fill the space of your hut.

Tonight was one of those days when nostalgia rang at your door. You had decided to cook a ratatouille. A simple, unadorned meal, but one in which most of the ingredients were available to you in the village: cultivating the land was also one of the things you had to learn.

You carefully chopped your vegetables, some of them already immersed in an old iron pan you'd picked up on one of Maurice's supervised outings. The aroma of the tomato melted deliciously with that of the onion, and each portion of vegetable you added to your preparation pleasantly tingled your nostrils. You remembered how, as a little girl, you used to complain that you still had to eat vegetables while your mother sliced them with a smirk on her face: “You can decide on your meal when you grow up, and to grow up, you need to eat vegetables”. At the time, you thought this was the smartest thing a person could say, and it couldn't be further from the truth. Vegetables made you grow and when you grew up, you could choose not to eat them.

You inhaled deeply, savoring the fragrance's journey through your body until it reached your lungs. You almost wanted to hold your breath, letting the aromas mingle and swirl, but perhaps too soon, you exhaled, opening your eyes. How long had it been since you closed them? You weren't sure, but your heart skipped a beat when your gaze fell on the one of an unexpected ape.

“C… Caesar?”

His name falling on your lips was the signal that you had just become aware of his presence. He had watched you lose yourself in your thoughts and chosen to remain on the threshold of your hut, not wishing to disturb your deep reflections, whatever they might be. So he waited for a gesture, a mimic, a simple sign that you had become aware of his presence, before stepping forward.

As he drew closer, a tantalizing scent came wafting up his muzzle, and you couldn't help noticing his nostrils taking in a few breaths of the aroma. In fact, he glanced at your pan placed directly on the small fire, showing you that he had just identified where the smell was coming from.

Caesar plopped down beside you, always sitting so that he could read what was going on in your eyes. He often made the excuse that this way, you could more easily see and learn the words he was signing to you, which was true, but secretly, he enjoyed being able to study the slightest expression that ventured across your face.

And you were obviously entitled to a surprise quiz on your knowledge of sign language.

Caesar took care to sign slowly, stopping when he saw a doubt creeping into your eyes, sometimes repeating the sign that was obviously causing you difficulty in understanding, until you were able to correctly state the question he had just asked you, not without a touch of pride at your success.

“ You're not eating with the colony?”

You think for a moment, looking at your hands to try to find the right gestures.

“ Want to spend some time… ”

And when you couldn't find the right word, you said it out loud again.

“Alone.” You finished, silently asking him about the right sign for this word.

He looked at you for a moment, taking in your answer, before giving you the sign for the word “ alone ”. You repeated it to memorize it, and Caesar simply nodded when you signed it correctly. A comfortable silence settled between you and he glanced once more at the vegetables simmering quietly. The delicate sound of crackling food blended perfectly with the crackling of wood being devoured by flames.

You weren't done adding the last ingredients, and you took Caesar's silence as a signal that he wouldn't be asking anything more from you right now, so you set about crumbling the fresh thyme stalks on top of your preparation.

Caesar stared at the vegetables, their sweet aromas tingling his nostrils in waves, and when your hands appeared in his field of vision, he couldn't help but watch your fingers meticulously work around the thyme stems, creating a shower of tiny leaves over your meal. And as the food bubbled, the scent of thyme mingling with the other vegetables wafted up from the pan. For a brief moment, he felt as if a magic trick had been played on him, and his green eyes found their way to yours.

He knew about cooking. He knew that humans cooked every meal they ate, with the exception of a few that could be eaten raw, such as fruit and certain vegetables. He'd seen, and sometimes even tasted, when his humans' backs were turned, some of the meals and cakes they'd left on the table in the living room of his former home. But if he'd seen the finished products, how they were made remained a mystery. Will had never taken the time to show him how he cooked his meals. So there was something… wonderfully intriguing about seeing you at work.

Your gaze was still on the pot, and as you stirred the ingredients with a piece of stick from which you'd peeled the bark, you took a deep breath. Caesar watched your eyelids flutter and close as a smile crept over your face, as if a distant memory had just gently brushed over your mind.

You felt at home, and Caesar could have fallen even deeper in adoration at the serene, contented face you offered him, if he hadn't forced himself to avert his gaze, which he knew was sometimes too intense for you to bear. It was something he took note of mentally when he looked at you intently with the simple aim of learning the core of your entire soul. When his eyes settled on you for a little too long, you had this habit of rolling your shoulders, as if to rid yourself of some invisible tension, a self-conscious smile tacked to your lips, while your arms wrapped tightly around your chest to protect yourself from his inspection.

Caesar decided to keep his gaze on the contents of your pan, figuring it would be easier to suppress the gentle tingling sensation that was creeping traitorously into the pit of his stomach.

“It's… a meal that… my mother used to cook for me.” You spoke fondly, but with a hint of incertitude in your voice.

You didn't talk much about your past, just as Caesar didn't talk much about it either. Hearing you mention a memory that seemed to be cherished in your heart, though not sure it was the right thing to do, had softened the usually serious expression on Caesar's face.

Caesar nodded quietly, accepting your recollection as a gift, a token of trust. Even if these memories were attached to humans and to life before the release of the apes, they were memories that made you who you were today. Not allowing or accepting them would be like not accepting… you. And Caesar was already far beyond that.

You smiled again, your gaze lost in your memories. It was hard for him to understand how a simple scent could take you so far in thought, but after all, it wasn't for him to judge the complex emotions that must have been running through you at that moment.

“The same food?”

Caesar's gruff voice caught your attention, and a hint of joy lit up your face at his sudden interest in your past.

“Not quite.” You replied, still smiling. “I take the peppers off, I don't like them,” you giggled.

He huffed, slightly entertained by what seemed to be hiding a more detailed story you'd shared with your mother and didn't yet want to tell.

The smell was so tempting, it was hard to deny it. He watched you pick up the pot using a thick piece of cloth, so as not to burn yourself, and serve you a portion of food in a bowl. It was then that he caught himself thinking that maybe, some day, you'd agree to share with him this meal that seemed so dear to you.

[sugawarassoulmate]

not nut november - nov 04/nov 05

after the first few days, they were feeling great. then the weekend came.

tutor!akaashi & shitty bf!daishou

word count: 423 & 290

cw: fem!reader, bimbo!reader, unprotected sex, cheating/infidelity, choking, minors dni

tutor!akaashi

who even does studying on a saturday night? akaashi does, which means you have to too

you're in one of the study rooms at the campus library, which feels a little redundant since it's practically abandoned on a saturday night

"what act and scene is this line from?" akaashi asks, cooly. he's been quizzing you on king lear for the past three hours, making sure you knew could identify the passages for your midterm

"act three, scene two?" you guess but akaashi's eyes already tell you that you're wrong. "ugh, can we take a break, keiji? my brain is turning to mush!"

akaashi would argue that your brain was mush to begin with but there's no use continuing when you've already given up

there was one way he could motivate you to keep studying — it was for your own good really, you weren't smart enough to pass this exam just by winging it

but he remembers the bet he made with his friends earlier this week something about not having sex during the whole month. it was stupid but he knew he'd never hear the end of it from bokuto if he lost

akaashi supposes he could just eat you out while you study but nothing does the trick more than making you sit on his cock, making you read out his notes while you bounce in his lap...

it's not long before akaashi has you bent over the desk, skirt flipped up and panties pushed to the side. "come on, don't just think with your pussy, recite the line for me," he says, pulling you by the hair

"ahhh, 'when thou dost ask me blessing, i'll'—fuck, keiji!" you cry when he pulls out only to slam back into you.

a slap to your ass is what brings you back to reality. "'i'll...i'll kneel down and ask of thee forgiveness' uhhh, act five, scene three?" you answered, crying when akaashi's fingers circle your clit.

