#hamilton tone twisted

[writandwit]

o_O?

Tone-twist || 💧🍇↴

[pickingupmymercedes]

Of thorns and blooms - Lewis Hamilton

request: "Can I request a Journalist reader, who lewis has his eye on and she interviews him and smexy antics ensue after the gathering. She wears a light up floral crown which lewis finds so cute and when they they celebrate an anniversary, he gives her an actual crown." - @omgsuperstarg

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Fashion Journalist! Reader!

wordcount: +3K

a/n: It took me sooo long to get the tone to this one right, but I hope it was worth the wait.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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Y/n adjusted her dress for the hundredth time as she waited for the next person she would interview, the humidity in the air boiling them all in the enclosed paradise the famous steps of the MET. The buzz of the Gala was like a living entity. And tonight, she wasn't just a fashion journalist, she was a guest, courtesy of a hand-delivered invitation from Anna Wintour herself.

A small proud smile played on her lips. It had been a long road, from the early days working in college fashion blogs to the owner of her own digital media platform. She had conquered every step on the ladder the had envisaged for her career, and the MET Gala was the cherry on top.

Her gaze swept the red carpet, catching a flash of black that snagged on her breath. Lewis.

They'd met a few times before, most notably for his iconic Vanity Fair cover in 2022. Shot in pink, in none other than Valentino, it had been a bold choice, and she had made it justice in the interview. I was a peek into the soul of a man who rarely had let himself be seen that way. It was raw, honest, and had garnered her more praise than any piece she'd ever written.

On the human level there had also been something else, a connection beyond the professional aura, but it had remained just that – a spark.

Over the years, they'd stayed in loose contact. She would congratulate him on a good race, he would message whenever he read one of her articles, a selfie once, holding her printed fashion annual he'd found at an airport in Dubai.

It felt like a secret language, a shared appreciation in their vastly different worlds.

And that night, he looked…untouchable.

A vision in a custom Burberry creation. Although not far from the usual black, his overcoat was anything but ordinary, adorned with hand-embroidered floral motifs that shimmered under the camera flashes, the thorns in his necklace a powerful statement. Heritage and resilience.

As Lewis neared her corner of the press pen, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His eyes scanned the crowd, and when they landed on her, a flicker shone within them. He diverted his path slightly, heading straight for her.

"Y/n!" he boomed, his voice surprisingly warm for someone who always tried to maintain his stoicism.

"Sir Lewis Hamilton" she replied, offering a professional smile. "Looking sharp."

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "You clean up nice yourself, Voltaire."

"Voltaire?" she raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Your floral crown. You quoted Voltaire on gardens being the only art that imitated nature in your preview of the met" He gestured towards her head, where a crown of intricately woven white flowers sat, each petal tipped with tiny LED lights that cast a soft glow. "It looks incredible by the way."

Her smile widened. "Maria Grazia Chiuri and I had a blast designing this piece. We wanted to honor the history of the floral crown, worn for centuries, but with a modern twist."

Lewis leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You always manage to find the hidden meaning, don't you?"

She met his gaze, the intensity surely not lost to her. "Fashion is all about meaning, Lewis. It's a language, a way to express ourselves." His gaze holding on to hers as she continued “Your statement in this Burberry. It's a powerful one”

He tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes, but just as he was about to answer back a microphone was thrust in front of them. A reporter, eager to get a quote looking impatient.

"Mr. Hamilton," the reporter began, "your outfit is quite…unexpected. Can you tell us the inspiration behind it?"

Lewis straightened his shoulders, slipping back into his professional persona. He launched into a detailed explanation of the Burberry design, his voice smooth and practiced. Y/n listened, captivated by his words and by the way his gaze flickered back to her every few seconds, a silent promise of something.

When the interview ended, the reporter scurried away. Lewis turned back to her; his smile warm. "They only gave me a few minutes," he said with mock disappointment.

"Well," she teased, "perhaps you could tell me the "real" story later," she finished, mirroring his playful tone.

A slow grin spread across Lewis's face. "Perhaps" he replied winking, a gesture that would have sent a lesser woman reeling. "I’ll find you later." He gestured towards the throng of celebrities and socialites milling about.

As Y/n wandered into the museum, she navigated the wave of guests with small talks and greetings alike. Her platform had gained traction over the past months, and her presence was becoming increasingly sought-after. But tonight, the glamor felt secondary as the show stoppers stood behind glasses of exhibitions.

As she stood and admired one of Balmain’s first collections, a familiar figure caught her eye. Lewis, leaning casually against a pillar, a glass of champagne in his hand. He was alone, just observing her, a smile breaking across his face as he saw she had noticed him, he made his way towards her, his movements graceful.

"There you are," a low rumble in his chest. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Hardly," she replied, a playful glint in her eyes.

"So," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "tell me about this secret language of fashion."

"Where do I even begin?" she laughed, a genuine, carefree sound. "Every stitch, every embellishment, every cut – it all tells a story. A story of who you are, where you come from and how you want to be perceived."

The conversation flowed easily, a back-and-forth about the art of fashion, their contrasting worlds, and the subtle messages woven into every outfit. Lewis, she discovered, was surprisingly well-versed in fashion history, his knowledge going beyond the surface. He spoke of iconic designers, groundbreaking trends, and the evolution of style through the ages, his voice filled with genuine passion as he recounted how he had learned so much from her own words.

"You know," Lewis said, his voice softer now, "you're not like anyone else I've ever met."

" This one is not gonna cut it" she asked, her heart skipping a beat.

"Right…" he said, his gaze locking on hers. "But I meant it though. You look at the story behind people. That’s rare."

His words hit her like a sucker punch, laying bare a truth she hadn't dared to public admit. She had always craved for connection with people, and fashion, she had discovered, was her way to reach for those who held their stories and dreams in their eyes and heart.

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she looked away, breaking the intense eye contact. "Perhaps you see the same," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He leaned closer; his breath warm on her ear. "Tell me about your dreams, Y/n. What stories are you trying to tell?"

And then, when she couldn’t avoid his gaze on her anymore, when the silence of his question had almost drowned her, a booming voice cut through the air. "Lewis! There you are. We have to get going."

Lewis sighed, pushing himself away from the wall. "Right" he said, a touch of regret in his voice before he turned abruptly to Y/n, as if he had just decided to take a jump "I have a proposition for you."

Intrigued, Y/n raised an eyebrow. "A proposition? Do elaborate, Hamilton."

He leaned in again, close enough for his lips to brush against her ear. “Are you, by any chance, willing to pass on those other after parties and come to mine?”

Y/n seemed to be taken aback, but just like before, when she was about to answer him, he shot her a look “I’ll text you the details. I’d love to know your stories.”  And with a final lingering look at her, Lewis offered a charming smile. "Until later."

The afterparty held a low-key energy, a contrast to the frenzy of the Met. Y/n found herself at Lewis's expansive New York City apartment, surprised by the choice of venue. It wasn't the club she'd thought of, but a tastefully decorated space that felt more like a home than a celebrity crash pad.

Lewis had introduced her to a motley crew of people. Some of his friends, but mostly, a mix of young, up-and-coming designers, photographers Y/n knew by reputation, and even a couple of journalists she had came across an article or two. The air buzzed with conversations, a refreshing change from the interactions of the Met.

As the night wore on, the crowd thinned. Y/n found herself gravitating towards a corner where Lewis stood, deep in conversation with someone she remembered to have seen at some shooting before.

"That's Kelly," Lewis said, noticing Y/n's approach. "A design prodigy. Just landed a gig with Channel"

Kelly's smile widened as Lewis introduced them. "It's an honor to meet you, Y/n," she said, her voice brimming with excitement. "I've been a huge fan for a while now."

They chatted for a while, the struggles and triumphs of breaking into the fashion world. Looking at the young woman's vibrant energy, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the platform she'd created.

But as Kelly was whisked away by another group, a comfortable silence settled between Y/n and Lewis.

He gestured towards an empty stool beside him. "Mind if I steal you for a bit?"

Y/n accepted the invitation, a playful glint in her eyes. "Only if you answer a question for me first."

"Shoot," he said, taking a swig from his drink.

"This isn't exactly the afterparty I expected," she said, gesturing to the relaxed setting. "Why here?"

Lewis chuckled, a low rumble that made her feel inadequately naïve "Maybe this is the real me," he said. "The part that doesn't crave the constant spotlight."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conversational whisper. "I thought you'd like this kind of party. I like to distance myself from the buzz when I can"

Y/n nodded, a smile playing on her lips. "A safe space."

"Something like that," he replied, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long.

"So," Lewis began, breaking the building tension "I’m still waiting to hear about your dreams"

And so, for some ungodly pull, at a rather uncomfortable stool, she opened up to a man she had never really expected to create any kind of connection. Maybe, exactly because she never so that coming, it felt so easy to tell him her most guarded hopes.

She spoke of her platform as a way to democratize fashion, to give a voice to those who felt unseen, unheard. She spoke of empowering individuals to express themselves through who they really were, regardless of social status or bank balance.

As Y/n talked, she noticed Lewis's eyes gleaming with genuine interest. He wasn't just listening politely, he interest genuine, his questions insightful and thought-provoking. And she wondered if it was really that unexpected to find this depth hidden beneath him.

"That's incredible" Lewis said, his voice filled with admiration. “You’re giving people the tools for them to tell their stories."

"Exactly" Y/n said, a sense of understanding as he smiled with her. "It's about self-expression, about telling the world who you are."

A thoughtful frown etched itself onto Lewis's face as she leaned into the counter. "You know," he said, pausing mid-sentence, "you're quite a puzzle, Y/n."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Me? A puzzle?”

"There's this incredible fire in you" he continued, his voice low and husky, "a passion for giving others a voice. But then there's this… " he trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

"What?" she scoffed playfully. "I always thought I such was an open book."

Lewis chuckled; a dark, sexy sound that surely didn’t go unnoticed. "You talk about empowering others, yet I get the feeling there's a whole story you haven't shared of where that desire comes from"

Their connection had been simmering throughout the night, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Now, with Lewis's gaze holding hers captive, it threatened to tip over.

The conversation around them seemed to fade away, swallowed by the growing awareness between them. Y/n felt his unspoken questions echoing in her mind, a challenge she couldn't ignore.

As the night wore on, the guests gradually dwindled. One by one, they bid farewell to Lewis, leaving him and Y/n alone amidst the empty bottles and scattered laughter.

Y/n found her gaze drawn to him again. He stood by the window, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, his profile sharp and captivating. The urge to break the silence, to bridge the growing gap between them, became overwhelming.

She rose from the stool, her movements deliberate, and walked towards him. He turned, his surprise evident in his eyes.

"Everyone's gone, I should go" she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

"Don’t. Please" he replied, his gaze still locked on hers. "I’d love if you could stay and"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Y/n cut him off, stopping just inches away from him. The air crackled with electricity, the unspoken desire a tangible force between them.

She glanced at the faint outline of his abdomen in the fabric of his Dior shirt, her fingers tracing invisible circles on the soft fabric. Then, in a bold move, she let her nails lightly scratch across his chest, sending a jolt of heat through him.

Lewis's breath hitched. He pulled her closer by her waist, his eyes burning into hers.

Their lips met in a heated kiss, a clash of urgency and teeth. Lewis's hands roamed freely over her back, his touch numbing her to the surroundings. He was hungry for all of her.

Y/n found herself caught in the current, her own desire rising to meet his. His lips traveled down her neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

A dark part of her, a voice fueled by the intoxicating aura of him, entertained the idea of becoming just another name on his long list of conquests.

But then, as his hand reached for her thigh, a wave of clarity put an end to the haze. This wasn't a one-night stand she craved. This connection, potent and undeniable, deserved more.

Y/n broke the kiss, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. "Lewis," she whispered, her voice husky.

He stared at her, confusion, concern and desire evident in his eyes.

"Dinner first," she said, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "Then maybe we can explore this mystery you see in me."

A slow smile spread across Lewis's face, the heat in his eyes softening to amusement. "Dinner it is," he agreed, his voice raspy. "But consider this a warning. I don't give up easily."

Sunlight danced across the Aegean Sea, glowing through the large round window of the yacht's cabin. Y/n stood before the vanity, applying a final touch of lipstick, her reflection a picture of contentment.

Five years. Five years since that MET and Lewis's afterparty, a whirlwind that had swept them off their feet and turned their world upside down.

A soft knock at the door startled her. "Come in," she called out, her voice filled with a hint of anticipation.

The door creaked open, and Lewis stepped inside. He was a vision in his crisp white linens, his hair free from the braids.

But it was the velvety box in his hand that held her attention.

"There you are," he said, a playful glint in his eyes as he walked towards her.

Y/n watched him through the mirror, her heart still skipping a beat whenever he was around. He stopped behind her, his warmth radiating through her back.

"What's that?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"A little something for my favorite fashion journalist" he replied, his breath tickling her ear as he leaned close.

He opened the box, inside, nestled on a bed of white satin, lay a breathtaking piece of jewelry – a floral crown crafted from delicate diamonds. Each petal was meticulously designed, some adorned with tiny thorns, others bursting into bloom.

It was both graceful and powerful. And it wasn’t quite a necklace, nor quite a tiara. It was a piece of art.

"Lewis," she breathed, her voice filled with awe. "It's…incredible."

He took the crown from the box, his touch gentle as he held it up to the light. "Anne Wintour helped me design it," he admitted, a hint of pride in his voice. "She said it reminded her of your outfit at the Met Gala, all those years ago."

Y/n held her breath as she looked at the jewelry. The floral crown, a memory of their initial spark, now reimagined with diamonds. The strength and beauty of their love that had blossomed despite adversity.

"The thorns," he said, her voice barely a whisper, "they represent the challenges we've faced, the distance, the different worlds..."

"And the flowers," he finished after clasping it to her neck, his voice husky with emotion, "represent our love, always blooming, even in the face of those challenges."

He adjust it to her skin, his touch gentle. "It's meant to be worn by someone who sees the world differently, who tells stories with every thread" he said, his gaze holding hers.

He cupped her hand in his, his eyes brimming with love. "Someone who wears her heart on her sleeve," he continued, his voice low and husky.

She turned and their lips met slowly, a lingering kiss that spoke volumes of their love and shared journey.

"Happy anniversary, Y/n," he whispered, pulling away but not letting go, his eyes shining brighter than any star.

"Happy anniversary, Lewis" she replied, the diamond floral piece catching the sunlight and reflecting a thousand tiny rainbows in their eyes.

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[lqveharrington]

Take A Break | V.

summary: it’s your daughter’s birthday, but Vox isn’t able to spare anytime for her.

pairing: Vox x Overlord!reader

includes: Vox has a normal head guys, fluff, HEAVY angst, family issues, arguing, mentions of sex tapes, Valentino being a weird ass uncle, over protective parents, cursing, mentions of murder (i think that’s it, tell me if i missed any!)

a/n: honestly, this request made me think of hamilton the musical, hence the title of the one-shot. 🤷‍♀️ (also full credits to the artist on X!)

As an Overlord in Hell, your life was somewhat easier than normal sinners. You had their souls under your belt for your own use and powers that only those ranked attained. You attended boring meetings with the other Overlords, but you didn’t think you would meet your other half during these meetings, nonetheless, marry him. As a result of the marriage, both your powers grew stronger, along with the power of his company since a new face joined.

Down the line, you somehow ended up pregnant. Was it highly impossible to have a child as a sinner? Absolutely. So the thought that you were to bear Vox’s child in Hell panicked you. However, he talked you through the entire process, ending with a healthy baby girl. She looked exactly like her father, except for the eyes. Her eyes resembled her mother’s in every shape and form.

Despite the phenomenon, you both cared for her. Well, mostly. You were the one staying in your penthouse in the Vee tower while Vox tended to his company’s needs. He worked endlessly and missed important events such as your daughter’s first steps, words, and laughter. You supposed he tried his best as he came back to you with gifts and kisses, but it never felt… right.

When your daughter’s thirteenth birthday came up, you expected him to stay home because it was a special birthday. It seemed like thirteen was your little family’s lucky number, so you thought it was an important event in his life for his only child to turn thirteen. Moreover, she finally became a teenager, which Vox deemed was old enough for him to take her out to watch the stars when she was younger.

“Happy Birthday, Vee.” You take your fingers through her black and red hair, kissing her temple. She smiled brightly up at you, pearly whites on display. “I know you’re excited, but you still have lessons to attend to.”

“I know.” She groaned, eyes flashing red for a second before settling. “Is Dad still up there?”

Your loving gaze faltered at the mention of her father, passing her the chocolate chip pancakes you made. “He’s at work already, baby. I’m sure he has something prepared for you when you get home.” You press another kiss to her head as you pull your phone out, squinting at the message Vox sent.

“Is it Dad?” Veronica murmured, twisting the fork in between her fingers.

“Don’t worry about it, yeah? It’s your birthday.” You slide your phone inside your pocket. “I’ll see you after your lessons?”

She hummed softly as you frowned, rubbing your temple. This was an important day for your daughter, and if Vox couldn’t remember the promise he made to her years ago, you weren’t prepared for the breakdown that was going to come from your new teenage daughter.

“Vox?” You enter his monitor room, blue light glasses steady on your face.

“My love?” He called back, eyes focusing on the rising and falling stocks in the industry. “What’s wrong?”

You ran your fingers through his hair, massaging when he pulled you down into his lap. You pressed a kiss to his jaw when he glared at the screen, “Do you know what day it is?”

“Uh,” He glanced back at you before muttering a curse at the stocks, aggressively typing something out on his computer. “Tax day?”

You let out a sigh, “Love, it’s Veronica’s birthday.” You tilt your head when you don't get a response. “Vox.”

“What?” He whipped his head toward you, his blue eyes swirling black and red. You steady the glasses on your face, frowning at his tone. His eyes scan your face before rubbing his forehead, “Darling, I’m sorry. But I’m really busy today. All of our shareholders decided to be assholes today and Carmilla wants a meeting about Angelic Security.”

You cup his face and press a soft kiss to his lips, “I know, I got your text message about a twelve-hour workday.” Your gaze flickered over toward the frame displayed on his desk, “But it’s our baby’s thirteenth birthday. She was looking for her dad earlier, and she didn’t—“

His phone rang out into the intensely large monitor room, causing you to look back over to him. “Look, I’ll see if I can get out of the meeting and schedule it another day. I’ll be back before the day’s over.”

“Do you promise?” You lift your pinky, the blue and red chain appearing from your wedding band connecting to his.

He lifted his pinky, locking it with yours. “I promise, gorgeous.” His phone rang out again as you leaned in to give him a kiss, raising a brow at the device. Vox chuckled at your reaction, rubbing his thumb over your lip. “I love you, but I have people to yell at, so kindly leave.” He tapped your thigh before answering his phone.

You pressed one last kiss to his cheek before stepping away from him, humming a tune while he yelled at whoever was on the other line. The link of chains connecting the two wedding bands never meant a deal was brought up, it merely signified the marriage. However, that promise meant more than just canceling a meeting and heading back home. It meant actually showing up for his daughter, saying that he didn’t forget about his promise from years ago.

“Hi, baby.” You kiss Veronica’s temple as she passes the kitchen with bags in her arms. “What’s all that?”

“Uncle Val and Aunt Velvette gave me presents.” She grinned, shoving them down on the kitchen counter.

You raise a brow at the size difference of the gifts, “And what did Aunt Vel get you?”

“She got me every single new item on her new line before she drops it.” She pulled out a t-shirt that you thought was inappropriate for a girl her age. Neatly folding it, she pulled out another article of clothing, a short skirt that would have you and Vox murdering people left and right.

“Right…” You gently take away the clothes and set them to the side, nodding your head toward the box. “What did Uncle Val get you?”

“He told me to give you this before opening the gift.” She handed you a card decorated with intricate details.

You unfold the card, eyes widening at the contents. “Can I take the movies Uncle Val gave you? I don’t think they’re for you, baby.”

“Wait what? Why not?”

“Because it’s not… don’t worry about it.” You snap your fingers, sending the box of movies to your shared bedroom with Vox. Your face was flushed from Valentino handing your daughter physical copies of the videos that were personal to you and Vox. It would have been chaos if you watched the videos together with no warning. “Never mind about that, how were your lessons?”

“Boring as usual.” She rested her head on her hand, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “Did you talk to dad?”

“Yes,” You set down the dinner you were preparing, wiping your hands on a hand towel. “He’ll be back soon. He had… stuff to do.” You waved your hand in the air, face contorting in tension. “Can you set up the dining table for dinner? I’ll call your dad to see where he is.”

Veronica groaned before begrudgingly moving away, grabbing the plates and utensils. You watched her leave before leaning your arms against the counter, head tilting down in exhaustion. Not only were you running around the tower checking in on your business, but you also prepared the gifts for your daughter while checking in on your husband’s vitals once in a while. Everything was rushed and disorganized, and the only thing your daughter wanted was for her father to be there for her birthday and fulfill his promise.

“Fuck.” You quickly wipe the tear slipping down your face, pulling out your phone. Clicking on Vox’s contact, you rub the ring on your finger, anxiously waiting for an answer.

“Yes?” His voice came through your phone, more agitated than usual.

“Vox, can you take a break and come up to us?” You start pacing, not realizing your daughter was behind the wall listening to you.

He muttered something as you heard the clicking of his keyboard through your speaker, “I’ll be there in a minute, can you save me a plate?”

“Vox, can you just—“ You run your hand through your hair as your eyes flash red, the same red consuming the items surrounding you. “I understand you’re busy, but your daughter hasn’t seen you all day.”

“Gorgeous, I heard you, but I have a very important deal I need to finish making then I’m all yours, okay?” He spoke with impatience, sighing when he heard silence from your end. “In a minute.”

“Fine.” You roll your eyes and end the call, dropping your phone onto the counter. You blink a few times to get rid of the red, everything around you falling back to its original placement.

“Mom, we can just celebrate with the two of us.” Veronica came around the doorway, fiddling with her fingers. “If dad is busy, I don’t want to—“

“Baby, it’s your birthday.” You push your hair back and pull a strained smile. The look you gave your daughter was almost dangerous, reverting back to your Overlord setting. “If your dad doesn’t show up before the day is over, I will physically go down to his office and remove him from this Hell.”

Her eyes widened at your words, “Mom—“

“Let’s go eat dinner, yes?” You leave a kiss on the top of her head.

Eventually, Vox did appear, but only for a few minutes before his phone began to ring again. He sighed, pressing his lips in a thin line, and got up, squeezing your shoulder and giving his daughter an apologetic look. The worst part about meeting his daughter’s eyes was the similar feeling of knowing how she felt.

Veronica projected a recognizable emotion through her eyes, something he could tell from miles away because it was the exact same look you gave him when it was just the two of you.

Disappointment.

“Vox, what the hell are you still doing here?” Valentino entered the monitor room, pink smoke billowing from his cigarette.

“Better question, what the fuck were you going to do in here?” Vox rolled his neck as he filed another claim against older companies.

Valentino chuckled, “Don’t worry about that… If I were you, I would be worried about your daughter. Velvette and I already sang Happy Birthday to your precious girl over cake. I'm sure she would have been happier if her daddy was there.”

Vox slouched in his chair, “Val, I’m almost done with these files then I’ll head up.”

“Oh, I would be careful.” He blew pink smoke across Vox’s face. “Your wife has her Overlord filter on tonight. It’s worse than before.”

“What do you mean?” Vox submitted the file to the HR department, taking his blazer and tossing it across his shoulder.

“She’s going to murder you, Voxy.” He bared his teeth at him. “You have a lot to make up tonight.”

Vox squinted his eyes at the moth before sighing, “Get the fuck out of my room or I’m having my wife come and murder you herself instead of me.”

“Scary.” Valentino grinned maliciously before leaving, a trail of pink smoke following.

Oh, Vox knew how much shit he was in when he returned home. After all, it was already 11:26 PM and he doubted that neither you nor Veronica were still awake. He teleported into the kitchen, setting the blazer on top of the counter before following the noise to the living area. He caught a movie on the television screen as he approached the couch, gaze softening at the sight. You were holding Veronica in your arms as she slept sprawled along the couch.

He caught your gaze a few seconds later, watching your tired eyes harden. “Do you know what time it is?”

“I know, but a lot was happening downstairs with VoxTek and—“

“You couldn’t hold that off for one day?” You whisper-shout in his direction as your daughter shifts around. “Vee was waiting all day for you to take her to see the constellations of Hell, and you broke it, Vox! I don’t understand how you could just leave her with a broken promise—“

“Gorgeous, it’s not the end of the day. I can still make it up to her.”

“And what? Wake her up from the day she’s had? Vox, she’s been waiting for this moment since she was five, and you couldn’t spare one second?” You feel your eyes flare red before realizing what's going on. Vox knew you had to calm down, and typically he would help, but it was clear you wanted nothing to do with him just yet. “You didn’t even say happy birthday this morning because you already left for work.” You carefully adjust Veronica in your arms, glaring at your husband. “I understand that the company is important for our image, but destroying a relationship with your own daughter for the company is never something you should do.”

Slowly, you carry your daughter in your arms, using some of your wisps to help carry her. Vox reaches out to help but you deny him, causing him to purse his lips. “Seriously?”

“I’m dead serious.” You crease your brows. “If you can’t understand how fucking important it is for our daughter to have both her parents present during important days, I promise you that I will make your life worse than living in Hell.” As you ascend the stairs leading up to Veronica’s room, you feel the burn of his stare hitting you. “And for the sake of your mental and physical health, please take a break from work. Your vitals have been dropping.”

The life you held in Hell seemed easier to those outside of the Tower, but the three of you knew that there was never a moment in time where you could be free of the constraints you were given, not allowing a single break of freedom or contentment.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[keelt9]

Chapter 1

Masterlist

The doorbell is already disturbing. I walked to the door and I could see through the camera a white napkin waving in the air. I giggled and opened the door.

“So you already visited mom, huh?” Lewis hugs me softly.

“It's so obvious?” I let him walk in, right to my mess. “It's actually happening, oh my god.” 

I put my hands at my waist and see my apartment or what still makes it look like my apartment.

Lewis points to the big pile of boxes and bags next to the window. “This is for moving?”

“That's for charity or rubbish.” I point to the barely 5 boxes next to the T.V. “Those are mine.” 

He pressed his lips together, seeing the mayhem in the kitchen, all types of food containers and a lot, a lot of boxes and bags split all over it.

“What have you been eating?” That moody voice tone exactly as mom.

I walked to clean the sofa so he could sit. “Pizza, Mexican and Chinese, healthy meals.”

I layed in the carpet tired as I heard him talking about what I should be eating; however he wasn’t speaking to me, he's on his phone ordering food, a healthy one.

He hung out, took out his coat and laid next to me. “Upside down?” 

I scoff remembering what these 7 months have been, hitting like a thunder on my mind and heart.

“I had a life planned Lew, literally I was at 10 hours of walking down the altar, and look at me.” I raised my arms to the sky. “Now I’m packing, trying to move on and set a piece of life together.”

Lewis sighs but turns on a Bob Marley's song, “Three Little Birds.”

“And the job?” I laugh because I forgot to mention I already quit my job. 

I see the empty walls and furniture, the frames piled in a box and the bag full of fragments of photos. Years in tiny parts.

I told my twisted life to my older brother, after a delicious dinner and random talk with Lewis, he walks and observes the boxes and suitcases.

“So all this goes with mom?” I forget I changed the moving date, but the new owners of the apartem arrive in 3 days. 

I tossed my hair. “It’s the plan.” 

Lewis makes a weird face as he sees all the wedding presents that friends and family instead I keep. 

“Why don’t you send it to my place? I’m barely at home.” I stand up and walk to him. “I know you can handle it, but it’s easier.” 

I see the present disturb him so much, and put it away.  “Ok, not because it is easier, unless you find a job.” 

I have money for living 3 months without worrying too much. However, in my to do list to find a job it's a priority.

“Oh, talking about that.” I shook my head and he put his hands on my shoulders. “Listen to me first, ok? I don’t spoil you, not that much.” 

Both of us laugh.

“I’ve been thinking, you need distance from all this, and you and I have been talking about founding a refuge for dogs, right? So, here is my offer.” He used his poker face. “Prepare a proposal for the refuge, all included, convince me and if you do it, I set everything for we can put it to work. But I have two conditions.” 

I bluff but I keep listing. “1. You will accept a modest pay for reporting your advances. 2. You’ll come with me this season.” 

I roll my eyes faking a laugh, and walk back to keep packing, but he doesn't surrender.

“Come on, it’s a good offer. Besides, I need someone who’s to keep an eye on Rosco all the time and not be distracted for the race.” 

I feel so proud of Lewis, however he knows I’m not anymore a huge fan of the formula one, less if he didn’t win, and Rosco doesn’t travel that far.

“Don’t use Rosco against me.” I turn around and a photo of Rosco is in front of me. “Hamilton!” 

Lewis moved his phone in front of my face. “Think about it, ok? Meanwhile I’ll keep your boxes safe.”  

I push him as he begins to close the boxes with tape. “It’s rude to use my love for Rosco against me, you know that?”