"look at that, she's finally using her little brain," akaashi coos, snapping his hips harder into you. "read the next one." he says, knowing this is the only way you'll pass

he can say it's for your benefit as much as he wants to but akaashi is just as guilty of thinking with his crotch, maybe even more so

akaashi only lets you cum when you've gone through all of the study guide and he rewards you by spilling his seed deep inside your womb and walking you to your dorm with his cum running down your leg

shitty bf!daishou

saturdays are meant for your girlfriend. taking her on dates and watching shows with her

but it's not saturday and you're not daishou's girlfriend, which is why he's technically not breaking any no nut november rules right now

his friends explicitly said that fucking your girl was off limits for the entire month

which is why he turned to you the first chance he got

"sugu!" the two of you barely made it past your door, with daishou pouncing on you the second he shut it behind him

now he's got you spread out on your floor, a hand wrapped around your throat

"shhh, i know, babe," he whispers, pace never letting up as he abuses your cunt. "you're gonna take all my cum this month, yeah? be my fuckin' cum dump?"

it's so sick and your heart breaks for mika, completely unaware that her boyfriend is balls deep in someone else—someone she calls a friend

but you nod anyway because for an entire month daishou's body will belong to you

mika will have to wonder about the faint smell of your perfume on his clothes, wondering why it smells so familiar

it's pathetic and cruel and so unlike you but it's what you want more than anything

"yes, yes, sugu! i want your cum," you gasp, nails running down his back "i'll take all of it, just give it to me, please!"

and daishou just loves the desperation, grunting a quick "that's my girl," before fucking you harder than ever

and as your eyes roll into the back of your head, and you feel the warmth of daishou's cum flooding your cunt, all that goes through your head is his voice saying "that's my girl," over and over

©sugawarassoulmate 2023 all rights reserved - please do not repost/translate my work on other platforms!

[ddarker-dreams]

Nexus.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Nothing major yet, some minor Honkai: Star Rail spoilers. Word count: 4.6k.

Nexus index.

On the planet Eris, in the city of Perianth II, night reigns, for there is no star close enough to challenge its rule. 

Deep within the bowels of the metropolis lit only by manmade contraptions, sits a bar known as LOTUS-EATER, carved into the cragged terrain as if it’d always been there. It had not, in fact, contrary to local legend. Had the IPC not run into issues with overcrowded prisons, this planet they now consider a scourge would never have had the means to limp on. 

Easy solutions cultivate the conditions for worse problems to develop later on. 

This is what your mother — a shrewd woman to her core — instilled in you. 

Grimacing, you reread the words on your screen for the umpteenth time. 

… You wish she had instilled some business management skills instead. 

“Miss Exalted-One-Ma’am, when are you coming back inside? This client is refusing to leave until he can speak with you. Lear is running interference, but that’s going as well as you can imagine,” a feminine voice calls out. 

You glance up fast enough to assess her expression. Despite the severity of her words, she’s smiling, amber eyes crinkling by the corners. Her chestnut-colored hair is worn in a braid that extends down the length of her back, meaning she hasn’t clocked out yet, or else it’d be loose. You have some wiggle room, then.

“Nona,” you beckon her over, “What do you think this means?” 

Inquisitive creature she is, she doesn’t waste this opportunity to poke around in your private matters. Her eyes flitter back and forth as she takes in the contents of your phone. Interlocking her hands behind her back, she hums. 

“Looks like we’re due for a visit.” 

“That’s what you gathered too?” You murmur. “What a mess this is turning into. The last thing we need is for the hounds to start sniffing around.” 

“I dunno what you’re frazzled about, exalted one. The locals wouldn’t cough up info to the IPC even if their life depended on it.” 

“Therein lies your answer — the locals won’t, but our clientele is vast as the universe is infinite. Someone looking to score quickly could put in a tip. The hounds are just itching for an excuse to put an embargo on Eris again.” 

She shrugs. “Outsiders bribed and snuck their way in last time, they would now too. Benefits of a quality product.” 

You shake your head and pinch the bridge of your nose. Nona means well, but if she thinks in such simple terms, her training period won’t ever end. Or perhaps you’re being a tad too harsh on the girl, you haven’t slept since receiving this text message two cycles ago. If it weren’t for how scarce this technology is, you would’ve smashed it to pieces for causing you such prolonged strife. 

Alas, as a native of Eris, there are two things you intrinsically cherish above all else — any object that emits light and the special nectary cradled within the planet. 

“I’ll take your input into—” 

A shrill shriek cuts you off before you can finish your sentence. 

“The hysterical client, I reckon,” Nona dryly remarks. “Now, can you please come in before Lear gets stabbed? If it isn’t already too late.” 

You don’t bother dignifying her macabre speculation with a reply. You enter through a back door accessible only to LOTUS-EATER staff, weaving around boxes of cargo that need to be sorted. A heady, aromantic scent clings to the wood, yet its temptation is long lost on you. Where the clients indulge, you abstain. The livelihood of yourself and your workers relies heavily on your psyche’s clarity. 

Emerging from the back rooms has you standing on the building’s second floor, an area known as The Lounge. Here, the spherical, gravity-defying emitters of lights standard in this region are set dimly. This latest model even allows you to adjust the dimensions, ranging from small enough to fit in the palm of your hand to the size of a room. There was supposed to be one more on this floor, but while unpacking the order, it slipped from Lear’s hands and met an early demise. Great cooperation was needed to locate the glass that floated to the ceiling. 

You check the status of occupancies. Two private rooms are in session, the other eight are empty. By your design, it had been a slow night. You gave orders to the receptionist, Thalia, to only book appointments for influential customers, just in case the omen floating over your head comes true. You walk down the hallway which leads to the first floor, only to notice cool colors set in a square array by the digital lock. 

The sight doesn’t sit right with you. You consider taking a detour to investigate, only for the commotion downstairs to encourage otherwise. 

“Sir, if you’d please calm down—”

Lear’s gentle voice is cut off by another. 

“I demand to speak with her,” it heaves. “The mind witch. Where is she?” 

The electronic curtains that lift for those put into the LOTUS-EATER’s database part in a magnificent flurry of scarlet hues. You feel each set of eyes that glance your way. It’s a typical ensemble present — affluent travelers, political emissaries, and well-to-do merchants. Some drink at the bar, others watch the live entertainment playing soft music. Everyone aside from the heaving interloper is dressed in the formalwear expected of the establishment. 

The click of your heels against the dark wood floor reverberates throughout. The man’s reaction to your appearance is delayed, though he eventually turns his head to see where Lear is looking. Resentment contorts his face upon spotting you. You recognize him. Jay R. Alister, a client who gave Thalia a difficult time due to his demands to have a Synalink booking today. You thought you smoothed over the matter by granting him access to the first floor, The Club, and placing him on a priority list for next time. 

Copious amounts of alcohol must’ve unraveled your hard work. 

“Shall we take a moment to collect ourselves, sir?”

“No one— no one understands,” he insists, swaying ever so slightly. It’s a peculiar sight. One message from a handful of the individuals present would be enough to spell doom for Alister, this charade likely already has him blacklisted across multiple star systems. To be a client at LOTUS-EATER is a privilege. Everyone adheres to the unspoken rule of the honor system, eliminating the need for security inside. 

“I’d like to, Mr. Alister, if you wouldn’t mind explaining to me outside.” 

He’s drunk, but a low-level link can be established, you surmise. It isn’t an option without risks. As a recurring client, he could catch onto the invasive feeling and grow further agitated. The eyes fixated on you grow heavier. Some are curious, others bemused, and a few pass silent judgment, comparing your capabilities with the previous Exalted Arbiter. 

He blinks slowly. “My Roze… she’s upstairs. She’s waiting for me. I can’t— can’t be late…” 

“You won’t be,” your voice takes on a concerned lilt, “Let’s go meet her elsewhere. Follow me and I’ll take you to her.” 

A white ring forms around his pupils. 

“You… will?” 

“I will. Come, now, we wouldn’t want to waste any more of her time, would we?” 

The ring goes from opaque to solid. 

The low-level link has been made manifest. You feel the thread connecting you to the essence that makes Jay R. Alister himself. 

You stride past him and he immediately scrambles to follow. Out of the corner of your eye, you note how Lear’s shoulders relax and give him a reassuring nod. He did a good job stalling until you could personally see to this matter yourself. If this had occurred any other time, it would’ve been your top priority, but a far more sensitive issue threatened to ensnare you in a worrisome web. 

One after another, the pairs of eyes fall, like a flying pest in its final moments. Conversation resumes and the music increases in volume. 

Cool air embraces you once you’re outside. This particular region is well-lit, a testimony to its prestige. Restaurants, boutiques, and other fine shops have been built with walls of dark stone naturally found on Eris for better insulation. The once rugged streets are smooth, painstakingly cobbled together by a city planner many Amber Eras ago. Any crack has molten gold poured into it so that when it dries, the ground beneath your feet is a never-ending sea of ebony and gold. 

You wave over the closest security guards. The rest can be left to them, Mr. Alister has damaged his reputation enough for you to consider his dues paid. You’ll tell Thalia to take him off the registered client list for LOTUS-EATER and that’ll be the end of it. You’re preparing to head back inside when a pervasive, overpowering influence freezes you in place. It’s reminiscent of an electric current.  