He smiles but doesn't answer and focuses on his task.

It's a bittersweet feeling how 6 years of my life now is packaged in 5 boxes, 3 suitcases and 2 bags. 

T.V turned on, like always, mom is in her bedroom watching the first race of the season early in the morning. 

I soft knock on her door. “Can I come in?” She smiles and pats the side of her bed as I laid down with her.

After a couple of minutes she finally spoke. “I’m proud, how you are handling this.”

I scoff and hide under the sheets. “Mom, I’m a mess, I feel like a mess and my life is a mess. Proud of what?”

Mom discovers my head and smiles softly at me. “But you are still fighting, believe that is more than enough.” Jewel appears under the sheets and licks my face. “A mess but a wonderful one.” 

I smile and hug her as Jewel gets between us. “Thanks mom.” 

The commentator said Lewis made an amazing overpass to Sainz and now is in the 5th place, mom splits and watches the T.V holding my hand.

The radio communication of Max appears on the screen along his onboard.

“Smart guy, a little bit not too friendly? I think.” I laugh and stand to go change my clothes for taking out Jewel.

Mom stops me at the door. “You have all packed?”

I nodded and Jewel was about to pass over my feet, sniffing my shoes. The 3 year old pomeranian, who is picky about his morning walks.

“Don’t be jealous young lady, those boys have my things, I must be nice.” The expression of my mom makes me smile.

Melbourne greeted me with a strong windy day, following the specific and detailed instruction of Lewis. I just packed what I could need and no one could get it for me. 

We agreed that I don’t attend the paddock on the days of practices and the qualy day. I remind myself to focus on my job and I keep my nerves calm as much as I can.

At 5 am, I knew it Lewis knock the door of my room, three soft knocks follow by <It’s me.>

I opened the door for him, eyes half closed as he put a bag over my bed. 

“I can’t believe I got you this.” I opened the bag and saw the t-shirt and caps I asked him. “The clothes are perfectly fine.” He pointed to the other bag next to my bed.

The day I arrived a bag full of clothes was on my bed, my issue is all are clothes style Lewis Hamilton.

I take out the clothes of Mercedes, black and white t-shirt and only black caps. “I’m not a fashionista, thank you so much.” Lewis scoffs and tosses my hair.

“Don’t be late.” He said leaving my room and sunglasses on. The sun didn’t even come out yet.

In the paddock I arrive in calm and walk right to Mercedes hospitality greeting all the people I know and someone who I was introduced to in the past days.

I stayed in there as much as I could, working and seeing the videos that are posted in the preview. After the ceremony I stopped working and walked where all the Mercedes crew used to watch the race. 

Great race for Lewis and a second place, get all the team clapping and congratulating each other for the good work. I remind myself in the garage all the ceremony to keep far away from the cameras and reporters.

It isn’t like the old times anymore.

After the ceremony, along with the celebrations, Lewis changed his wet clothes. I met him in the garage giving him a big hug.

“So proud of you.” I hug him tight, before splitting and hugging him one more time. “Mom said this is for her.” 

Lewis chuckles and sighs. “I’m so happy to have you here again.”

With the cameras focused one more time in the first place, almost all the garages are calm.

After I split from Lewis, someone got down my cap and hugged me shaking me side to side.

“Here is where you've been hiding, huh?” I recognized the voice of Bottas even though my eyes were covered.

I giggle. “Damn it, I should stay in the hospitality room.” Mocking Bottas who let me go and smiled at me.

Checo laughs and I hug him. “How long has it been?” 

I didn’t even think about it, but there are few pilots who have kept going here since the last time I came to a Gran Prix.

Lewis sighs as both of us look at each other. “Pff, like, 9-10 years, more less?” I said winning eyes wide open from everyone.

“You were this tall.” Checo raised his hand to the level of his torso.

Bottas couldn’t let go. “No, no, this tall.” This time my height was at their waist.

I giggle. “Ok, I got it, I will say hi from time to time. I wasn’t that little.” I stuck my tongue out for them.

“Yes, you were.” Lewis sentences. “But, this grown up guys has been asking if it was actually you, the girl who has a strong resemblance and walks around the paddock or if it was someone else.”

“Turns out, it’s actually you.” Bottas fake a shock expression. 

Their respective crews interrupt us, all still have a lot of things to do, so they say goodbye and make me promise at least I won't hide from them, the younger ones have to live with that.

Late at night, Lewis finally had time to rest and we went out for dinner. We chose a nice place with an amazing view to the ocean far away from people so we can talk in peace.

“It changed?” Lewis asked in the middle of our dinner. “The paddock, the atmosphere, all.” 

“It’s been 10 years, Hamilton, of course changed, a lot of new faces.” 

Years ago I was the little sister of a F1 champion. There were days where cameras were over me and made me feel…. some relevant, a proud sister who was grabbed at her father and mother's hands supporting his older brother.

Just I forgot that I was a little fish in a tank of sharks.

Lewis clearly understood the silence that followed by stirring answers.

“You’re right, things change.” Lewis careness my hair and smiles at me. “Remember it’s just a year, by the end of it you will be a brand new you at that’s what matters to me.” Lewis has this tendency of making me cry easily.

I sniffed as I laid my head in his hand. “Why do I have the best brother in the world?” 

Lewis laughed and laid back a proud smile on his face. “What a coincidence! I had the same question.”

The no race weeks I spent in Newport in Wales where I plan to set up the refuge; searching places and an apartment, a few days in London babysitting Rosco and explaining Lewis my advances in search for some recommendation, but always I have the same answer. 

<You have the master's on this, I trust you. Just think about put Rosco face on the inauguration.>

One of the many things I love from the paddock is the Mercedes area; big black crystals all over the place, almost impossible to see inside but so easily to see outside, at the last level a rest zone where you can hardly hear the people from inside and the people outside hears and feels distant.

The race week in Azerbaiyan I allowed myself to go to the paddock for the sprint. Lewis finished in seventh place and George in fourth, so after it ended all reunited for the small meeting they had every time a race ended.

I go to work in what I called, the tea zone, with some peaches and my computer trying to brainstorm me, but I get stuck every time I start typing. 

I bite the top of my pen and I close the computer at this rate I’ll have burned out.

I lay back my head, stretching my neck and when I sit down straight one more time I notice the top level of the Red Bull building is almost empty, just a single person taking a Red Bull watching his phone. 

I go down stairs where I can see right to Tom, one of the teammates of Lewis. 

“Still inside, huh?” Tom nods, making adjustments to his camera.

“Tough day.” He sees me. “This is a familiar thing, huh?” He pointed at the sunglasses. 

I giggle while taking another bite of my peach. “We can say that.” I sigh. “I’m going out for a while, I’ll be back to leave with my brother, all right?” 

Tom nods, after a month they learned one thing; Lewis, this time is overprotective of me.

“Use one of the markers so you don't get lost again.” Tom jokes about the first week I arrived, I got lost as I walked around the place.

At the end of the day, there was a lot of movement around the place, but what always calls for attention is the drivers. If you can see a bunch of cameras, people and one single color in the middle you find a driver.

I reached the zone where you can see all the garages, I stopped there trying to focus on and put an order to my mind. 

“It’s weird for someone who isn’t that excited to have a car just a few meters away.” I don’t turn around hoping for my “I know” to be a satisfactory answer. “Almost all around here would give anything to be this close.”

Reckless I turn around. “I have other priorities, a different one. I’m here for who matters to me.” 

“Then you should be with that person.” I scoff at the answer. 

Mom, you're right, Max isn’t an easy going guy.

I stand straight holding my eyes on his totally not friendly face; curiously mad, that’s how I feel.

“I heard you could be here.” Checo speaks, still with his suit race at the level of his waist. 

That’s what for the sunglasses, I can roll my eyes and no one knows. 

“I’m not lost, I swear.” I walk to him, giving him a hug. “Such a good race, congratulations.”

Checo hugs smiles. “I better go, I should be in another place.” Checo narrowed his eyes and looked at my back. “See you tomorrow.”

I walked and didn't turn back but I could hear the conversation at my back.

“You collect mad Hamiltons, mate.” Checo said.

“What? What are you talking about?” Max raises his voice. I couldn’t avoid taking my time.

Checo makes himself more clear.  “She is Lewis Hamilton's sister. His little sister.” 

As soon as I arrived at the building, Lewis came out from the meeting, a kind of stress expression on his face. 

I greet all the team with a smile as they let us alone in the hall.

“Tough one?” Lewis put his arm around my shoulder, changing the subject.

“Are you hungry? Let me change my clothes and we will go for dinner.” Yes, it was a tough one.

As we walk out from the paddock Lewis notices for the first time my camouflage actually works. Wearing a cap, t-shirt from Mercedes and jeans, combine with a hoodie or a jacket is enough for the cameras and reporters didn't even looked at me

In the car Lewis giggles. “I'm impressed. Good plan.” I giggle. “Smart girl.”

Our night is pretty lovely, nice dinner, a good talk and going back to bed earlier so he can be fresh for tomorrow's race.

One more time it was an early race, so by the time I left the hotel, news about his arriving at the paddock were all over the internet.

I walk in calmness at the entrance even when I see the world wide champion standing outside of RB hospitality. It's time for a second round?

“Morning Y/N.” Bono greeted me as he appeared next to me, head and papers in his hand. 

Bono has been with my brother for years, supporting him, helping, being a friend, becoming family.

“How was the dinner?” He smiles and walks next to me as we get inside talking about our nights.

No, the second round must wait.

It wasn’t a good race for the team with the fifth place from Lewis and the seventh of George it's not how the team expected it to be.

After the race ends, I meet my brother in the hospitality room, I hear him so he lets out all that disturbs him.

“I left my phone in the garage.” Lewis let back his head. “Wait here I…”

I know he's tired of cameras and questions so I grab his arm. “I'll go. Stay calm.” Lewis pressed his lips together but didn't reply to me.

As I put my cap outside of the building I lost the vision in front of me until the incessant chattering made me lift my eyes. Cameras and microphones all over Max.

Same strategy, pass behind the cameramans who are so immersed in taking the best or worst side of the winner of the day.

In the garage I pick up the phone and walk back where Lewis has his eyes closed, headphones on.

“Where are those connected?” He laughs and takes his phone. 

“I remember the songs.” 

After a long day, finally Lewis is free to go. We'll take a flight late at night to London to go to a party of a friend of the family.

In the hotel lobby picking our things, we were talking about the time he has to learn to change dippers.

A few meters from the main door, Max intercepts us. “Lewis, you’re leaving?” Lewis and I turn around.

“Yeah, we have a small reunion with family.” Lewis stops and thinks for a second. “Oh, you don’t know each other, Max, she’s my little sister, Y/N...” 

“We crossed paths before.” I said shaking my hand in front of Max, but Lewis noted the acid answer.

“Not that good, I guess.” Max narrows his eyes to me as he tries to see through my sunglasses. 

One of the bellboys calls for us teeling our car is waiting for us. 

“Nice to meet you Max.” I said politely as much as I could. Lewis giggled and gave Max a similar observation as Checo.

“Winning her bad side so quickly, another record Max.” I heard his hands crashing into each other, in a high five. 

In the car Lewis giggles, shaking his head. “What?” 

“What did he say to you?” I shook my head and threw at him a fluffy toy I bought for Rosco.

“Let it go Lew, let it go.” He took out his phone and taunted me as I put my headphones 

“Just me?”

[feralforfrank]

simon riley x gn!reader

one hamilton (the musical) reference

just thinking of simon coming home from work, exhausted and in immediate need of +10 hours of sleep. he falls asleep next to your already sleeping form after sorting out his dirty clothes and showering. he's out like a light.

next day, he wakes up to an empty bed, cuddling a bear plushie he brought you from australia some time ago. your flat isn't that big, your kitchen just a wall away, so he already knows where faint singing is coming from.

he drags himself out of bed, stomach grumbling at the smell of breakfast being cooked.

you don't see simon leaning in the doorway, as your back is turned to him. you're struggling to flip the omelette inside the pan as you try to keep up with the song. he recognises the musical you love so much; hamilton. you're twisting and turning, playing all parts of the musical while using the spatula as a microphone.

an adorable sight, really. simon can't help the smirk upturning his lips. your performance is nothing short of incredible.

when the song ends he clears his throat, startling you. "fucking christ, simon! you scared the shit out of me!"

"don't stop on my account, love." his tone is teasing.

you scoff, rolling your eyes. you turn your attention back to the pan, lowering the volume of your music. "fuck off, arsehole."

you hear his feet shuffle and a few seconds later you feel him wrap his arms around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest.

he smells of your shampoo and faintly of cigarettes, a delicious combination. you bite on his huge bicep as an attempt to escape and finish cooking, but simon only loosens his hold on you, doesn't fully let go.

"i gotta take your breakfast off the stove." he grunts in response, unmoving.

you whine. "c'mon si, do you want a burnt omelette or what?"

"wan' hold y'love. didn't get to yesterday, " he says, words coming out muffled from the crook of your neck.

you sigh, defeated. he's just gonna have to tolerate a slightly burnt omelette. you turn the stove off, fully leaning back on your sleepy boyfriend. you stand there for a moment. your music is the only sound inside the flat.

a smile grows on your face. "welcome home, si."

—

bonus. he complains about the omelette's bottom being black asf and you just glare at him from your spot in the sofa. he cheekily smiles back, having succeeded in annoying you from across the room.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 9/10/2024

someone adopt this little orange man from me in Houston TX! more details here!

listening

the 1991 Ella Mae Morse compilation Capitol Collectors Series is the official driving-cats-to-the-vet album bc it is so mellow but still fun. this album has previously been featured several times in tuesdayposts but i think you should all listen to it again.

seven thousand three hundred days IS a long long time to sleep ur so right ella

-

reading

two different works that annoyed me: Emily Hamilton's The Stars Too Fondly. my first clue should have been that this is my least favorite poem, bc ppl would quote it to me smugly after my mom died. im sure they thought they were being so super comforting to a budding astronomer, but, much like how i can no longer eat lasagna bc ppl gave us Twenty! Party! Size! Platters! Of! Lasagna! after my mom died (they would just Appear on our front porch, frozen), too much of this poem really soured me.

i had this book on hold Forever and then delayed delivery twice bc i have not felt like reading lately. here's the publisher's description:

In her breathtaking debut—part space odyssey, part sapphic rom-com—Emily Hamilton weaves a suspenseful, charming, and irresistibly joyous tale of fierce friendship, improbable love, and wonder as vast as the universe itself. So, here’s the thing: Cleo and her friends really, truly didn’t mean to steal this spaceship. They just wanted to know why, twenty years ago, the entire Providence crew vanished without a trace. But then the stupid dark matter engine started all on its own, and now these four twenty-somethings are en route to Proxima Centauri, unable to turn around, and being harangued by a snarky hologram that has the face and attitude of the ship’s missing captain, Billie. Cleo has dreamt of being an astronaut all her life, and Earth is kind of a lost cause at this point, so this should be one of those blessings in disguise that people talk about. But as the ship gets deeper into space, the laws of physics start twisting, old mysteries come crawling back to life, and Cleo’s initially combative relationship with Billie turns into something deeper and more desperate than either woman was prepared for. Lying somewhere in the subspace between science fantasy and sapphic rom-com, The Stars Too Fondly is a soaring near-future adventure about dark matter and alternate dimensions, leaving home and finding family, and the galaxy-saving power of letting yourself love and be loved.

should be catnip for me, right? wrong. starts out as a chat fic, which i hate.

i had a lot of trouble finishing the first chapter, which also has an extended third-person omniscient narrator flashback in italics, a thing i also hate. i KNOW you can figure out how to integrate this information into the book in a better way instead of dumping it in my lap.

i think part of why this is not hitting like i wanted is the tone, because i think this veers more new adult than i was really hoping for. i think introducing a big group all at once is very hard to do effectively. i do not like a series of character introductions that feel like they are trying to sell me action figures. or perhaps blind-bag figures. i do not like a six-deep list of cheesy puns about someone's name. i do not have the patience to see if this debut novel finds its footing a little later on, though i am glad a sapphic ghost in the machine romance exists in this world.

i also read dean motter's mister x (both the original late eighties through early nineties run and the 2008 follow-on).

let's yoink the description from wikipedia:

Set in Radiant City, a dystopian municipality influenced by Bauhaus and Fritz Lang's Metropolis, the series concerns a mysterious figure who purports to be its architect. His radical theories of "psychetecture" cause the citizenry to go mad, just as he did, and he takes on the mission to repair his creation. To accomplish this he remains awake twenty-four hours a day by means of the drug "insomnalin", all the while coping with a Dick Tracy–like rogues gallery and supporting cast including his long-suffering ex-girlfriend Mercedes. (ed note: the redhead in the santa beard below)

the art in this comic book is really and truly stunning. everyone was firing on all cylinders. beautiful retrofuturistic advertisement vibes, very fun play with panels and word balloons while still being readable, there are airships, you know how it is. looooooooove a hardboiled noir.

the Concept of mister x, this horrible awful futuristic city that grinds its citizenry up and spits them out? both figuratively and sometimes literally? love it!!! love a great wounded beast of a city as a character!!!

unforch the "who is mister x" subplot does not resolve in a satisfying way, imo. there's a lot of flip-flopping, there's a lot of options, he ends up being (maybe?) someone he was very definitively proven NOT to be in an earlier issue, and it really soured me on the whole experience. and also i don't believe it! that specific person makes no fucking sense! who mister x is, is by far the least interesting part of the series. tell me more about how he's fixing the city. show me more of the city. shut up and dance, robot artists

-

watching

X-Men: Apocalypse (2016, dir. Singer). this movie did not need to be two and a half hours long. appreciated the EXTREMELY divorced energy from charles & erik though, quicksilver rescuing the school scene was also very fun. my bestie's husband has informed me we are NOT watching Dark Phoenix, i'm not sure if we're going to loop back and watch the ??? number of wolverine films or if we're going to see how i feel about deadpool. bc i find this character insufferable through clips only.

-

playing

there is a feature in the video game genshin impact to turn your World Level (TM) down in order to make overworld enemies a little easier. i am at seven out of nine bc i genuinely can't finish the boss to unlock world level 9, and i am finding some of the overworld enemies too hard at 8 and want to finish the achievements in a more relaxed fashion.

-

making

this is going to be a lot of previously posted pics so bear with me.

saturday morning/saturday evening. plants? repotted. porch and stairs? swept. old wasp nests? knocked down. different mirror on the porch to go out to the curb when i have the energy? yes. also a giant slab of engineered stone from the top of a dresser but that's out of frame.

speaking of the giant broken dresser that was in my apartment when i moved in just over a year ago, i ripped it apart with a crowbar and threw it in the dumpster. put my pretty zebrawood desk in the empty space and started thinking about what to hang on that wall. the wall across from it is maps, bc i think a cozy office should have lots of maps and it makes a good video conference background. maybe this will be the dedicated cowboy nonsense wall. i did so much dusting and vacuuming and mopping and the girls can't even hang out in here bc the orange boy is in the office bathroom. big sigh.

also a lot of driving around and emailing and calling thirty shelters and rescues figuring out how to get this orange man a home. please take this orange man off my hands.

[sapphic-agent]

You know what Hazbin needs more of musical wise? More serious Vs Duets, cause it's less gag songs had been either solos (Poison and All for Love) assemble pieces (You didn't Know, Finale) or amicable solos (both versions of More than Anything and Whatever it takes)

Like don't get me wrong- I love the more gag-focused Vs, I think they are alot of fun, but GOD one of the most beautiful part about musicals is when two characters with completely opposite beliefs argue via singing, the melody intensifying or completely shifting between the parts (that is why the best part of You didn't Know was Lute and Adam's arguing back. And of course in Respectless the way Carmilla sings that "you and the Vees are unmain and uniform!" With the melody shifting as she gets more desesperate- that is some good stuff)

Imagine Lute and Vaggie fighting once again but this time having a hate filled duet! Emily and Sera's extension of You didn't Know but this time with even more tension cause Em saw that Sinners ARE salvable?? A more serious reprise of Stayed Gone as Vox starts to be an actual threat for Alastor's plans- omg a sadder version of More than Anything between Charlie and Lilith that slowly becomes am escalating argument?? But I think my favorite option on a twisted way (and one actually proposed by the VAs) would be a Heathers'-esque duet between Angel and Valentino, like "you were meant to be mine" from the mentioned Heathers that constantly changes tones depending of whenever Val is trying to manipulate/love bomb Angel or showing his true colors as Angel's part is just filled with hurt and anger. Kind of like how Poison is deceivingly Pop-like till the end to demonstrate the way Angel (don't) copes with his reality, this could also sounds initially as a regular love ballad that slowly morphs until something much more sinister.

First of all, let me just say I'd LOVE a You Didn't Know reprise between Sera and Emily where they're arguing. This NEEDS to happen.

(I'm not kidding when I saw Emily has the potential to be the best written character in the show. Viv don't fuck this up for me)

Second of all, you're right about opposing views being great in songs/musicals. One of the best parts of Hamilton was how Hamilton and Burr were complete opposites. So whenever they interacted, their parts always clashed with one another. One of my favorite parts of Nonstop was when they were arguing over the Constitution (yes I was a Hamilton girlie I have no shame). Hazbin Hotel has a lot of opportunities to do this and really take their songs to the next level

[formula1fanfiction]

Lewis Hamilton / Lance Stroll

Title: Oh, so there will be a next time?

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton / Lance Stroll

Characters: Lewis Hamilton, Lance Stroll

Prompt: I would love a fic about Lewis Hamilton x Lance Stroll. A bit of tenderness and smut. Bottom Lance Stroll.

"Hey, Lance. Just wanted to check you were okay, after your crash?" Lance raises an eyebrow, of all people knocking on his trailer door, he didn't expect it to be Lewis Hamilton.

"Physically I am, fine you can leave now." Lance makes a shooing gesture with his hands. Why can't he just be left alone to wallow in self pity. "But not mentally?" Lewis leans again the door of the motor home.

"No, not that it's any of your business, the rest of you don't understand how hard it is for me. Every little mistake I make, it's always he's no good, he's only here because Daddy pays for his seat. It just gets brushed away when it's everyone else." Lance's anger fades away, to sadness and he can't stop the rogue tear falling down his cheek. "Sorry for crying, it's just really frustrating."

"I think you're pretty amazing." Lewis cups Lance's cheek and the younger one can't help but lean into it. Lewis steps into the room, then kicks the door closed behind him.

"What do you actually want Lewis?" Lance's eyes widen as Lewis' eyes meet his own, then flash towards his lips. Lance really shouldn't have been caught by surprise, he was half expecting it but he gasps into Lewis mouth as their lips meet. It's a soft, gentle kiss their lips lazily moving together. Lance enjoys it much more than he though, especially when Lewis' tongue, pushes inside of his mouth and explores.

"What's going on Lewis? Is this going somewhere?" Lance catches the smirk on Lewis' face, his hands move from his back, and squeezes his arse through his shorts. "Do you want it to?"

"Yes." Lance squeals because at that moment, Lewis pushes him back onto the bed. Lewis jumps up on bed, covering Lance's body with his own and presses his mouth against Lance's for the second time. The kiss isn't passionate or hard just a soft sensual kiss, while the two of them have their mouths locked together Lewis traces the outline of Lances' jaw and lightly squeezes his cheeks. He breaks away with a smile. "I enjoy kissing you."

"I was hoping you were going to fuck me, not keep kissing me." Lance jokes, reaching over for the small tube of lube he leaves on his night stand. "I think you need to be naked for that." Lewis jokes pouring a generous amount of lube onto his fingers while Lance uses the time to take of his clothes, only laying down once fully naked.

Lewis settles himself in between Lance's wide spread legs and soothingly strokes his thigh as he pushes the first finger inside. "That feel, okay?" Lance gives a little nod, gasping as Lewis twists his finger. There isn't too much resistance, he wastes no time in adding a second one.  

"You take my fingers so well" Lewis soothes his hands down Lances's toned thighs and started to move the fingers in and out of him. Lance can't help but groan, Lewis is so talented with his fingers.  

Eventually Lewis has four fingers inside and thrust in deep enough to rub over Lance's prostate, giving him a little reward for taking his fingers so well, although it's becoming more annoying than romantic at this point and Lance is about to ask for cock, when Lewis slides his fingers out. "I think you're ready for me."

"I think i've been ready for a while." Lewis chuckles, pulling away from Lance to pull off his pants and boxers, before rolling on a condom.

"I want you on your back, I want to look at you while I fuck you." Lance wraps his legs around Lewis' waist. "Come on then, give it to me." Lewis takes his hard cock into his hand, giving himself a few light strokes before pressing himself against Lance's hole and pushes inside.

"I just want to make you feel special." Lewis pants, peppering kisses over Lance's face as he gives him an inch at a time. Lance can barely concentrate on anything other than the burn in his arse hole, it feels amazing.

"Fuck." Lance throws his head back into the mountain of pillows as Lewis finally bottoms out. He stalls, giving Lance plenty of time to adjust. "Fuck Lance, you feel so good." Lewis groans as Lance clenches and unclenches around him, he's more than ready just to get going now.

"I'm ready Lewis." Lewis gently squeezes Lance's hips and starts to move. Lewis sets a steady ready, not too hard but he thrusts deep, filling up Lance completely without hurting him anyway, Lance has never felt so amazing, so full.  He wants to beg for more but at the same time it's nice having someone treat him so tenderly.  

Lance isn't expecting the kiss this time, just a soft one against his lips. "You deserve this Lance, you are so special, I just want you to feel so special, fuck you how you deserve." That's the moment, Lewis hits his prostate and waves of pure pleasure rush through his body, it feels amazing, he needs more of that.  

"More, please more." Lewis chuckles, angling his thrusts to hit his prostate for a second tome. Lance groans, fisting the bed sheets, arching up his hips to meet Lewis'  as he continues to hit his prostate with every thrust.

"Fuck, fuck feels good." Lewis presses their forehead together, their eyes locking together. "You're so beautiful Lance, the whole world should appreciate you." Lewis slides his hand down Lance's stomach and grabs his cock, stroking him to the same pace as his thrusts.  

Lewis really knows how to make Lance feel amazing as he  massages his balls while he filling him with the deep thrusts, a little bit harder but harder now, still hitting his prostate with every thrust. Lance mewls as his orgasm takes over "fuck, Lewis" Lance cries out as he comes all over his own stomach and Lewis hand.

"I'm so close Lance." Lewis fucks Lance through the waves of his orgasm, as he searches for his own. He speeds up his thrusts a little bit, not too hard just more erratic. He's so close, he only manages a few more thrusts before his hips stutter and come to a stop. He groans loudly, as he comes into the condom, Lance can feel the warmth of it through the condom.   

Lewis eases his cock out of Lance's hole and collapse down at the side of him. Lance props himself up on his elbow and looks over at the older man. "What was that all about, George on his period or something?"

Lewis chuckles. "No, I knew you were feeling down and just wanted you to feel special, I hope I did make you feel special." Lance smiles, he feels a little warm and fuzzy inside.

"As nice as it was, you don't have to fuck me like i'm a damsel in distress next time." Lewis smirks. "Oh, so there is going to be a next time?"

[paperbackribs]

A Tarnished Copper Boy (10)

Previous | Next | Ao3 Last chapter, Steve returned to spring 1985 while Eddie was high and having a good time hanging out with his friend, Randy. Unable to put his finger on it while stoned, Eddie was nevertheless left with the uneasy feeling that he messed up somehow.

Chapter 10: No Outsiders, But One

Jerry Lewis is waxing nostalgic in the background when Eddie wakes on the couch, the thin blanket now folded into his embrace and under his cheek. Wayne stands curled over Eddie in his grey pyjamas, hand gently shaking his shoulder. “Come on, Eds. Time to go to bed.”

Eddie smacks his lips, mouth dry as the Sahara, while whisps of the afternoon come back to him. “Can’t,” Eddie mumbles, stumbling over his words while sleep still grips him. “Steve. Bed.”

“Ah,” Wayne says understandingly, pulling Eddie up by the arm. He pushes him towards his bedroom, already starting to unfold the cushions. “That’s good then, go on. It’s not the first time you’ve shared, and God knows you’ll be doing it again from this point.”

Eddie nods tiredly, that’s right. Steve doesn’t have much choice other than to share and they’d already agreed that it was okay, but a flicker of unease lingers from their uncertain greeting in the afternoon.

Quietly opening the bedroom door, he sees that the room is pitch dark except for a sharp triangle of moonlight that runs across the floor and bottom of the bed. Eddie can’t see Steve’s face. He shuffles to his side of the bed, tempted to stick his arms out and tiredly moan like a zombie from Dawn of the Dead. He doesn't, but it's as Eddie edges under the blanket that he wonders if he's woken him.

“Steve?” He calls softly, but there is no answer. Eddie allows his lids to heavily fall and sleep to take him back once more.