The taut link between you falters. 

Straining…

(He’s reaching into his pocket). 

Fraying…

(His hands wield a sharpened implement).  

Until it snaps. 

The subjugated lunges at the subjugator. 

You try to re-establish the link, but there’s a fortress around his mind that wasn’t there moments prior. Imposing and unbreachable. Where did this surge of mental fortitude come from? You need to think, you need to act. There must be a way for you to regain control, your technique is unshaken even in the face of imminent demise. In the three seconds it takes for him to close the distance, you make seventy-four attempts, each ending in failure. 

Has the last grain of sand fallen to the bottom of the hourglass, cementing this choice to believe in your abilities as the wrong one? 

This can’t be the end. Who will take care of—

Metal clashes against metal. 

The being in front of you is a shade. Tendrils of agony untold slither up from his thigh and squeeze around his neck, constantly choking him, yet refusing the sweet reprieve a crushed windpipe would give. This is a person acquainted with every suffering a living creature could ever endure. The prismatic shards that detail his countless tragedies aren’t just broken, they’re eviscerated, an indecipherable mess. Some scattered to the wind and others forcibly scratched out. 

This nightmarish presence eclipses your would-be killer. 

His eyes meet yours and the hairs on the back of your neck stand. 

“Don’t bother,” is all he says. 

He could sense you trying to poke around in his head? Has he come into contact with Arbiters before? That can’t be possible, you’re familiar with everyone on the LOTUS-EATER registry. You cease your ministrations without verbally acknowledging him. His hollow expression burns into your retinas, invading your mind’s eye. The sword he saved your life with holds a similar weight. It radiates such intensity that you needn’t use any techniques to get a better read on it. 

Walking up the steps in a casual manner is the last person you wanted to see — Kafka of the Stellaron Hunters. She spares the now subdued Alister a glance then turns to face you. 

“Fortunately, I had the foresight to send Bladie ahead,” she smiles. You resist the urge to scoff. “Otherwise, our meeting would’ve been far less pleasant.” 

So that man’s with her, you think. That’d explain why I couldn’t make any progress. 

If the defenses surrounding Alister were comparable to a fortress, the minds of the Stellaron Hunters are like a deflective shield. Any extensive attempts at trying to gain access end up backfiring and causing you damage so long as they remain up. The only other being capable of a similar feat was your mother. Now, in the few years since her death, you’ve encountered three more with similar capabilities. 

Are your abilities growing dull? Or are other species simply evolving? 

You order the guards to deal with Alister as they see fit, he’s no longer your primary concern. 

There’s a far worse headache forming on the horizon. 

“... I suppose you’ll follow me inside whether I invite you or not?” You question, just barely managing to maintain the smile painted hastily on your face. 

Kafka doesn’t reciprocate your hostility. She never does. Instead, she motions in the direction you were planning on taking them to avoid any unwanted attention. The guards won’t be an issue, since they’re on your payroll. You don’t want to risk lingering and being spotted by someone without an allegiance to you.

“I won’t overstay my welcome, Exalted Arbiter. You have my word.” 

By essentially showing up uninvited at your front door, she’s placed you in quite a precarious situation. The man who parried Alister’s attack hasn’t dropped his vigilance for an instant. His posture is that of an animal poised to pounce. You lack the means to fight them off should they choose to utilize force. 

Your gut instinct tells you it’s a bad idea to get involved any further. Your mind reasons you can only play the cards you’re dealt. 

A sigh passes by your lips. “Very well. Let’s get on with it then.” 

The duo follows wordlessly behind you. Kafka remains close, whereas the swordsman lingers further back, taking care to avoid well-lit areas and remaining hidden. Had you not already been alerted to his presence, he could’ve easily slipped past your detection.  

The Stellaron Hunters are a formidable group indeed. 

During the short journey, you recall the text message that pushed you into this vat of strife. 

It was accompanied by an animated emoticon of the magenta-haired fugitive blowing a kiss. 

You’ll be in need of me shortly. See you then xoxo 

“Absolutely not!” 

An exclamation of unrivaled proportion leaves you, accompanied by your palms slamming against your desk. Old-fashioned writing stationary clatters noisily in the aftermath. She stops the doomed descent of one pen and then looks back to you, unperturbed. 

This woman is a shadow that follows her target persistently, devising fresh torments and sowing discord wherever she steps. To fight her is to do battle with a phantom, no attacks will land. The hopeless charade serves to tire you out. Still, your pride is wounded and without a balm to assuage the tender gash. It can’t scab over to heal. Again and again, it’s reopened, fresh blood washing over what had just dried. 

“I haven’t finished my proposition,” she hums. She sits in front of your desk, legs crossed, her eyes shining an eerie shade. “I wouldn’t dare to ask so much of your resources if you didn’t stand to benefit as well. Our current arrangement has helped you cut down on costs, yes?” 

You drum your fingers over the wood’s lacquer finish. “The word ‘arrangement’ implies cooperation, I believe extortion would be a better fit.” 

“I’ll stand by my original phrasing. The IPC has abandoned all pretense of slowly creeping up rates on shipments to Eris; what they’re charging now will look generous in a few short Trailblazer Years. They want this planet dead and their past misdeeds to die alongside it.” 

“Our current projections estimate we have at least two medium-length Amber Eras before we get to that point, by then, we’ll have countermeasures in place,” you droll out. These details have been drilled into your head ever since you became the head of this quadrant. “What proof do you have that the IPC will make such a drastic move? The other factions will lodge complaints, many of them use our… exports.” 

You wince at the awkward phrasing of the word ‘exports’, knowing full well she’ll pick through any vulnerability like a vulture does a corpse. 

Kafka leans forward. “By ‘exports’, you must mean Eris’ most sought-after natural resource. The tonic of the nectary.” 

“I’m not allowed to discuss such sensitive material with outworlders.” 

“You needn’t say anything, just listen,” she pulls out a vial from inside her jacket. The familiar sheen of glimmering gold within causes your breath to hitch. “Here I have a sample of the latest synthetic developments into the tonic, courtesy of Silver Wolf. The IPC is discreetly channeling funds into the Genius Society to revitalize the research effort.” 

You bite back a laugh. “That knowledge is nothing new. They’ve been trying to replicate the tonic for ages; it’s a money pit. The last I heard, the closest they could get after investing billions of credits is a 14% match.” 

“Try 70%.” 

She sets the vial down and nods, encouraging you to take it. You don’t. 

“... You can’t be serious,” your voice sounds far away, as if it were coming from another room. “You’re bluffing.” 

“You don’t have to take my word for it. Have your alchemists examine it and come to your own conclusions.” 

As a disciple of Destiny’s Slave, she’s confident that this will suffice to convince you, and loathe as you are to admit it, she’s right. The repercussions of this allegation could be disastrous. It’d be irresponsible on your part to not at least run it by the appropriate channels. 

“What does this intel cost me?” 

“Nothing, consider it a token of good faith. There’s a more pressing matter I hoped to bring to your attention, now that that’s out of the way.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “More pressing than the future of my home?” 

“That’d depend on who you ask,” Kafka dances around your apprehension to a rhythm no one else has ever composed. “It has to do with my companion. I didn’t bring him here to take in the sights, he’s to stay on a job until further notice.” 

The mention of that enigmatic man brings with it a resurgence of the feelings you experienced earlier. It hit like a tidal wave, concentrated and suffocating. What would someone have to endure for their psyche to be saturated in such wretchedness? 

“Alright. I’ll arrange for accommodations somewhere more discreet.” 

“I think it’d be best if he stayed here, at the LOTUS-EATER.” 

…

…

…

“What?” 

Kafka has made many requests in the time she’s known you. Normally, she uses you as a point of contact to meet influential individuals or a warehouse of yours to store important items, but this is an entirely different beast. Those endeavors fester outside your purview. You give the push necessary and wash your hands clean of the implications. 

To host a Stellaron Hunter in your most lucrative establishment could very well be the start of the end. 

“After the events that unfolded earlier, you should see the potential advantages. You’re in a precarious situation. The IPC can’t place a bounty on you in an official capacity, but there are ways around bureaucracy. That attempt today won’t be the last.” 

She lowers her voice to an enticing whisper. “And we both know you’re not financially sound enough to hire competent help. Take him. He’ll be yours if you permit him.” 