When Eddie wakes again, the morning light is creeping through the window, tentatively banishing the shadows that linger in the corners of his room. He hears the Hamiltons start to get into it and groans, pushing his head into the soft pillow. How can they have the energy first thing in the morning—first thing on a Sunday morning—to fight? Barbarians, the lot of them. The raised voices inexplicably remind him of yesterday and the fact that Steve is back.

He peeks through the hair fallen around his face to see the other side of the bed is empty. Shooting his hand out to touch the mattress he can feel that it’s still warm: yesterday wasn’t a dream. He hadn’t imagined Steve coming back; it’s just that he had left Eddie alone in bed.

A jitter of nervousness crawls up Eddie’s spine and he rolls out from under the covers, determined to make certain that… well, he’s not sure actually. He just knows that his instinct is telling him that something is wrong.

He finds Steve in the kitchen, quietly making breakfast. Wayne’s steady droning buzzes in the background and he looks up while pouring orange juice into a Pizza Hut tumbler; on it is stamped a childish Fred Flintstone in a design reminiscent of a church’s haloed saint, glimmering with a mysterious smile on a stained-glassed window.

Steve’s smile is easy as he greets Eddie, “Hey, I didn’t want to wake you. Want some OJ?”

Eddie takes the proffered drink and perches on the kitchen stool to observe Steve, he fidgets with the glass. Tilting Fred back and forth until the juice threatens to spill wetly onto the turquoise counter. Steve twists the bread bag and ties it with a flourish, “So we’re past winter already? Are we in ‘85?”

Nodding in confirmation, Eddie carefully watches Steve’s easygoing demeanour.

“I wish I had a way of knowing when I land.” He grimaces with a rueful shake of his head before turning as the toaster pops, “At least I know where I am, am I right?”

Steve’s body language and tone are all light, carefree even, but Eddie can’t help but feel there is more underneath the surface. Is Slippery Steve making an appearance again?

Racking his brain though, Eddie can’t think of what Steve might be hiding. Chews his lip at the thought that Eddie may be happy to see Steve, but it could be a different matter for Steve at seeing Eddie again. Perhaps their time after Thanksgiving had been a domestic fever dream.

Steve’s back is to Eddie, the scraping sound telling him that he’s doctoring his toast. “If you’re still here at this time of the morning then I assume it’s the weekend? You up to much? Probably seeing the guys, right.”

“Nah, you’re back. I thought we’d hang out,” Eddie says, feeling wrong-footed but trying to style it out anyway. Figures if he has some more time with Steve then he’ll get to the bottom of the awkward atmosphere that is increasingly thickening between them.

“Look, Eddie…” Steve puts down the knife but doesn’t turn around, head hanging a little between the shoulders facing him. “I get that… I mean, it’s got to be a bit much, having me in your place all the time. And by no means am I trying to kick you out of your own home, because I’m grateful. I really am. But you don’t have to feel like you need to entertain me while I’m also taking over your space.”

Eddie feels like he’s been slapped in the face with a dead fish. “Steve,” he asks, frowning, “Where is this coming from?” Hadn’t they had a good time hanging out during his last visit?

Half the time they had pleasantly whiled away the hours talking about fuck all and the other half companionably coexisting, sharing thoughts on a magazine article or a line in a novel, or just watching repeats of the Brady Bunch while Eddie braided his lengthening hair and Steve whipped up dinner. It had been the best sort of easy.

“Nowhere,” Steve says shortly and Eddie fancies that he can hear the lie even if he can’t see it from his view of the back of Steve’s head.

Steve picks the knife back up, cutting the toast into triangles. “But you can’t even bring your friend around because I’ll be here; you can’t just hang out in your own place because I’m everywhere. So, I don’t want you to feel, like, obligated or anything because you’re saving my ass and letting me stay.”

Eddie cracks his knuckles, thinking. “Do you feel obligated to hang out with me since you’re stuck here?” He asks cautiously.

“What? No!” Steve spins in place, hands flying to grip his hips in clear annoyance. “You know it’s not the same. I’m the one… invading!”

“Maybe,” comes a muffled voice from the burrito on the sofa bed, “I can stay at home and the two of you can go out together today.”

Steve turns a deep ruddy red, eyes flying open and alarm glittering in their depths. He curses before turning and fleeing back into their bedroom. The peanut butter toast lies abandoned across from Eddie.

He looks over at his uncle, the dome of his bald head and the bridge of his nose showing above the covers, eyelids still hooded from sleep. “I’m happy for you that he’s back, Eds. But for Christ’s sake, have this conversation after I’ve had my coffee.” Wayne pauses, instructing Eddie before turning back onto his side, “Put the pot on and make me a coffee.”

Eddie glumly pulls out the ground beans from inside the fridge, measuring the dark granules into the paper filter of their old coffee maker. He watches the steady drip drip drip of the brew filling the glass carafe, running through that bizarre conversation in his mind. Had Eddie not been welcoming enough? Had he not made it clear how much he fucking loves having Steve around?

His eyes flicker over the cramped kitchen space to his slowly moving uncle in his bedroom slash living room. Or perhaps it’s that Steve, unquestionably from the right side of the tracks, is used to living in a house with double doors and open entryways with carefully cultivated lawns. Perhaps he’s finding it difficult to be shacked up in a trailer with little to speak for itself other than a bitching collection of decorative mugs and trucker hats.

Eddie pushes the thought deep down, reminding himself that he’d already begun questioning a lot of his assumptions about preppy King Steve of the present, let alone the genuinely good guy currently in his house.

Eventually, he trails after Steve with two mugs of reconciliation coffee in hand. He pushes open the door with his ass and spies Steve half-turned, shirt raised to his chest and trying to look at his fading injuries in the mirror. Steve had usually changed in the bathroom during his last visit, and Eddie is relieved to see the bruises healed and almost banished.

Their not-quite-a-fight seems to be forgotten as Steve says, “Hey, do you think these need to come out? They’re itching like crazy.” He stops himself from using his nails, but Steve still rubs at the sutured wounds with the meat of his palm, clearly trying to soothe the irritated skin.

Eddie carelessly places the mugs down on the bedside table, all doubts and uncertainties from the kitchen falling away in the face of Steve’s injuries. “I forgot to look it up,” he realises, angry at himself. “How could I forget when I was the one bandaging them?”

“To be fair, Eddie, I took over tending them after the third day,” Steve sensibly points out.

Eddie scowls up at Steve’s face before inspecting the deep pink flesh pushing against the black thread, “And I should have followed up.” He doesn’t know whether the colour around Steve’s wounds is normal. He doesn’t even know when stitches are supposed to come out. Eddie curses himself: he had stupidly assumed they were the dissolving kind.

He grabs the first aid book still resting on the kit and flips through it — he’ll never be able to go back to the library again. But it says nothing about sutures specifically other than to consult a medical professional in the case of significant tearing. He blows out a breath in frustration, his bangs fluttering with the force of it.

“I know we said no outsiders…”

Steve squints at him suspiciously but Eddie powers on, “…but Catherine is a nurse.”

“No,” Steve says instantly, firmly. “What if saying something to her ends up being the event that changes the future? Only you can know, Eddie.”

“Wayne already knows you’re here,” he raises gently. “He wasn’t a part of the original plan either.”

Steve’s jaw gets a stubborn cast to it, arms already folding over his chest. “Why can’t we just cut them out ourselves?”

“You say that like digging into your body with sharp objects on a random Sunday is totally reasonable and normal.”

“Better than stepping on a butterfly!

“Why are you so willing to risk your body, Steve?” Eddie whirls away in frustration, tugging at his hair. The sharp pain does little to clear the roiling emotion starting to rise in him. “I feel like every time I see you you’re hurt or need bandaging and you just shrug it off.”

“Because I have to, Eddie! Sometimes I just need to take the hit and keep moving. If I don’t people could die. The kids could get eaten. Robin could get tortured. And you’ll end up dead! I need to use the only thing I’ve got going for me and that’s my fucking body. So what if I get a little banged up?”

Eddie sucks in a shocked breath, “I die?”

“What?” Confusion runs over Steve’s face, his eyes blanking for a moment before he rapidly blinks like he’s rebooting. “No — I…” Eventually, the light comes back into his expression, and he shakes his head confidently, “No. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but you’ll be okay. But only as long as we keep to the plan. Obviously, Wayne was unavoidable since this is his home, but that’s it.” Steve's tone urges him to understand, but Eddie is unmoved.

“And Catherine is necessary too, Steve.” Eddie shakes off the momentary fear that had gripped him at the misunderstanding that he would die soon, the unwavering honesty in Steve’s voice reassuring. He gestures at his torso. “This is beyond me and a dinky little first aid kit.”

Steve’s eyes slide to the big green case in the corner of the room, “That’s not dinky, Eddie. That’s like a professional set-up.”

“Yeah, but my knowledge only runs so far. Please,” Eddie pleads, afraid that Steve is going to hurt himself further by trying to dig the stitches out himself. “I’ll get her to promise not to say anything. Catherine’s good people. If she says that she’ll keep quiet, then she will.”

Steve softens at Eddie’s distress, face twisting as if Eddie has physically wrangled the concession from him. “Okay.” His arms drop to the sides in defeat. “She has to promise first before she even hears about me.”

“I promise,” Eddie vows but he frowns, still lingering over what Steve had revealed. “If my thing wasn’t true, then…”

Steve drops heavily into the desk chair, head hanging between his shoulders and strands of falling hair not quite masking the devastation on his face. “No, the other things will happen. Have happened with the kids already. They nearly got eaten by dog versions of the demogorgons over Halloween — your last Halloween,” he clarifies.

“And Robin…” Steve draws a hand roughly over his face. “I’m here, before it’s even happened, and I’m going to let her go through all that again. Fuck.” He curses suddenly and viciously, slamming his closed fist hard against his thigh. Eddie winces and rushes forward as Steve moves to hit himself again.

Skidding to his knees in front of him, Eddie positions his elbows on Steve’s legs so he can’t continue to hurt himself and moves his hands up to cradle Steve’s doleful face. He squeezes his eyes shut as if to deny himself from taking any comfort that Eddie would offer.

“Hey, we talked about this. You said it: the big bad is pretty big and fucking bad, and you need to win or it’s end of the world time.” Eddie thinks rapidly and takes a guess with a silent prayer. “What would Robin say if she were here? What would she tell you to do?”

Steve's eyes crack open, a wet snort making its way out of his mouth. “Something like don’t be a dingus and do what’s right. I’ll see you on the bathroom floor.” His nose is red from keeping back the tears shimmering in his gaze and his warm hazel eyes are so, so sad.

“Right,” Eddie says in relief, thankful that his gamble had paid off. “She’s definitely terrifying then.”

“She can be very logical at times,” Steve admits.

They both smile, tentative, delicate things. Eddie strokes his thumb against the silk of Steve’s cheek, not knowing whether it’s better or worse that they’re dry under his touch. Steve’s eyes flicker between his own before his gaze runs more fully over Eddie’s face, pausing for a weighted moment on his mouth. Time freezes and Eddie thinks for a breathless second that Steve is going to kiss him. He can feel the warm wash of his breath over suddenly tingling lips.

But he doesn’t. Instead, Steve closes his eyes and drops the side of his head more fully into Eddie’s right palm, almost nuzzling it in comfort. It makes Eddie’s stomach flutter, watching Steve — so unwilling to seek help for the most part but leaning on Eddie for support in this moment. Putting aside all of his stoicism and bravery to find sanctuary literally in Eddie’s hands.

Eddie can’t help himself and he slowly stretches forward, giving Steve time to back away, and places a gentle kiss against his forehead. Pressing a promise against his skin that Eddie will always be the safe place for Steve to land, the person he can be soft and vulnerable with and take from whatever strength he needs. He hears Steve draw in a ragged breath like he can hear the vow as clearly as a spoken declaration voiced into the quiet air between them.

Holding Steve like a heart in his hand, Eddie nearly brushes another kiss against him, just a simple comfort but pressed to the bridge of his nose this time, over those two little creases that appear more often than Eddie likes.

But he takes his self-control in a stranglehold and pulls away because he knows that once he starts then he won’t want to stop. And Eddie will follow those innocent kisses with an experimental press against Steve’s lips. But Steve doesn’t deserve that: for Eddie to push his desires on him in a moment of openness and trust.

He clears his throat, drawing back to meet Steve’s uncertain gaze. Unable to abstain from offering a last bit of comfort he strokes his thumbs against him once more before bringing his hands down and resting back on his heels.

“You’re doing the best you can in a situation you have very little control over,” Eddie reassures Steve. “Just. Let me help where I can, okay? And that means trusting me to look after you too.”

The lines of Steve’s face eases, those two creases vanishing for the moment, and he smiles, albeit it’s a little wobbly. “That sounds nice actually.”

“Okay,” Eddie says decisively, deliberately brightening his tone, “You wait here. I’m going to go ask Nurse Catherine if she’s willing to see a patient on the down low. It’s Forrest Hills, it can’t be the first time.”

“If she’s anything like your uncle, maybe take her a please-let-me-bug-you-on-a-Sunday-morning mug of coffee.”

Eddie’s grin is lightning fast, “Good idea.”

As it turns out, it’s not the first time and Catherine has a fairly placid reaction to Eddie turning up on her doorstep on a weekend morning asking for secret medical assistance. “You’re lucky my rotation changed recently, or I would have left you a surprise in your van for waking me after a night shift,” she acerbically observes. Her auburn hair is fluffy around her round face and, despite being a head shorter than Eddie, he feels like she is looking down at him from a looming height.

He shuffles his feet as she retreats into her home, reappearing with her own kit in hand and following him back to his trailer. “And why can’t I mention your friend elsewhere?”

Eddie eyes her nervously as he opens the screen door but she only sighs, “I promised that I wouldn’t say anything. All I’m saying is that you better not be getting me involved in anything too illegal.”

Eddie smiles broadly, infusing as much charm into his movements and voice as he can, gesturing for her to enter before him. “Scouts honour, no illegal happenings in this humble abode and we very much appreciate your help.”

She lets out a robust snort before striding ahead of him, still regal as a queen. As they walk in, Eddie realises he hadn’t thought to warn his uncle about the possibility of a visit from Catherine. Otherwise, he probably would have changed out of his pyjamas, a novelty pair that Eddie had gifted him in a tasteful grey cotton with Bugs Bunny chewing on a carrot replicated across the material from shoulders to ankle.

Seeing them, Wayne startles upward and nearly knocks over his second mug of coffee.

“Catherine, what are you doing here?”

Catherine smiles like the cat that caught the canary, eyes trailing over Wayne. “Good morning, Wayne, nice jammies.”

Eddie is delighted to watch his uncle turn a deep crimson, but it’s as he stumbles over how to respond to her unexpected appearance that Eddie takes pity on him. Feeling bad for springing Catherine on him when he hadn’t been expecting it.