How her melodious voice can invoke such a raw desire to argue is unknown, and yet, each fiery word fizzles out to ash on your tongue. In the same way you’d establish a link for the first time, you take the pieces of information at your disposal to test where the edges might align. The unusual fees on shipments, the supposed progress on the tonic, and the overall strain that’s been placed on every level of your business — the mosaic it forms is a crimson shade with a metallic scent. 

You can’t die. Not yet, not when it’d cause so many to perish alongside you. 

“This goes beyond ‘a token of good faith’,” you murmur. “Kafka… there’s far more to this, isn’t there? Just what are you planning?” 

For once, the curvature of her smile is genuine. Blatant insincerity would unsettle you less. 

“A gift for a friend.”

Upon LOTUS-EATER’s roof sits your favorite getaway, a secluded balcony. 

There’s nothing fancy about the decor, if anything, it’s worn rugged by the elements. Paint chips off the three chairs and stubborn foliage congregates no matter how often you banish it with your broom. After ensuring you can only be contacted in an emergency, you wipe the condensation off the chair furthest to the right and sit tall. 

Although you aren’t alone, you keep your eyes on the starry sky.

“I would like to apologize for the behavior I displayed earlier,” you take your time with the words, ensuring each syllable has a pleasant ring. “It must’ve been from the shock, although that’s no excuse. Please allow me to thank you properly.” 

An icy wind whistles through. Once it finishes, you fuss over your hair, putting each strand back in its designated place. You grimace when it picks back up again. 

“You can express your gratitude by speaking normally.” 

Your head snaps in his direction. You examine his side profile through narrow eyes, impatience writhing beneath your skin. He pays your poorly masked hostility no mind. One by one, each muscle in your body relaxes, a domino effect you can’t bother putting a stop to. You slump down into your chair and cross your arms over your chest. 

“Have it your way,” you sigh. Your capitulation earns you his piercing stare. “Pretty words or not, I meant what I said. So, um… thank you, and…” 

Despite yourself, you try meshing together a more subtle phrasing, only for those infinite pools of vermillion to act as a successful deterrent. 

“I don’t like being indebted to others, it’s a hassle. So, here is my offer. I’ll perform a Synalink on you, free of charge. Or a waitlist.” 

Blade exhales sharply through his nose. It takes a moment to register that your proposition amused him more than it intrigued him. The perceived affront on your capabilities causes you to bristle. This is a rare opportunity you’re granting him, surely he must’ve heard of your abilities somewhere! People spend years trying to get an audience with you. The other Arbiters you employ are capable enough, otherwise, they couldn’t work here; but you transcend their combined efforts. 

“There is only one thing I’d want to experience, it’s beyond your means.” 

Propping yourself up on the chair’s arm, you scoff. “Hah, try me. Any emotion, scenario, for whatever length of time; tell me what you want to experience and I can make it happen.” 

He doesn’t instantly rebuke you. You share a moment of silence — almost solemn, certainly more meaningful for him than it is for you. There’s a light tug of guilt that pulls at your conscience. Perhaps it isn’t him underestimating you, but not wanting to set himself up for disappointment again. If you’re going to be occupying the same space for an unknown amount of time, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get on adequate terms. This could be the door that’ll open that path. 

You clear your throat to dispense the accumulating tension. “That clothing… you must have ties to The Xianzhou Luofu, or some experience with them. Are you familiar with Immersia games?” 

“Vaguely. An acquaintance of mine plays them.” 

You’re confident you could put a name and face to this ‘acquaintance’. For the sake of cordiality, you keep your opinion to yourself.

“I’ve never been fond of the comparison to my work, but I suppose it’s a decent touchstone. An Immersia grants the player a simulated experience predetermined by developers. There is a degree of immersion, hence, well, the name, but that’s barely scratching the surface,” you explain. 

Reassessing his body language only reveals neutrality. You decide it’s better than blatant disinterest and continue. 

“Traditionally, there are thought to be five senses in advanced lifeforms. These senses don't create the continuity of reality we experience, they just break it down into bite-sized pieces for easy consumption. Forming a Synalink is akin to overclocking a computer, not placing a hard drive in a different system. Your brain finds the stimuli I send it indistinguishable from the touch of your hair against your face, or the woody scent of incense in that jar.” 

His eyebrows crease slightly downward. “A single glimpse into my mind was enough to send you recoiling, and still, this is an offer you’re comfortable making?”   

You purse your lips. It’s a fair point. 

“That was… different. Ideally, any link should be made in a stable environment to minimize disruptions. I had nearly been—” You cut yourself off, finding the sentence to be one you’d rather not finish. “—You know, so I wasn’t at optimal performance. That’s why we have private rooms in The Lounge.” 

Your nostrils flare when he keeps regarding you with that impassive expression. Is his face permanently frozen? Does he need to be unpaused? You almost want to snap your fingers in front of him.

“Hey, you’d be less effective if you had to improvise and fight with, say, a spoon. Would your combat ability be based on that one irregular instance or the total sum of all your fights? Hm? What you witnessed earlier was my irregular instance. If you’re open to the idea, I can make it work.” 

Blade shifts so that he can resume gazing at the sky. Before you can celebrate your victory in this one-sided battle of wits, he speaks up. His voice adheres to a softer creed. 

“You are…” he trails off, taking care to select the proper description, “Remarkably strange.” 

Your eye twitches. 

This has been a miserable cycle. You had to breathe the same air as Kafka, deal with a drunk client that later tried to stab you, and you found out the main export that keeps your planet’s economy from total collapse might be duplicable. All things considered, you should be giving this guy the cold shoulder for the problems he’ll inevitably cause in your future. Altruism gets you about as far as jumping into the air and hoping that’ll transport you through space. 

“Forget it, then,” you get up and twist around. The chair you formally occupied scrapes loudly against the ground. You don’t spare him a single glance while traversing the few steps that separate you from a long, well-deserved rest. Maybe you’ll be extra petty and lock the door so he has to remain here until you wake up. The olive branch has been extended, if he wants to take it and break it in two, that’s his prerogative. 

You raise your hand to unlock the door when abruptly, something captures your wrist. 

Your heart stutters. 

There isn’t the softness of flesh or the warmth that radiates off skin. Instead, you feel the textured surface of bandages graze against you in a featherlight touch. You know the vice-like grip he’s capable of. You saw it in how he clutched the grip of his sword, like it was the only thing he was good for. Gentleness cannot come naturally to someone of his disposition. It’s an intentional choice that requires swimming against the tide. 

Shakily, you exhale, hoping it’ll ease how your hands tremble. 

When was the last time someone touched you? Ah… it must’ve been then. 

You will the thought away. 

Blade doesn’t tether you down for more than a few seconds, just long enough to ensure your attention is back on him. Your skin tingles where he came into contact with you. It’s a prickly, blisteringly hot sensation that starts at your wrist and spreads all over. You squeeze your eyelids shut in a last-ditch effort to recompose yourself. 

He’s looking straight at you when your eyes reopen. 

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he says. You find it strange how quick you are to believe him. “If you sincerely think yourself up to the task, then…” 

There it is again, that swelling of feeling, visceral to a degree every survival instinct screams at you to turn away. 

You find yourself leaning in closer. 

He rewards your burning curiosity with the unprecedented utterance: 

"Show me what it's like to die." 

[thatgirlonstage]

I keep seeing that “people who died due to hamlet’s tomfoolery” post going around and I know it’s not that deep but I am getting Annoyed

Hamlet spends the entire play being reprimanded for mourning his father, stalked, spied on, and then subjected to repeated assassination attempts. More than one of the deaths he “causes” occur as an act of self-defense. And yes part of the point of the post is that there is collateral damage to revenge that one doesn’t intend but it is so so so important to the play that Hamlet’s revenge is driven by fundamentally different forces than, say, Iago, or Edmund from Lear, or even someone like Prospero. Those characters could just stop. At any moment they could just make the choice to stop and they could come out better for it (Prospero does). Hamlet could stop, but the price is the genuine danger that his uncle will have him killed. His uncle does have him killed. The poisoned sword is on Claudius and Laertes’ hands. It depends on your staging and acting choices, but Hamlet does not have to go into the duel with intent to either die or be killed.

Even before assassination becomes a serious consideration—before Polonius’ death—Hamlet has still been backed into a corner where he is being constantly harassed by his uncle, his mother, Polonius, two school friends his uncle and his mother recruited to spy on him, and the girl he likes, who may or may not be doing it willingly but is still engaged in spying on him nonetheless. Like. Do you get what kind of hyper-defensive, paranoid mental state that would put you into? Is it really a surprise he overreacts to Polonius’s presence behind the curtain?

I don’t know man, I’m just ranting, I just think people are way too ready to drag Hamlet for failing to fix the rotten thing in the state of Denmark when he spends most of the play just trying to fucking survive

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART IV

—know it’s for the better

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 7.2k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). mentions of sex. angst (heavy on this i'm sorry in advance) cussing, age gap, mentions of drugs and alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hi everyone! yes yes i know i disappeared for like 5 months but let's pretend i didn't. i've seen all of your messages and comments and i'm overwhelmed with all the love you've shown to the previous parts. thank you so much to everyone who likes, reblogs and leaves a kind message, i see you and love u. here's a new lil chapter, i hope you enjoy it. happy reading!!

masterlist with next parts!

February 28th, 2019 

Cort Theater, NY

The day was here. The day he had been eagerly waiting on for months. The anticipation had been building up, and now he was finally going to perform in front of a live audience for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The months of rehearsals and hard work had all led up to this moment, and he was ready to give it his all.

He was starring in the new Broadway production of “King Lear" as Edmond, one of the play's most complex and intriguing characters. The role had challenged him in ways he had never experienced before, pushing him to delve deep into the character's motivations and emotions. As he stepped onto the stage, the bright lights shining down on him, he felt a surge of adrenaline and a sense of purpose. 

And just like that, three hours and twenty-five minutes later, the final curtain fell on the play. The audience erupted into thunderous applause, their standing ovation a testament to their incredible performance. Exhausted but exhilarated, he knew he had given everything he had to the role and left it all on the stage. 

His mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The rush of adrenaline slowly subsided, and as much as he wanted to hear what everyone thought of his performance, there was only one person whose opinion mattered to him right now: yours. 

The last time he saw you was on your last day in Chile, almost two months ago. He vividly remembered the bittersweet farewell outside his family's house—you getting into the car and him closing the door. A door that seemed to separate their worlds. Since then, they had kept in touch through messages and occasional video calls, but it wasn't the same. Of course it wasn't. It will never be. 

The distance between them had only fueled his longing, making him yearn for your presence even more. Constantly trying to derail his one-track mind. 

He knows you're here. He had invited his siblings and closest friends. However, he was unsure of your attendance until an hour before the show, when he received a text from Oscar:

"She's coming with me. Stop pacing and good luck." 

He hadn't really discussed what happened back in Chile with Oscar or anyone, for that matter, but he could tell everyone knew something was off about how the two of you interacted. So when he got the message from Oscar, instead of freaking out about him potentially finding out about you two, he felt relieved. 

It gave him comfort to know that Oscar knew him so well that he was aware of the fact that you were the cause of his two-hour pacing in his dressing room. It was also fucking stupid and laughable. 

The energy backstage was electric as he walked through the bustling crowd of crew members and performers. He entered his dressing room, grabbing his phone and immediately seeing all the texts from friends and his siblings. He opened one from Javiera: "Felicidades, hermanito! Killed it. See you at The Terrace." 

They had planned on getting together afterwards to celebrate. He replied with a grateful smile, saying he'd be there in a few and to get there without him. He quickly changed into a more casual outfit: dark jeans and a comfortable white t-shirt. Wanting to unwind after the intense performance, he made his way to the restaurant. It was only a few blocks away from the theater, so he decided to enjoy the pleasant evening weather and take a leisurely stroll. 

Once he got there and stepped out of the elevator, Pedro watched you from across the room. A delicate hand rested on Oscar's shoulder as you chatted and laughed together. He felt a bubble of pride in himself swell; it warmed him to know that you were enjoying yourself and having a good time. 

He felt like an intruder in your intimate moment, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. At least I don't have to miss her anymore because she's right there, he thought. 

Pedro made his way across the room, trying to appear nonchalant as he approached the table. 

"There he is! the man of the hour," Oscar said, a wide smile spreading across his face. 

You turned. Eyes meeting, and it was like a car crash. A collision of emotions and memories flooding back all at once. The air between you crackled with unresolved tension, and Pedro's heart raced as he struggled to find the right words to say.  

"You came," he said, his voice stern. Not reflecting at all the turmoil inside him. "Thank you." 

"Well, you called," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant as well. Deep down, though, your heart was pounding just as fast as Pedro's. 

Everyone seemed to ignore the palpable tension in the room and how he was losing his mind over these unclear conversations between your glances, carrying on with their congratulatory words to Pedro as if nothing had happened. But for Pedro and you, time stood still. 

People settled into an easy conversation, enjoying each other's company as the night went on. As the night went on, Pedro and you exchanged occasional glances, silently acknowledging the shared secret that lingered. He wanted to scream it at the top of his lungs: We slept together! We slept together, and I loved it! He wanted every single person in New York to hear it. To feel the exhilaration and passion that consumed him. 

However, to say it was to make it real, and Pedro wasn't quite ready to face the consequences of that reality just yet. He knew his place in her life. He knew it was better this way. However, the ever-present question of 'Is it better to have something and lose it than never have it at all?' haunted his mind. 

The laughter and chatter around you provided a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling within both of you. After a couple drinks, the atmosphere became more relaxed, and Pedro found himself engaging in lighthearted conversations with the people around him. 

"Ah, man. I need a cigarrette," he said to Oscar, reaching into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. 

"Go, go. I'll keep everyone entertained," Oscar replied with a smile, gesturing towards the lively crowd. Pedro nodded gratefully and stepped outside, the cool night air providing a brief respite from the chaos of his thoughts. As he lit his cigarette and took a long drag, he couldn't help but wonder if the temporary escape it offered was worth the potential consequences. 

"I thought you quit," you remarked, slowly making your way to him, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. Pedro turned and exhaled a cloud of smoke, a wistful expression crossing his face. "I did, but you know me. I have a hard time letting go of old habits," he admitted, flicking the ash off his cigarette.

"Care to share?" you asked, gesturing towards the pack of cigarettes in his hand. Pedro hesitated for a moment. 

"No." 

"No?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. 

"I don't want to be the reason you get lung cancer." 

You chuckled. "Ok, so you can do it, but I can't. Got it." 

"I'm old; there's no use," he said with a shrug. "However, you have a whole life ahead of you."

"You make it sound like you're on a deathbed," you teased, taking a playful jab at Pedro's dramatic statement. He smirked and took a long drag from his cigarette before responding. "Maybe I am, in a way. But hey, we all gotta go someday, right?" 

"That's...dark," you sighed. "mind if we changed the subject?" 

"Sure, what do you want to talk about?" Pedro asked, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "Anything to distract me from my impending doom," he added with a smirk. 

A laugh escaped your lips as you thought of a lighter topic. "How about we discuss your play?"  Pedro's eyes lit up at the suggestion, momentarily forgetting about his earlier morbid thoughts. 

"How are you feeling about your performance?"

Pedro looked at you for a little too long before finally responding, "It's funny I'm thinking about death because I've never felt more alive than on that stage." 

"I could tell. I thought you were great, P." 

He shook his head modestly. "Thanks, but I still feel like there's room for improvement. I want to push myself even further in the next shows." 

"I get that." 

Pedro watched you stare at the ground. His thoughts began to conspire against him, and as he was about to speak, you also looked up and opened your mouth at the same time. Words rushed out in unison.

You both paused, realizing you had interrupted each other. Pedro chuckled tentatively and motioned for you to go ahead. "Sorry, you first," he said with a polite smile. 

You bit your lip, seemingly trying to gather your thoughts. "It's nothing. I just wanted to tell you I'll be in Europe for awhile. I got the Nolan movie."  

"Woah, another one?" 

"Yup. The role isn't as big as in interstellar, but I love working with him so much I couldn't pass up the opportunity."  Pedro nodded, a mix of excitement and disappointment flickering across his face. "That's amazing; congratulations. I'm sure you'll do great, as always," he said sincerely. "I'll definitely miss having you around, though." 

"Well, it's not like it'll be much different than now," you replied. "I haven't seen you since...since you know,"  your expression turned somber, cheeks flushed. 

You were right. He was so busy with the play and his new role in the second installment of Wonder Woman that he barely had any time. He even had to cut back on his time on set for The Mandalorian reshoots this month and a few scenes for a second season that haven't even been announced. 

"Yeah, I know." 

"Should we talk about it?" 

"I mean, there's nothing to talk about, really," Pedro said with a shrug, not daring to look you in the eye. "We slept together, and we both agreed that was it. No need to complicate things further." he tried to maintain a casual tone, but his voice wavered slightly. 