He steps in between the charged atmosphere between the two older adults and explains to Wayne, “Steve had some stitches put in a couple of weeks ago, but they weren’t dissolvable like we expected. Catherine’s agreed to do us a solid and help take them out.”

Catherine drags her bright eyes away to contemplate Eddie for a moment before turning back to Wayne with a more serious mien, “Eddie wants me to keep this a secret, is there anything I should be wary of, Wayne?”

Wayne has his blushing under control by this point and shakes his head, “No. Eddie’s Steve is a good boy, he just needs an extra hand at the moment.” It’s Eddie’s turn to blush at Eddie’s Steve, suddenly deciding that he doesn’t want to know what Wayne thinks of their bed-sharing arrangement after all.

“Okay, your word is enough,” Catherine says simply. “Eddie, do you want to show me the patient?”

“Ah, that’s me,” Steve says, standing in the bedroom doorway, his hand running through his hair. “Thank you for this, Eddie and Wayne have a lot of good things to say about you and I appreciate the help.”

“Right,” Catherine says brusquely, though Eddie wonders if that light dusting of pink over her cheeks is at the idea of Wayne talking about her. “Eddie said you have lacerations on both sides? Wayne, move over and let the boy take a seat. I won’t be crouching down while he slouches on the couch.”

Wayne hurriedly moves with a mutter that sounds like I’ll just get cleaned up then. He disappears like a gust of smoke while Steve takes his stool, shamelessly pulling off his shirt in an easy movement that leaves Eddie wondering whether it’s based on the familiarity of a jock regularly disrobing in the lockers or simply from the confidence that comes from looking that good. Despite the slashes of black and the still red pockmarks, his shoulders are broad, arms firmly muscled, and the thick pelt of his chest hair makes Eddie want to bite something. Preferably Steve.

He clears his throat and Eddie looks up to see a smirk spreading across his handsome face, “Does it look that bad?”

“Stevie, you’ve never looked better,” Eddie says honestly. He moves past them to get a drink, mouth suddenly dry. “Catherine, you want a coffee or water while I’m here.”

“No, hon,” she says, bending over to inspect Steve. “You’ve had them in for about three to four weeks?”

“You can tell, huh,” Steve observes wryly.

She hums, “They’re irritated but not infected, and past due to be taken out. It shouldn’t be a problem, but it may hurt a little more than usual; the skin has probably healed onto the sutures more than we’d like.”

“Will that need extra care?” Eddie asks, sipping his water.

Steve smiles slyly, “Show her your first-aid bag, Eddie.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially to Catherine, “It’s a big one.”

Catherine snorts and eyes Steve with renewed interest while Eddie flushes red and flees to his bedroom. Maybe he will show Catherine, respected nurse of Forrest Hills, the preciously built kit that he had put together for ungrateful, injury-prone boys. He walks back into the living room in time to hear Catherine let loose a peal of laughter, Steve’s chuckles following softly behind.

They look over at him, framed in the hallway and holding the bright green bag with its white cross and burst into laughter again. Eddie frowns, “Why do I have the feeling the joke’s on me?”

Catherine snorts, gloved hands efficiently snipping at the thread and tugging them out with her hooked scissors. Steve’s amusement is cut short by an involuntary flex of his stomach and a quiet hiss.

“No, not really. Steve here was just telling me about how you looked after him. And I never realised how much you take after your uncle: he has a caring streak a mile wide too.” Eddie sees that Wayne has settled himself in the armchair in the far corner of the living area, but the newspaper in front of his face isn’t high enough to hide the pleased smile that spreads at the corner of his mouth.

“It sounds like you did a good job, though,” Catherine continues. “Open up your kit, show me what you used and how you went about it.”

Steve’s eyes are squinted a little in pain so Eddie hams it up, telling the heroic story of a medic faced with a wily young soldier dodging and twisting away until Eddie had tied him to a chair and applied his nefarious tools of healing.

“Oh, Eddie, I don’t need to know that much about your private life,” Catherine hums, sending a wink Wayne’s way.

Eddie’s gaze flies to Steve’s, daring to look for his reaction to the suggestion of the two of them engaging in bondage. Rather than the humour that he expects, Steve is staring at Eddie with an intense, burning gaze that starts to draw a similar heat under his own skin. Eddie’s vision becomes tunnelled and, like being drawn to the fire flickering above a candle, he can’t look away from the dark desire curling through Steve’s eyes.

That is until Catherine tugs particularly hard on one stubborn stitch, causing Steve to wince and flinch away. They both look down to see him sluggishly bleeding in some of the areas from the now-removed silk threads. Catherine notes the sudden concern on Eddie’s face, “That looks worse than it is; he’ll be fine once we clean him up.”

She disinfects the area and Eddie can see that the bleeding has already stopped. While she smooths fresh dressings over Steve’s closed wounds, Eddie takes the moment to pack his bag and cool himself down from that odd moment with Steve.

“You did exactly what you should have,” Catherine tells Eddie, “And I’m impressed you remembered the gloves. Though wash your hands before you go touching everything next time and your equipment too. You ever thought about getting into nursing yourself?”

Eddie is a little flummoxed at the idea and says the only thing that’s ever occurred to him in relation to an actual career. “Uh, never. Not sure what I’m going to do in the future, really. Hoping rock star will pan out.”

Catherine straightens, piling the waste from her materials into a small disposable bag. She shoots him a stern look over it. “There’s nothing wrong with dreams, but it’s good to have a sensible back-up.” He sees Wayne nod to himself in the background, the traitor. “How about I lend you some of my old textbooks? You can look up suturing since you have some experience in it now. If you find it interesting, maybe think about giving nursing a shot. Lord knows we could always use more people that care.” She pulls her white plastic gloves off with a snap.

Eddie feels a flattered warmth spread through his chest; no one had ever looked at metalhead, drug-dealing Eddie Munson and said that they thought he’d be good at a profession. Even Wayne—who loves him deeply—has been doubtful about how Eddie can transfer his love for his hobbies and other passions into real-world currency.

A little tendril of hope tugs his mouth into a shy smile, “Yeah, that’d be cool. Thanks.”

Catherine stays for a mug of coffee and Eddie is surprised to watch as Steve joins her on the couch. Along with Wayne, the three of them chat about the everyday goings-on at the hospital and plant.

He snorts when Steve cattily observes that Wayne’s workplace kitchen nemesis is probably going to remain single with a dozen cats if he’s that slovenly at home. Catherine snickers and proceeds to share the atrocious habits of her own coworkers, shattering Eddie’s faith in the purity of those in the medical profession.

Content to be in the middle of some of his most favourite people as they chatter and laugh, Eddie settles cross-legged on the floor. He doesn’t know why it surprised him, to see Steve so social. The guy was formerly the leader of not just one but two sports teams: a role ostensibly requiring a certain amount of people skills.

Steve likes it too, he can see. The easy back and forth of conversation lighting his features. Eddie thinks he could freeze the picture of Steve tipping his head back in laughter and keep it forever, stored in a secret pocket over his heart; a precious image to turn to for when Steve leaves once again.

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[saturnville]

bad study habits.

pairing: will smith (bel-air, 2022) x black!fem!oc. summary: will invites his project partner (and girlfriend) over for a study date, which turns out more sensual than anticipated. warning: 18+ sensuality. reference: bel-air (2022). note: binge watched bel-air season 2 today and felt like writing. don't mind me.

Bel-Air Academy proved to be over the top each day of his attendance. Nothing seemed to top the luxurious enemies, great cafeteria food, and beautiful women, save for the ridiculous assignments given by the teachers of the institution. A six-page research paper with an accommodating tri-fold presentation seemed outlandish if his opinion was considered. And for his least favorite subject? Debauchery.

History was never his subject. Terrible was too harsh of a word to describe his skill set, however, disinterested seemed to be a more accurate portrayal. And the history of the United States was the farthest thing from his mind, especially with the woman in front of him.

Will typically had wonderful self-control; impressive for a young man his age. It went out the window any time she was in his presence. Tia. Her rich complexion and wide-tooth smile. Hair that swung in her face each time she lowered her head to focus on words her pencil scribbled upon a page. And the little huffs of frustration and moans of discomfort. Spiral.

“How are the dates coming, Will?” Her eyes met his. They were dark and tantalizing. By the teasing tone of her voice and the quip of her eyebrow, he knew she caught him lacking.

"Great," he said quickly with a small smile. "Just great." She hummed, unamused. His flashcards were blank and the lead of his pencil had yet to kiss the paper. She giggled.

"Bored?" she asked. Will nodded, "Very."

Tia sighed softly and pushed her notebook off her lap. A different approach would have to do. She bent over to place it on the table in front of the couch and sat up straight. She tucked her feet under her knees and placed her hands in her lap. "Active recall it is."

Will raised an eyebrow, "Active recall?" He leaned forward in anticipation. "I thought that was flashcards and stuff."

"You can do it verbally, too. Makes it a little less boring. I'll give you dates, and you tell me what occurred. Cool?" Will nodded. "Okay. 1788."

His eyes went wide. Tia tossed her head back with a hearty laugh. "Okay, I'll give you a hint. 3 people. Jay, Madison, Hamilton."

"...the Federalist Papers? Where they went on those long ass rants?"A smile graced his lips when Tia nodded. "You should slide a kiss my way as a reward." She raised an eyebrow. He raised one back. She tried to fight the smile on her lips but failed miserably, so, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. It proved to be unsatisfactory when he pulled her into his lap to replace the pillow that'd been there.

"Focus," she said sternly, shifting in his lap. He ignored the sudden pressure building up within him and nodded. His hands fell on her thighs. Tia cocked her head to the right, and his eyes fell on her elongated neck. Smooth and soft. Wrapped with two gold chains. Nefertiti and the letter W.

"I'm focused," Will reassured. Her hands dropped to his chest. His eyes followed. "Real focused."

"Document signed on July 4, 1776."

"The Declaration of Independence." Tia hummed in approval. "I'd kick yo ass if you didn't know that." Will rolled his eyes. His history buff of a girlfriend, "I'm already knowin'. Aye--where's my kiss?"

Tia twisted her lips, "You think imma kiss you every time you get an answer right?" Will shrugged his shoulders and pulled her body against his. "You don't have much of a choice, shorty." His lips were against hers in quick haste, which pulled a soft sigh from her.

"You know what." His lips broke away from hers and began to travel down her neck. "You tell me somethin' I don't know. How many people have to agree on an amendment to ratify the Constitution?" His large hands traveled up her thighs and around her waist. His fingertips toyed at the beads that poked out the top of her pants and tugged softly. Downward, his hands crept along the swell of her bottom. He squeezed. She moaned.

Tia's hand rested on the back of Will's neck, pushing him closer toward the sensitive skin at the base of her collarbone. "9 out of 13 states. T-two thirds m-must agree--Will."

"One more--when you gon' let me take you to bed?" The ghosting of his lips against the shell of her ear was all she needed.

"Now."

Right where he wanted her.

[heliads]

Where I Can't Follow

Lewis Hamilton isn't sure that he wants to retire yet, but when the rest of the world seems so sure of the opposite, it's hard not to feel his confidence shrink. In times of stress, then, is it really such a surprise that he would go to Seb for help?

masterlist

Lewis Hamilton has been thinking. About a lot, actually, but mostly about expectations. Everyone in this strange alternate shade of reality known affectionately as Formula One have started to shift their expectations for him. It started when he didn’t win a single race in all of 2022. It started when his car suddenly wasn’t crushing everyone else by leagues.

There has been an undercurrent of whispers in the paddock about whether or not Lewis will continue his contract with Mercedes at the end of the 2023 season. It was never in doubt before, or not as much in doubt as this. If there were whispers before, Lewis always made sure no one’s doubt was strong enough to influence him.

This is different, though. Lewis can feel his age in a way he never has before. He thought that time could only ever bring him maturity, knowledge, maybe even that humility people used to encourage him to develop– but he props it up with every step now. Aching bones, twisted back. He is not as young as he once was, and that is both for the best and for the worst.

Fernando was about 37 when he retired for the first time. He returned, of course, but he took a break anyway. Michael Schumacher was 37 too, also had a comeback. Sebastian– Sebastian is 35 and gone somewhere Lewis can’t seem to find him. Lewis would like to see him here again, but useless hopes don’t bring back friends or rivals or the strange sort of both that happened to him and Seb.

So where does that leave Lewis, then? On the outskirts of infirmity? This whole thing is sort of ridiculous– Lewis is 38 now, far from decrepit and elderly, yet everyone’s treating him like he’ll break a bone if he’s pushed down the stairs. Maybe that was why Fernando came back, both boredom and also the hesitance to make it seem like his best years were already behind him.

Lewis supposes he could go and talk to Fernando about the retirement dilemma, but that feels like giving up, in some weird way, so he keeps his mouth shut. There is, of course, the one person that Lewis would really like to speak with, but Sebastian is quite far away from him at the moment.

Sebastian. Of course Lewis is lying awake at night and thinking of Sebastian of all the rivals he’s had over the years. Lewis has had the pleasure and curse of meeting many a young upstart with something to prove, but for some reason Seb is the only one who’s ever stuck around in Lewis’ head long enough to make an impression.

The preference goes both ways, actually. Lewis is the only driver on the grid with Sebastian’s personal phone number, he’s the only one who can show up unannounced and expect Seb to both be there and happy to see him.

The thought of visiting Sebastian out of the blue does something strange to Lewis when it’s actually a possibility. It makes him think of one time last year when Lewis had actually taken Seb up on his offer of an open welcome instead of brushing him off.

It wasn’t as idyllic a trip as Lewis’ nostalgia for the past will let him believe. Lewis had offhandedly mentioned that he was travelling away from his place in Monaco for a bit and Sebastian had offered for him to drop by if he was in the neighbourhood. Lewis wasn’t remotely close, but something in Sebastian’s tone made him switch around a flight or two and then there they were, out on Seb’s back porch like they’d known each other from their cradles to the present day.

Sometimes, Lewis wants them to have been friends for longer, even beyond the tumultuous string tying them together before they got over themselves and started liking each other properly. Lewis lingers over photos of a teenaged Seb taped up on the refrigerator and wonders how he forgot how sharp that grin used to be, too many teeth showing for one smile and all that. The expression has softened on Sebastian now, it fits better in between the skin of his cheeks, but Lewis misses the infuriating adolescent Seb had been anyway.

They’ve known each other for decades now, but Lewis wants more. He cannot help it, the wanting is in his blood:  the need to win a race, the urge to keep his career moving forward, and now, the most recent want of all, this all-consuming desire to keep Seb with him for as long as Lewis can physically manage it. 