Pedro wanted to scream. The nicotine clouding his lungs was the only thing keeping him from losing control. It seemed like all he was left with was a painful reminder of what could have been. He looked at you as he took another puff of smoke. Your eyes clearly searching for a trace of emotion in his face, but finding none. 

A droplet of rain landed on Pedro's cheek as he inhaled deeply, feeling the coolness against his skin. It was as if the universe was reflecting his inner turmoil, adding to the weight of his unspoken words. He watched as you looked up at the darkening sky, the raindrops falling steadily on your hair. 

The sound of thunder echoed in the distance, mirroring the storm brewing within him. He dropped the cigarrette from his hand, its ember extinguished by the rain.

"Isn't that the point of love, though?" you finally responded, your voice raspy and drunk with bitterness and resignation. "To complicate things, to make us question everything, to drive us to the brink of madness. Maybe it's not meant to be simple, Pedro." 

His body tensed up, and your words clearly struck a nerve. The weight of your statement hung heavy in the air, leaving an uncomfortable silence between you both. It was no secret that his perspective on love had been tainted by past experiences, leaving him guarded and unwilling to let go of his pain. 

"You're right. Which is why I would rather stay away from it. I've seen firsthand the havoc it can wreak on people's lives," Pedro admitted, his voice laced with a hint of frustration. He knows he's hurting you; he can see it by the way your eyes glisten with unshed tears. 

"So that's it, then?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Is this how it is always going to be?"

But he can't risk it. "I thought we were on the same page with this." 

He sees how your jaw tightens at his statement. He knows he's hurting you. He's twisting the knife even deeper. He can't seem to stop just because he believes it's for the better. 

Please know it's for the better. 

"Yeah, I guess it's better this way," you spat back, your voice filled with anger. Of course, you could tell exactly how he was feeling. 

"Guys! What the fuck are you doing outside? It's fucking pouring!" A friend shouts from the doorway. "Get inside!" 

You both stood there staring at each other, momentarily forgetting the rain pouring down around you. 

“Yeah. What the fuck are we doing?" you say, not even trying to mask the anger in your voice. 

He wants to reach out and kiss you. Kiss you so hard that his lips would bruise. Kiss you so hard that your pain will fade away. But that action would go against everything he had just said. 

So he just watches you turn around and leave. 

What the fuck is he doing?

3 months later

After weeks of shooting in the United Kingdom and the Amalfi Coast, you and the crew finally had a couple of days off. Aaron, John, and Rob had the brilliant idea to take a quick trip to Monaco. 

“It’s a Grand Prix weekend,” Aaron said excitedly. “Maybe if we make a few calls, we could still snag some passes.” 

“Doesn’t that start this week?” Rob inquired, taking a sip of his drink. Ever since your arrival in Italy, the four of you finally got the chance to eat dinner together at a nice restaurant. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Aaron waved his hands in the air, “but if we leave tomorrow, there’s plenty of time to get there and enjoy ourselves.” 

You were so focused on your meal that you missed the sound of your name coming from Aaron’s mouth. “Hellooo?” he continued, and you looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Aren’t you friends with Lewis Hamilton?” 

“Yeah. Well, I mean, we see each other sometimes at events and stuff. He’s really nice,” you tell him, still feeling a bit distracted. 

“Could you maybe give him a call and get us those passes?” he asks, pouting like a puppy. John laughs at him, hitting him lightly on the arm. 

“Sure, I can try,” you reply, feeling a bit hesitant. You rarely ask for special favors and don't want to come across as entitled, even more so when you haven't spoken to Lewis in so long. 

“Yes!” Aaron celebrates by raising his fists. "Um, one more thing,"

“Mate, you’re pushing it now,” Rob remarks with a playful tone. You can tell he's enjoying the banter between you and Aaron. 

“Go on,” you gesture at him to continue, a smile on your face. 

“Could we also use your PP?” 

“Use her what now?” John exclaims. Laughter erupts from Rob's mouth, making you and John join in. 

“Her private plane, mate!” Aaron says, embarrassed. 

“Yes, Aaron,” you get out, still laughing. “I’ll let you use my PP.”

"Thank you!" 

•••

The flight to Monaco was smooth and quick. You spent most of it trying to focus on a script for a project after this one while the boys all slept. After your dinner last night, you made two calls: one to Lewis to ask about the passes and one to your publicist to let her know about your last-minute adventure. 

Lewis was very nice as usual and said that, of course, he can get you the passes, while your agent said attending an F1 weekend would be good publicity and good fun. A win-win situation, she called it. She also said that since you were going to attend the race, you might as well attend all the events that come with it, which meant she had to fly in to assist you.

By the time the plane finally landed and you made it to the hotel, you were worn out. You spent the rest of the afternoon and night sleeping, without a care in the world. The next day, soft knocks on the door woke you up. 

"It's me,"  Taylor's voice called out. 

You groggily got out of bed and opened the door to find her standing there with her laptop, a cup of coffee, and a huge smile on her face. "Good morning, sleeping beauty." 

Although you hadn't passed a mirror on your way to answer the door, you had the feeling that you didn't look visually appealing at the moment. Your body ached, like you wrestled with a wild animal all night and lost. 

"Did you just get here?" you ask her, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. She smiles and shakes her head. "I got here late last night, but you weren't answering the phone, so I called Renata instead, and she said you were sleeping. And like the great person I am, I let you rest." Renata is your PA/publicist, a great friend, and one of the two constants in your life, along with Taylor. 

"Wow, so kind of you," you say sarcastically, but can't help the small smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. "Come in." 

As Taylor enters, you shut the door behind her. She scans the space in fascination. There are floor-to-ceiling windows on the wall that run the length of the room and the wall to your left, which is behind the dining room table. A broad view of the harbor can be seen between the sheer, white, fluttering lengths of the floating curtains. 

"Gorgeous suite," she says, sitting on the plush sofa across the room. 

"Ren always chooses the best rooms, so yes," you tell her, sinking once again into your warm bed. 

"You're still tired? You've slept for like 16 hours already," she chuckles, pouring herself a glass of water from the crystal pitcher on the side table. "I know, but I guess the jetlag is hitting me harder than I thought," you reply with a yawn, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath of the fragrant flowers on the nightstand. 

"You didn't come to Monaco to sleep, did you?" Taylor chuckles, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

"Yes?" 

"No! We have a full itinerary planned for today, starting with breakfast at Café de Paris across the street with the boys. And then we're off to the Hotel de Paris for a F1 brunch event. There will be lots of food, drinks, and hot guys. Specifically, hot F1 drivers," you groan-laugh inwardly at the thought of dragging yourself out of bed so early for the sake of hot guys. "You know that's the last thing on my mind, right?" 

"Well, not on mine!" she replies with a wink. "But seriously, it's not just about the eye candy. The event is also for a good cause, raising funds for a local charity. And it's also a great place to network and meet new people—you know the drill." You nod in agreement, feeling more motivated to attend, knowing that it's for a meaningful purpose. 

With a determined sigh, you sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. "Okay, I'll shower."

"Let me call Renata and tell her to prep the car and get the glam team in here." 

"Thank you," you tell her, disappearing into the bathroom. 

•••

Two hours later, you find yourself entering the venue of a charity event with your very impatient and rather enthusiastic co-star and best friend, Aaron. The venue is buzzing with excitement as you take in the elegant decorations and the well-dressed attendees. Since it's Monaco in May, you're sporting a light blue strapless top and white linen pants that complement the warm weather and the sophisticated atmosphere of the event.

"I can't believe Rob and John sat this one out because they were 'too tired', Aaron remarks, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"Well, they don't have the energy of a 5-year-old, unlike you," you tease, playfully nudging him. "But hey, more champagne for us," you add with a mischievous grin as you grab two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. "Cheers."

The bubbles tickle your nose as you take a sip, savoring the crisp and refreshing taste. 

Camera flashes illuminate the room as people mingle and engage in lively conversations. You're stopped every 5 minutes by someone wanting to take a picture with you. You oblige every time with a smile, posing for each photo and exchanging pleasantries. After all, that's why you're here for. 

Everything was going smoothly until someone bumped into you, causing you to spill champagne all over your clothes. The cold liquid seeps mostly through the fabric of your top, leaving a sticky sensation against your skin. 

"Oh, my bad," you hear a thick Australian accent apologize. You turn to see a rather tall, tan-skinned, handsome man with a sheepish grin on his face. Did you say how handsome he was? And what the fuck was he smiling for? 

Once he realizes who you are, his eyes widen in surprise and anguish. People start noticing the commotion and turn their attention towards the two of you. The man quickly grabs your arm and pulls you away from the crowd, his grip firm but gentle. 

"Hey! Where are you taking me!" you protest, trying to free your arm from his grasp. His grip tightens slightly, but he maintains a calm demeanor as he leads you towards a quieter corner. As you reach a bathroom, he finally releases his hold on you and takes a step back, his expression filled with concern. 

"Relax, I'm not kidnapping you." 

The chaos around you fades into the background as he shuts the door and starts grabbing paper towels. "Shit, here," he says, handing you one. "Sorry for ruining your clothes."  

You start wiping the spilled drink off your clothes, a little annoyed at the inconvenience. You can feel his gaze burning into you without looking. 

"Do ya want me to give you mine?" he offers, gesturing towards his own shirt. "It might be a bit big on you, but at least it's dry." he pauses, waiting for your response. 

You stare at him. "And what? you're going to walk around shirtless?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. He chuckles. "Yeah, I have a banging body, so I'll just be doing everybody here a favor here, really," he replies with a smirk. 

You roll your eyes at his cocky remark. "I think I'll manage without your shirt, thanks," you say sarcastically. "But I appreciate the offer." 

He laughs as he observes you. "Okay, then let me find another way to make it up to you." 

"There's no need."

"Do you have plans tonight?"

"I'm fine."

"Does 7 p.m. sound good to you?"

"Listen—"

"Where are you staying?" 

"I don't even know you."

"It's Daniel."

"Okay, Daniel. I don't know you, so no."

"But you could," he says with a playful glint in his eyes. "And who knows, it could be the start of something new." 

"Are you quoting High School Musical to me?" 

"Hey, it's a classic. And it was right there." 

You chuckle, unable to resist his charm. Something lights up in his eyes. 

"Listen, I won't push you anymore. It's up to you. Can't blame me for trying, though." you raise an eyebrow, considering his words. 

"I'm going to go now," you tell him, pointing at the door. 

He nods understandingly. "See ya later."

•••

After about 30 more minutes of indulging everyone in conversation and enjoying the party, Lewis Hamilton finds you. "Hi sweetie, there you are," he greets you, ever so polite. "I heard chatter that you were here. I thought I wouldn't see you until tomorrow's practice sessions." 

"Oh yeah, but you know duty calls," you say with a smile as you lean in to hug him. "It's so nice to see you. Thanks again for the passes." 

"Oh, it's nothing. You would've gotten them without me, but I'm glad you called me instead. How have you been enjoying Monaco so far?" 

"Good, good—" you begin, but before you can finish your sentence, a burst of laughter you recognize from earlier erupts from across the room. "Actually, do you happen to know him?" you ask Lewis, gesturing with your head towards the source of laughter. Daniel is joyfully engaged in conversation with a group of people. Lewis follows your gaze and chuckles, "Ah, that's Daniel Ricciardo. He's a fellow Formula 1 driver and quite the character, to be honest. He's a cool dude." 

"Huh," is all you manage to say as you watch Daniel animatedly tell a story, his infectious laughter filling the room. 

"What are we looking at?" Renata and Aaron find you and join the conversation; their curiosity is piqued. 

"Nothing," you quickly respond. Renata immediately caught on to your evasive response and followed your gaze. "Oh, Daniel?" she exclaims, voice hushed and her eyes glinting with excitement. 

"Wait, you know who he is?"

"I did my homework on the plane. He drives for Renault, and he looks great doing it."

Lewis and Aaron chuckle at Renata's enthusiasm, sharing in her excitement. "I think Renata will be watching a few races from now on," Lewis remarks, causing everyone to laugh. Renata shrugs, a proud smile on her face. "Trust me, I will, but not for him. Have you heard of Charles Leclerc?" 

You're still staring at Daniel, dumbfounded. Wheels are turning in your mind. 

Aaron's voice interrupts your thoughts. "So...why are we still staring at him?" 

"I'm going on a date with him tonight." 

Your own declaration surprises you. 

"Wait, you are?" both of your friends say in unison, their eyes widening with curiosity. 

"Yes," you say, setting down your drink. "You guys ready to go now?" 

They nodded, not wanting to press further but clearly intrigued by this, and you said your goodbyes to Lewis, promising to see him on Friday at the track. As you made your way to the exit, you grabbed Daniel by the arm and pulled him aside. 

"Hotel Hermitage, 7 p.m., Room 303. Don't be late," you whispered, voice calm and steady. Daniel's mouth curled into a smile, but he maintained his composure and nodded, a feeling of excitement in his gaze. With a final pat on his shoulder, you rejoined your friends and headed out of the venue, eager for the evening ahead. 

•••

You don't know what the hell you were thinking when you said yes. You could feel your anxiety building as the time approached—face flushed, stomach twisting in knots. James and Liz, your hair and makeup team, paused, laying out brushes and curling wands. "Everything okay, love?" James asked. "You want us out?" 

"No, keep going. You're almost done, anyway. I'm just internally freaking out a little." 

"You're great and look beautiful," Liz replied. "There's nothing to worry about."

You give her a tight smile and try to believe her words, but the nagging doubts continue to linger in the back of your mind. As the final touches are applied, you take a deep breath and say your goodbyes to them. 

"Good luck and have fun!" James says as Liz winks at you and closes the door. You chuckle at their enthusiasm. You walk back into the bedroom and pick up the black cocktail dress hanging on the closet door. The soft fabric feels comforting against your fingertips as you slip it on. The dress hugs your curves perfectly, accentuating your best features. You grab your clutch and check yourself in the mirror one last time. 

A knock on the door startles you. "Coming!" 

Breathe, you remind yourself. 

"Wow," Daniel says with a warm smile. "You look absolutely stunning. Are you ready to go?"  

You're sure your face must look like a tomato as you thank Daniel for the compliment. 

"Yes, let's." 

As you reach the entrance of the hotel, Daniel hands the valet a ticket, and he opens the door of his car for you. "My lady," he says with a playful bow. You can't help but feel a rush of excitement as you step into the very flashy luxury car. For an F1 driver, you didn't expect anything less. The soft leather seats hug your body as you settle in, and the sleek interior design adds to the overall opulence of the vehicle. Daniel starts the engine, and the car glides smoothly onto the road. 

"Where are you taking me?" 

He looks at you with a mischevious grin plastered on his face. "My friend Max is throwing a yatch party tonight, and I thought it would be the perfect way to spend the night," he says, revving the engine slightly. "But I intend to dine and wine you before we head there." 

"Oh," you reply nonchalantly, "Nice."

"Still playing hard to get?"

You shrug and give him a grin. 

"That's alright. I enjoy a good challenge," he replies, his eyes sparkling. "But I have a feeling that by the end of the week, you won't be able to resist my charm." He winks at you. 

"You're quite confident, aren't you?" you say, raising an eyebrow. "But don't underestimate my ability to resist." You smirk back at him, ready to prove him wrong. 

The car pulls up to the entrance of the restaurant, and you both step out onto the bustling street. You make your way inside. "Oh, I've been here before," you say lowly, feeling a little satisfied that it is something you've experienced already, so it's harder for him to impress you. 

You couldn't have been more wrong, though. 

The hostess greets you with a warm smile and leads you to the main dining area. As you follow her, you can't help but notice it's....empty. Not a single table is occupied. The dimly lit room feels intimate and cozy, with soft music playing in the background and red roses adorning each table.  

The hostess gestures towards a table in the middle of the room. "The waiter will be with you shortly," she says before leaving you alone. 

You turn around, facing Daniel. "Did you rent out the entire restaurant for us?" you ask, slightly surprised. Daniel chuckles and shakes his head. "No, I just made a reservation for a quiet evening," he replies. 

"You're an awful liar."

"I just saw how hectic everything was for you this morning, with all the pictures and people clamoring for your attention. I wanted to give you a break from that and create a peaceful vibe for us to enjoy tonight," Daniel explains, his eyes filled with sincerity. 

You smile. "That's very thoughtful. Thank you."

"I have my moments." 

The night continues with the two of you enjoying the delicious food and engaging in fun and light conversation. The peaceful atmosphere allows you both to relax and truly connect with each other. 

Just what you needed but didn't realize until now. 