Comparing the Polaroid with the genuine article just down the hall, Lewis feels an unruly monologue crash through his head, heavy with wanting and twice as burdensome on his heart. There's a kid that you're supposed to know, I think. He was supposed to have been me. We were meant to grow up together, but if you ended up being born several countries out of reach, that can't be held against you. All the same, I’m certain that it was supposed to work out better than it did.

Then again, maybe it was for the best that Lewis had not known Sebastian as a child. Look what he did to Nico, after all; look how he fucks up the best parts of his life. Still, Lewis gets the feeling that it might have been different had Seb been the snarky boy by his side instead of the junior Rosberg. Did they not survive their rivalry? Did they not survive it all?

Sebastian comes to get him soon enough, chastising Lewis for getting caught up in someone else’s photos (if you want to stalk me, Lewis, there are enough pictures out there on the Internet already, at least have some style) and gesturing for Lewis to join him out back. Lewis watches the sun progress through the sky, and just when his guard is finally lowered, Sebastian slips a knife in between his ribs.

When Lewis first hears Sebastian form the words, he thinks it must be the start of some awful joke. I think I’m going to retire at the end of this season. He almost starts to laugh. See, this is the sort of thing Seb would have done, eyes sparking with malicious humor from underneath a Ferrari cap, maybe even a Red Bull. Lewis would have rolled his eyes and told Sebastian to stop trying to scare him like that. Maybe he would have even threatened to tell the tabloids so Sebastian would have to keep talking about it in press conferences until the beaten horse had long since died.

But they are not young men anymore, and Sebastian is no longer grinning down at him from the top step of a podium, and so Lewis knows with a glum certainty that he is not joking. The truth of it sits lodged at the base of his stomach, heavy and cold and terrible.

Seb looks over at him. “Say something.”

Lewis can’t. Sebastian sighs, and for a brief, fleeting moment, Lewis can imagine exactly how the other man must see him:  stubborn, morose, an old sap unable to accept the terms of his own world grinding on without him. For once, Sebastian would be in agreement with the media, and that breaks Lewis’ heart more than he expected.

And then Seb’s face splits in a self-satisfied smirk, so goddamn Seb-like that Lewis’ throat closes up, and he tells Lewis that he’s glad of it. “That just means that you’re not sick of me yet,” Sebastian says, a touch of self-deprecating humor lancing through the words just sharp enough to startle, “and that’s good news to me, I suppose.”

Lewis had tried to argue this, meant to ask Sebastian to name one instance Lewis had been sick of him (except perhaps Baku, although they are both satisfied with that result by now) but Sebastian had interrupted him, encouraged Lewis to finish his drink before the ice melted, and so he did. After that it was easier. The necessary words did not have to be spoken to be understood.

Lewis had wondered for weeks afterwards if he should have said something after all. If Lewis had known the right thing to tell Sebastian, would it have stopped him from retiring? The rest of the visit had been more than good, but at the end, it had been an excuse for Sebastian to tell him that truth, and they both knew it. Sebastian had still left. Sure, it would have been worse to find out from that depressing Instagram post like everyone else, but Lewis feels no better off with his knowledge. It just meant he had to sit with that sadness for longer. 

Lewis had not understood why Sebastian would want to leave their ring of exactly 20 glorified car jocks for a quiet afterlife, not even after last year, but he thinks he’s starting to get it now. The urge to tear down his legacy like ripping up construction paper keeps flickering through Lewis’ head. They want him gone, don’t they? They have since the start. He might as well give them a show while he’s at it, it’s what they’ve always wanted.

Maybe that’s why he finds himself reaching out to Sebastian again. Seb gave him a warning when he left, Lewis found it right to do the same. Some part of him mainly just wants someone to shake him around the shoulders and tell him to get his head in order. Seb could do that too. Sebastian can do a great many things. The hold he has on Lewis is astonishing. That would explain why Lewis spent so much time last season talking about how Sebastian would most certainly come back. He could not find it within himself to accept the loss otherwise.

I am going to destroy myself, Lewis decides in the middle of the night to an imaginary Sebastian, I am going to destroy myself and all I have created, and I want you there to see my castle burn. You do not have to put the fire out. I just want you to know that it was me who did it and not anyone else. 

The warning would be right, after all. If Sebastian suspected foul play, he would never let it go, and if this retirement is truly what he wants, who is Lewis to take that from him just because he needs an ally? Of course Seb would release a statement or ten if it seemed like Lewis was under fire. He is good like that, good in a way that makes Lewis want to never let him go.

Lewis types out one text message, makes it as inconspicuous as he possibly can. Sebastian responds within the hour, a screenshot of an upcoming flight to Lewis’ location. Lewis wonders if Seb can see through him as plainly as he did with Seb last season.

And then Lewis is opening up the door to his place and Sebastian is grinning at him, making fun of his wallpaper or something gloriously simple like that, and it is like no time has passed at all. Something relaxes in Lewis’ chest, a muscle he hadn’t realized he was contracting. It’s okay. Sebastian still wants him. This. All of it. Even without the forced proximity of the track.

He pours drinks, and they idly talk about small news and whatnot before Lewis poses the question that’s been burning on his tongue, well, for months.

“How did you know, man?” Lewis asks, “How did you know it was time to leave?”

Sebastian tilts his head back, blows out a low breath. “That’s a tricky question. Why?”

Lewis studies the glass in his hand very carefully. “Just. You know. You wonder sometimes.”

Lewis can practically sense Sebastian sitting straighter, the suspicion growing. “You only wonder if you’re thinking about going. I thought you weren’t interested in that.”

Sebastian is wonderful at fighting the world. He'd spit in anyone's eye so long as it was right, and doubly so if it was wrong, too. Lewis doesn't want someone to defend his honor, though. He just wants someone to listen.

That might have been harder at the start, back when they were just a few years past the end of boyhood, but they are older now, more prone to contemplation. Sebastian kicks up his feet on a nearby ottoman (he had the grace to take his shoes off at the door, Seb has learned by now how Lewis gets about stuff like that) and he listens to Lewis’ injustices turn from a well-organized and repeated mantra to rambling complaints.

At last, when Lewis pulls quiet back over himself like a favorite piece of clothing, Sebastian purses his lips thoughtfully and carries on. “Are you going to leave, then?”

Lewis blinks in surprise. He hadn’t thought that Seb would even name that as an option, Lewis had always been so adamant about staying until his eighth world championship win at least. He supposes he had been hinting at it all this time, and of course it is what everyone else is wondering, so it shouldn’t be much of a surprise that Sebastian wants to know, too.

“I don’t know, really,” he says at last, “I think I want to keep going, but that depends on who’ll have me. Contracts, you know.”

Sebastian, of all people, knows how contracts can go. Lewis still tastes a smattering of anger on his tongue whenever he passes Mattia Binotto in the paddock. Seb taps his finger against his glass like he’s summoning a dinner party to a toast, then sets the vessel down on one of Lewis’ nearby coasters. Recycled wood. He tries when he can.

“Don’t retire,” Sebastian says, “Not quite yet. It won’t be the right time.”

Lewis wants to ask if it was the right time for Sebastian, but he doesn’t know that either of them would be able to come up with an adequate answer.

Instead, he sighs, turns his head towards Seb again. “Do you miss it?”

It’s a ridiculous question, and were it asked by anyone except Lewis at this moment in this place, Sebastian would probably despise him for it. Seb knows Lewis enough to recognize the lack of condescending tone laced within the question, though, so he smiles and gives him a good answer this time.

“Parts. Some of it I’m glad to leave. Others were harder.” Sebastian pauses, then admits it, what they’ve both been wanting to hear. “I missed you most of all.”

An impatient part of Lewis makes itself heard before he can stop himself. “I’m here now, though.”

“I know,” Sebastian says softly, “I know.”

Lewis knows it too. That will make it okay when he has to leave, when they will both be pulled to their respective corners of the earth once more. At some point, he will be able to come back, and they will be the same as always. Nothing has changed. That heals Lewis more than he thought possible.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

[writandwit]

^_^

[pickingupmymercedes]

Get me out of here - Lewis Hamilton

Part 2 - Let's get out of here

Request: "I enjoy reading your posts so much, I wanted to maybe request? I love angst, maybe a Lewis one shot where the reader gets in the cross fire in the media kind of like Kate Middleton but with the Ferrari news?" - anon

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: Angst, Lewis to Ferrari, Toto being an ass.

wordcount: +1k

a/n: Hi anon, thank you for the request and the support, it means the world! I loved writing that, but then again I love me some angsty, hope you like it ❤️.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

“You bastard, how could you?”

You entered the farm style house in the English countryside seeing red. Newspaper on hand and phone on the other, blazing through the formal reception rooms until you found Toto and Lewis talking in the sunroom at the back.

“Woah there, what’s that language?”

“I thought I could trust you Toto” Your voice coming out stronger and louder than even you expected, facing him to see it in his eyes he knew exactly what all this was about. You couldn’t help but whisper, almost to yourself “Gosh, I really did.”

“What’s going on? Why are you shouting?” Lewis interjected as he got up and headed towards you, his arms reaching for your waist to try and calm you down

“Ask him! I’m not the one who gave the damn interview.”

“I didn’t say it like that, you know how they twist our words” The Austrian reasoned as you paced in the room

“Enough you two. What the hell is going on?” Susie emerged from the adjoining room, still in her workout clothes, towel in hand.

You threw the paper on the desk in front of them, eyeing Toto as Lewis read the headline “Source of Ferrari’s leak: Toto’s former right-hand and Lewis’ girl”

“You thought I wouldn’t see it? That I wouldn’t know that you told the press I leaked about Ferrari ?!” Exasperation written in your eyes as you tried to understand why would Toto sell you out like that.

“C’mom, it’ll blow over. By Barhein no one will even remember” His german accent echoed through the room as he tried to impose himself

“You tried to throw me under the bus for someone you’re clearly trying to cover for, that’s the issue here”

“Who sold the story to the press, Toto?” This time it was Lewis’ voice that cut the air, his tone stern and demanding.

“Does it even matter? He clearly has more respect for whoever it was than he does for me.” Your voice full of disdain throwing Toto off as he looked at you with surprise in his eyes at the tone you were using.

“Don’t be like that.” Susie pleaded from the corner, still as confused as Lewis to the events unfolding.

“Why?! Does it hurt him? I can guarantee it doesn’t hurt as much as it did when I read that stupid interview” Your voice coming out in sharp pufs as you tried to hold back the tears that fought hard to fall.

“Toto, who told the press?” Lewis pressed him once again and you were about to blow out at him when you heard the Austrian confessing “I told them.”

Your head starting spinning and all you could do was march back to the car in the driveway, not really listening to anything they were trying to get through to you. You started the car while Lewis tried to talk you out of driving, his pleading shouts heard through the glazed windows.

Your sobs came out all at once when Lewis managed to get into the passenger seat and hold your trembling hands down, getting them away from the steering wheel and into his chest for you to feel his heartbeat, your frantic eyes finally finding his soothing ones.

“Get me out of here, please” was all you could whisper mid sobs, sliding to the other seat when Lewis jumped out to get to the other side, your peripheral vision catching a glimpse of the commotion in the doorsteps of the house, with Toto exasperatedly motion to a now infuriating Susie and a few other people.

It felt like hours before Lewis pulled over, a small countryside village in the distance and a herd of sheep around. One of his hands gripped the leather of the seat, his free hand smoothing your arm and his stare focused on the road ahead.

“He did it to protect the brand. They’re gonna have a whole year to bring George forward, to switch things around…”

“Why are you defending him?” You cut him mid-sentence; your voice toneless although your eyes showed your emotions were all over the place.

“Because we need to think this through, babe. Toto’s not one of us anymore, you saw it.” He turned to you, clutching your hand into his, breathing in before continuing.

“We can’t expect anything from him anymore, least of all you.” His stare pierced yours and you knew what he meant.

You and Toto had known each other for as long as Lewis had. You had made your way up from being just an intern all the way to actually being poached by AMG and then Daimler, the whole path closely followed by Toto’s advices, and even in the years you lived in Germany the F1 GPs were always a familiar home you got to come back to, because of Lewis and Toto.

“Why did he say it was me though?” You questioned after getting out of the car and sitting by a rock fence, your voice small, much like how you felt while you leaned into Lewis’ embrace.

“To get back at me, maybe?! I really don’t know.” He breathed out after a while, leaving a kiss on your head before looking out at the fields in front of you two. It was a typical English day, cold and humid but at least the sun tried to fight its way through the clouds.

“I’m sorry he made you feel like you had to leave” you looked up at him as you brought up the subject, it was still a sore one for him.

“I always thought I’d finish my career there” He didn’t look at you as he mumbled his response, his gaze lost to the horizon

“It’s going to be a long year, isn’t it?!” You thought out loud after a while of silence and just feeling each other’s breathing.

“Yeah… and I need you there, by my side, head held high” This time he turned to look at you, loving doe stare embracing you in his warmth, no idea what the future holds but sure he will be there.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[roseamongroses]

The Princess & I : THREE

Shuri/Riri Williams | Original Characters, Namor of Talokan, Daija Hamilton, Xavier King, Sharon Williams, Bruce Banner [Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses][Period Typical Attitudes][Magic] [Groundskeeper!Riri] [Prequel][Fluff][Brief Sexual Content] [princess and pauper nonsense]

ao3

[1] [2]

Summary:

At night, there was no difference between them.

Only love.

-

“Oh?”

Riri stopped in her tracks at the voice, recognizing it without fail.

“Isn’t this a sight for sore eyes?” The older woman mused, eyes crinkling as she smiled down at the young lady. Strong arms carried platters of silver trays stacked up to her chin with ease. She had an even stronger presence, which briefly drew the attention of the remaining maids in the hall—quieting the clucking of gossip at once.

Mrs. Hamilton—the Head Maid.

Sheepish, Riri tucked her twists behind her ear without thinking. An old habit from her youth to avoid getting scolded for her hair being in her face. Before she was a Groundskeeper, she was suppose to be a maid. She spent so much time hanging about her Step-Father, Mom thought she’d benefit from taking a job in the household as well.

Mrs. Hamilton oversaw her training. A wretched fate for such a competent woman.

Once Riri was transferred, she decided to spare her the embarrassment and avoid the woman at all cost.

“You don’t have to hide,” Mrs. Hamilton arched an eyebrow, tone scolding, “No one would mind if you ate with the rest of the staff.”

Riri continued to study the tiled floor, discomfort rising at the attention, “I’d rather rest ma’am,” she mumbled, “And I’m afraid I hardly have any appropriate attire.”