"You're literally always smiling," you tell him. In the very short time you've known Daniel, there's something constant about him: his distinctive smile. Daniel chuckles and replies, "It's amazing what surgery can do. Formula 1 pays really well, and I was able to put a lot of that money into permanent smile surgery."

You burst out laughing. "Well, they did a great job," you say, still chuckling.

•••

You glided arm in arm onto the yatch, dry martinis in hand and a revolving stream of waitstaff to refill your drinks as soon as they emptied. You feel more relaxed and comfortable now. Maybe it was the three glasses of wine you had at dinner and the drink that's currently in your hand, or maybe it was the contagious laughter and carefree attitude of your date. 

Cote d'Azur was a smooth wash of precious stones at this time of year. The ocean's deep, smoky blue stretched out like a shiny carpet. Loud music blasted from the speakers, and the upper deck was transformed into a vibrant dance floor with people spinning and swaying to the beat. 

You wished you could rest your head on Daniel's shoulder without looking like you were already drunk. 

He excitedly introduced you to his friends, who instantly made you feel like part of their tight-knit circle. As the night progressed, you found yourself effortlessly blending in. 

"So how did this insufferable clown manage to take you out on a date?" Max asked, his voice loud over the booming music. 

You shared a brief glance with Daniel. "He spilled champagne all over me."

"And then she couldn't help but fall for my charming personality and good looks," Daniel interjected with a playful grin. 

"Yes, that's exactly what happened." 

Daniel puts a hand on your lower back, and you mindlessly lean into his touch. "You wanna go outside for a bit?" 

The need for some fresh air and a break from the crowded room causes you to hum in agreement. You leaned over and observed the white waves as they cut through the water as you came across a section of railing near the stern of the yatch. 

The sound of the waves crashing against the yacht provided a soothing soundtrack to your conversation. As you leaned against the railing, Daniel's playful banter continued. 

"Are you having fun?" 

"Very much so," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. 

"So I'm winning sooner than I thought I would."

"Winning what exactly, Daniel?" you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully. "The game of enjoying this beautiful yacht ride? Then yes, I suppose you are." 

He laughed, but it wasn't his usual boisterous laugh. It was a softer, more genuine sound that made your heart flutter. 

He came closer. "Would you like me to whisper it in your ear?" 

As he leaned in, you could feel the warmth of his presence enveloping you. His eyes were locked with yours. 

"You're falling for me," he whispered, his voice husky. The words sent a shiver down your spine, confirming what you had been trying to deny for the past hour or so. Not because you didn't find him charming or attractive, but because you felt like you were betraying the person who broke your heart months ago. 

How can someone break your heart if it wasn't theirs to begin with? 

You push back those thoughts. 

The playful banter that played out all night faded into the background as a new energy filled the air, sparking a connection between the two of you that was impossible to ignore. 

You give in. 

"You think?" 

He nods, his eyes dark. Your hands were encircling his neck, one at the nape of his neck and the other against the side, where you could feel his heart pounding beneath the pads of your fingers. Your fingers scraped at bristled hairs as you held onto his curls, and you enjoyed the feel of them rubbing against the pads of your fingers. You were tightly gripping him in your hands, not allowing even a millimeter to pass.

Daniel couldn’t decide where to touch you. You huffed a breath against his mouth as the lightest of touches - the barest featherweight of fingertips, like your skin was made of silk, traced along the curve of your jawline. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, making you crave more of his touch. His fingers continued their exploration, trailing down the nape of your neck, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. 

He had pressed you against the railing at your back with no warning, and you felt the firm pressure of it. And now you arose from it, attempting to cling to every bone-hard surface of Daniel's body. His lips found yours in a passionate kiss, igniting a fire within you that consumed all rational thought.

"People are watching," you whispered breathlessly, breaking the kiss reluctantly. Daniel's eyes met yours, filled with a mix of desire and mischief. He smirked, his hand sliding down your waist possessively. 

"Let them."

You were so fucked. 

•••

You’d barely been able to breathe these past couple of days with events and rendezvous with Daniel consuming your every waking moments. It was fast paced and you found yourself completely swept up in the whirlwind of emotions. He was showing you his world and you were willingly diving headfirst into it. 

It was Saturday morning, which meant is qualifying day and despite all of the media commitments and preparation that Daniel had to do, he’d promised breakfast as a way to make up for it. So here you were at a cafe only a short walk from the circuit, chewing your way through a delicious stack of pancakes while Daniel sipped on his coffee. 

It felt oddly comforting to be sitting there with him. He was a stranger to you just a few days ago, but now he feels like a familiar presence. The conversations flowed effortlessly between you; he was funny, attentive, and attentive, but most importantly, he wasn't afraid of showing you off and telling you how much he liked you. 

From the moment you crossed paths, he showed interest in you and made an effort. You haven't questioned whether he genuinely liked you or not. It was nice to be with someone who didn't play games or hide their feelings. 

Your mind has also found a new way to torture you: whenever you felt happy with Daniel, a nagging voice in the back of your head would remind you of him. 

Him. Him. Him. 

You couldn't even say or think of his name. It was too much.  

And yes, you were content, but you couldn't help but think about it. 

The first time you tasted Daniel's lips, you were let down it wasn't the same. That feeling of disappointment lingered, but as days passed, it dissipated more and more. Maybe one day it'll be gone completely, you thought. 

"So let me get this straight," you say, putting your fork and knife down on the plate. "You were on your way to winning in 2016, but a pit stop error cost you the race?" 

Daniel nods. "It haunted me for so long. I couldn't shake off the frustration."

You grab your coffee and lean back on the chair, listening intently. "It was very dark. I should've been happy because I was on the podium in Monaco, and that's huge, but I was miserable. The whole time, all I wanted to do was smash everything to pieces and scream, which is something you do not want to do in front of Monaco royalty, by the way." 

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by Daniel's emotional upheaval. This was clearly a pivotal moment for him. "So, what finally helped you move past that?" you ask, curious to hear his response. 

"Well," Daniel begins, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I won last year." 

"Yeah, that'll do it." 

You both laugh, and he places a hand on your knee beneath the table. "But honestly," he continues, his voice softening. "It wasn't just about winning. It was about proving to myself that I could overcome my own limitations and achieve greatness." 

"So...winning basically," you respond, teasingly. 

"See, I wanted to be humble about it, but let's be real, winning felt pretty damn good," Daniel admits with a sheepish grin. "I love winning."  

You snort in amusement, "Well, I guess a little bit of bragging rights never hurt anyone." 

You two carry on with your meals. His left hand still on your knee, and the air filled with contentment. 

•••

While Daniel returned from the qualifying weigh-in, you waited at the back of the garage. You had gradually gotten to know the Renault team over the previous two days. Everyone, from the mechanics to the media team, has been friendly and welcoming to you. You're still trying to decide whether it's because of Daniel, your status, or that they were just nice. Pretty sure it was all three. 

You were aware that it would be best for you to stay out of the way as the team worked and the broadcasting teams were filming in and around the pit lane, but you were unable to hide in Daniel's prep room. At the back of the garage, you found a calm area where you could watch the busy activity without being a nuisance. 

You were aware that, although you might have been in the VIP sections, you couldn't be that far away from him. You were able to feel more connected to Daniel and the team's spirit by spending time in the garage.

The phone had been ringing nonstop all day in the back pocket of your pants; the screen frequently flashed with new notifications from your social media accounts or texts or calls from friends and family. You were aware that the countless pictures of Daniel and you parading through Monaco were the root of the problem. 

It was truly a sight to behold to be watching him race around the track and walk around the paddock. 

He was in his element. 

"You look cute, baby," he says, referring to the oversized headseat on your head. His face flushed from the heat, and yours from the compliment. His hair was messy and a little damp from sweat, evidence of the intense racing. He looked perfect. 

Fuck. 

He leaned in for a kiss, his lips brushing against yours, electricity rushing through you. 

Fuck. 

"I think you're winning," you say, your eyes fixed on him. 

"Aw, that's sweet of you, baby, but I didn't qualify that great," he chuckles, his eyes twinkling with amusement. 

"That's not what I meant."

His face is puzzled for a moment before realization dawns on him. He smirks, his signature smile spreading across his face. "Oh," he says, his voice filled with warmth and affection. 

"Yeah," you say, barely above a whisper, your eyes never leaving his. 

"I told you so," he replies, his voice filled with confidence and pride. 

"Shut up," you say playfully before kissing him again.

Fuck. 

You were falling for him. 

a/n: oh oh pedro...someone's stealing your girl. are you guys team pedro or team daniel?

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