Mrs. Hamilton sighed, “All the lads eat covered in mud-and-all,” she notes, with a hint of displeasure, “But…someone could always lend you something,” she suggested, causing the young lady to look up, startled. She met Riri's questioning look with an easy grin, “You don’t need to hide, even if your profession is indecent. I quite miss seeing your scrawny hide in the light of day,” she inclined her head, “Daija misses you as well. Please indulge us with your presence on occasion.”

Mrs. Hamilton--The Head Maid.

An old, family friend.

Daija, her daughter, was a former maid at the estate who trained alongside her for a brief time. She had married a couple years ago and moved further into town to assist her husband with the family business. Riri knew from her Mom and her sister, Sharon, that Daija often asked about her, but she…

It was all too easy to dismiss such inquiries as politeness. Everyone knew what her family had witnessed before the riots erupted. It made people kinder, made their words soft and quiet when she drew near.

Riri survived, but at what cost?

She was only a reminder of what had been lost. Of the violence that could be deployed by the wave of a hand that will never feel its sting.

Riri lives and continues to live, but it was small moments like these that reminded her of how much truly changed after that day. She wonders when she started seeing such simple kindness as pity. When did she start thinking that the warmth of the sun and the pleasantries of the people who walk under it as something to shy away from?

“I’ll think about it,” Riri said, clutching her hands close to her chest.

Mrs. Hamilton nodded curtly, satisfied.

She stepped aside, letting the young lady quietly retreat to the servant quarters.

-

“You know a great deal about stars,” Shuri mused, face resting in the palm of her hand as she leaned on top of the stone gate.

Though she had met with the Groundskeeper to discuss the prediction of a meteor shower in a few years, her attention was fixed elsewhere. It was lost somewhere between the curve of Riri’s lips and the pink of her tongue as she rattled on about whatever came to mind. Despite being socially averse, Riri never failed to find something of interest to converse about. It only made Shuri all that more desperate to seek her out, to listen, to know her every fleeting thought.

Riri flicked to the next page of Shuri’s book. She was perched on top of the stone gate, balanced carefully as she read, “Not as much as you, I presume,” she comments, unaware of the intensity of the Princess’s attention as she examined the pages.

It was a well loved book.

Pages were frayed, with ink notes scrawled in the margins in multiple languages. She couldn’t help but linger on them, undeniably attracted to each slope and curve of the handwriting. If she was honest, she was also envious. She wanted to decipher the pages in its entirety. To have everything laid bare before her to understand. It was a childish craving, a feeling that always arose when she spent time with Shuri.

Shuri has traveled so far, spoken so many languages, met people she couldn’t even fathom meeting. Riri had realized how…small her life was in comparison. Yes, she was envious of the privilege such a life offered, but more-so of those who will be able to live such a life beside Shuri.

“Given a chance, I’m certain you’d outpace my own knowledge easily,” Shuri replied, with little hesitation or humor in her words.

Riri paused at that, chest fluttering-- a sensation she wished to hold tightly before it embarrassed her further. Shuri always made those assumptions, as if her potential was as obvious as the phase of the moon or the rising of the tide.

Riri turned another page abruptly, “What makes you think that,” she said, a bitterness in her tone, “My proficiency at weeding or my affinity to being covered in mud?”

“A feeling,” Shuri said, simply.

“A feeling?” Riri looked up, startled, “You make such bold statements based on feelings? Aren’t you a scientist?”

Shuri nodded, gathering her skirts and raising herself up to sit beside the Groundskeeper, “Sometimes,” she started, a twinkle in her eyes, “The greatest theories start off as feelings," she said, smoothing her skirts, “As learned individuals, we are not divorced from our lived experiences. It is better to acknowledge our innate biases when confronting life’s greater questions, then pretend to be unaffected.”

“How wise,” Riri’s mouth curled, “Still, you cannot have a theory without reason, your Royal Highness,” she teased, “What proves me worthy of being compared to you?”

“You know…” Shuri gave her a side-long glance, feet swinging as she spoke,“When I first arrived at the estate, I saw the strangest contraption in my room,” she mused, “Most lights here rely on the servants to manually adjust them throughout the day, but mine adjusted itself according to the light from my window.”

“Oh isn’t that interesting,” Riri commented with a small frown, she flipped another page, “The God's blessings have no bounds.”

“This wasn’t the work of any God I know,” Shuri said, skeptical, “In fact, I asked around and found out it was an experiment of one of the Groundskeepers. An idea they had heard about and wanted to try themselves.”

“Ah, so they’re a thief,” Riri observed, “Stealing the ideas of men and shamelessly replicating them.”

“It takes quite a mind to steal ideas so easily,” Shuri retorted, “For some, learning without guidance is the greatest difficulty of all.”

Riri closed her eyes briefly, a strange feeling settling over her--far stronger than a flutter of the heart or the turning of her stomach.

“...You don’t think such experiments are silly?” Riri asked quietly, shoulders hunched, “It isn’t as if anything will come of them.”

“I think…that the staff appreciate your efforts,” Shuri says, words washing over her softly, “From what I’ve heard, your experiments have brought ease into their lives. It may not be groundbreaking research, but I doubt any of them would think of you as silly. They think of you as kind.”

Riri exhaled, quelling anxiety breaking apart so easily. Shuri made the world--as big, as scary as it truly was---so simple in such few words. She pulled apart those complicated feelings and laid them bare before her for better observation. A more carefully constructed truth.

“You flatter me as always, Princess,” Riri murmured, turning to another page.

“I only speak the truth,” Shuri drawls, leaning on her shoulder, “I haven’t even begun to flatter you.”

[cherrybomb1985]

TAKE A BREAK~a Hamilton fic

WARNING: This is a Hamilton tickle fic! If that’s not your thing, please kindly scroll by!

A/N: Also, my OC Jules is in this fic as well as Alexander’s daughter too :) enjoy!!! 😊

Alexander Hamilton sat at his desk, hunched over a pile of papers. His quill scratched furiously against the parchment as he scribbled notes, calculations, and plans. The room was filled with the sound of his writing and the occasional frustrated sigh.

"Papa!" came a bright, cheerful voice from the doorway.

Hamilton barely glanced up. "Not now, Jules," he muttered, not even noticing the slight pout on his daughter's face.

Jules, her long hair bouncing as she walked, came up to the desk, her eyes full of hope. "But Papa, you promised we'd play today. You said after breakfast!"

Hamilton paused for a moment, as if trying to remember his own promise. "I did?" he asked absently, already turning his attention back to the paper in front of him. "I'm sorry, darling, but this work is very important. Perhaps later."

Jules' face fell. She stood there, trying to muster a response, but before she could, Eliza entered the room. She had been watching the scene unfold from the hallway and knew it was time to intervene.

"Alexander," Eliza said gently, her voice firm yet caring. "You've been at this desk all morning. Jules has been waiting patiently for you."

Hamilton looked up, finally meeting his wife's eyes. "I know, Eliza, but these papers—"

"These papers will still be here in an hour," Eliza cut him off. She walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch soft but insistent. "Your daughter, however, is here now. And she won't be little forever."

Hamilton glanced between his wife and his daughter, who was looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. He sighed, realizing he was outnumbered. "I suppose you're right," he admitted, setting his quill down with a reluctant smile. "What do you want to play, Jules?"

Jules' face lit up instantly. "Hide and seek! You be the seeker!"

Hamilton chuckled, standing up and stretching. "Alright, hide and seek it is. But I'll warn you—I'm quite good at this game."

"We'll see about that!" Jules giggled and dashed off, leaving Hamilton and Eliza alone for a moment.

"Thank you," Eliza whispered, standing on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "She just wants to spend time with you."

Hamilton nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt for getting so absorbed in his work. "I know. I'll make it up to her."

Eliza smiled, but there was a playful glint in her eye. "Oh, and one more thing," she added, her tone mischievous.

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Without warning, Eliza reached out and poked him in the side, where she knew he was ticklish. Hamilton yelped and jumped back, a grin breaking out on his face.

"What are you—" he started, but Eliza poked him again, this time both hands going to his ribs. Hamilton laughed, trying to twist away.

Jules, hearing the commotion, ran back into the room, her eyes wide with delight. "Tickle fight!" she squealed, jumping in to join her mother.

"No, no, no, wait—" Hamilton protested, but it was too late. Eliza and Jules were on him, their fingers dancing across his sides, his ribs, and his stomach. Hamilton's laughter filled the room, rich and uncontrollable.

“WAIT—WAHHAHAHAIT NOHOHOHO!” He gasped as he was attacked by his own wife and daughter. “THIHIHIS IHIHIHISNT FAHAHAHAIR!” He kicked his legs as they both expertly tickled him, Jules enjoying his reactions the most. She giggled as she tickled his stomach and sides. “Daddy’s ticklish!” She giggled. “Yes, he is!” Eliza smiled. “Have you tried his feet yet? He’s especially ticklish there,” Eliza whispered to Jules, making her eyes sparkle with mischief.

“WAHAHAHAIT NO—NO JULES DONT—!” He burst out into hysterical laughter when she tickled his feet, as Philip entered the room. “Hey, what’s going on?” Philip asked, grinning as he took in the scene of his father laughing and squirming under the ticklish onslaught.

Jules paused just long enough to glance at her brother, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. “We’re having a tickle fight, and Papa’s losing! Wanna help us?”

Philip’s grin widened. “Absolutely!” He bounded over to join the fray, his fingers already wiggling in anticipation.

“Philip, no—” Hamilton managed to say before his words dissolved into more laughter. Now surrounded on three sides, he had no escape. Eliza, Jules, and Philip teamed up, their fingers finding every ticklish spot they knew. “PHIHIHILIP NOHOHOHOT FAHAHAHAIR!” Alexander whined as his son attacked his neck and underarms.

“Why not?” Philip teased, his fingers mercilessly tickling his father's neck and underarms. “All’s fair in a tickle fight, right?”

“NOHOHOHO!” Alexander cried out, laughter pouring out of him uncontrollably. “YOHOHOU’RE AHAHALL GANGING UP OHOHON MEHEHE!”

“That’s the point, Papa!” Jules giggled, continuing her assault on his ribs. “Besides, you’re always working too hard. We have to get your attention somehow!”

Eliza smirked, giving Hamilton a break just long enough to lean down and whisper in his ear, “Maybe if you took more breaks, we wouldn’t have to resort to drastic measures.”

“THIHIHIS ISN’T DRAHASTIC?” Hamilton managed to gasp out between peals of laughter. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his body twisted as he tried in vain to escape the ticklish attacks.

“Not drastic enough!” Philip declared, poking Hamilton’s side in a particularly ticklish spot.

“ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT!” Hamilton laughed, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “MERCY! I GIHIHIVE UP!”

Eliza, Jules, and Philip finally stepped back, their laughter filling the room as they watched Hamilton slump back in his chair, breathless and grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes!” Jules cheered, raising her hands triumphantly.

“We make a pretty good team,” Philip added, ruffling his sister’s hair.

Hamilton, still catching his breath, shook his head with a chuckle. “You’re all a bunch of little brats, you know that?”

“Maybe,” Eliza said, a playful glint in her eyes, “but we’re your little brats, and you love us.”

Hamilton nodded, reaching out to pull them all into a hug. “I do. I love you all so much.”

Jules snuggled into her father’s side, a content smile on her face. “And we love you too, Papa. Just don’t forget to play with us sometimes, okay?”

“Deal,” Hamilton agreed, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll remember. After all, I don’t want to be on the losing side of a tickle fight again anytime soon!”

Eliza wrapped her arms around both of them, feeling the warmth of their little family. "I love you too, Alexander. Now, how about that game of hide and seek?"

Hamilton nodded, the weight of his work forgotten as he laughed with his wife and daughter, ready to enjoy the simple pleasures of family time.

[elianajof]

Roundtable presentation: Fire Island (2022)

“Fire Island” (2022) is a romantic comedy that takes a classic twist on Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice.” The plot synopsis is a group of friends take a summer vacation to Fire Island which is a historically safe space for queer people, specifically queer men. The two leads, played by Bowen Yang and Joel Kim Booster, are mirrors of Jane and Elizabeth Bennett, both having love stories that develop during their vacation. Searchlight Pictures characterizes the film as “an unapologetic, modern day rom-com showcasing a diverse, multicultural examination of queerness and romance.” 

Most of the principal characters of the movie are non-white – Bowen Yang is Chinese-American and Joem Kim Booster was born in South Korea. There are a few more actors of East Asian descent, a Latino actor, and a Black actor all in the two central friend groups of the movie. The film does not touch on the racial or ethnic identity of any of these characters but works their identities into the struggles that they face. You may have seen in the trailer that Yang’s character is called “Jackie Chan” at the glamorous New York City brunch spot where he and Booster’s character meet. These slight digs are the only mentions of them being “othered” because all of these characters are coming together at a safe haven for queer people. Instead of focusing on the intense tragedies that people of color or queer people experience, the film focuses on their smaller day-to-day problems like microaggressions, social status, anxiety, and relationships. 

The film presents characters with more approachable and recognizable ethnic backgrounds for global audiences as showing diversity without showing racism or xenophobia – since the film is pretty light-hearted they do not get into those deep problems. Instead, the film focuses more on class (in the trailer they reference this a bit but it is much more explored in the actual film). This exploration of class difference is a reference to the original Pride and Prejudice text. I felt like they could have done more with this and dived deeper into these types of “safe-haven” towns that are being overrun by the wealthy but it is evident that they attempted to make the film palatable to all audiences. 

The first way the film did not stick to regular standards is pretty obvious: a romcom centering two gay Asian men. There are really no women in this “rom-com” besides their “aunt” who acts like the maternal figure to the main friend group. Secondly, the film explores mental health issues and issues that are distinct to the queer community. Thirdly, the film is R-rated and definitely not meant as a “family” rom-com. I think this was smart because it is so often that with queer movies they choose to “tone it down” or to make it more palatable/appropriate for all audiences. In “Fire Island,” written by Joel Kim Booster, he writes a script that feels authentic to his friends and community. 

While “Fire Island” is definitely a diverse and unique take on a classic story, one could argue that despite its perceived diversity, basing the story on the white heteronormative story of Pride and Prejudice takes away from some of that power. Instead of creating a unique story, they repurposed an old tale and attempted to recapture that idea of romance and class struggle but through a queer lens. Some critics may find that this is annoying, that instead of Booster just creating his own story, he repurposed Jane Austen. Personally, I don’t have a problem with it but I also know that this is a common trend in some recent media. “Hamilton,” for example, was another repurposing of a white story with BIPOC actors. Some people find these things troubling because it glorifies the BIPOC erasure that was actually happening at the time, but some people find it empowering to repurpose those types of stories for new representation.