#why is it giving burn from hamilton

[bluntandsaucy]

“i’m not disappointed in you.”

“aren’t you? can you say that truthfully, with an oath?”

dalinar fell silent.

WHAT THE FUCKKK ADOLIN DADDY ISSUES

[uniquexusposts]

A false music degree | L. Hamilton

Summary: Lewis, Y/n and friends were having a game night. Lewis and Y/n didn't know they are in love, but their friends knew.

The living room was alive with noise, half-empty snack bowls scattered across the table, and a pile of game cards thrown haphazardly to the side. It was the kind of chaos that made the evening feel like a scene straight out of a sitcom, everyone laughing, chatting, and trying to beat each other at a game of Hitster. There were six of them in total, and once again, Lewis and Y/n found themselves ‘accidentally’ teamed up.

“This is a terrible idea,” one of their friends muttered as they shuffled the cards, clearly not impressed by the duo’s earlier antics.

“Why? We make an excellent team,” Lewis said confidently, nudging Y/n’s knee with his own under the table, a casual gesture that had somehow become their default.

Y/n rolled her eyes, pretending to be annoyed but secretly enjoying the camaraderie. “We lost the last two rounds,” she reminded him, trying to focus on the game rather than the persistent, annoying warmth she felt from his touch.

“Yeah, but we lost with style,” he shot back, his grin so wide and easy that it was almost impossible to resist.

Their friends exchanged knowing glances but remained quiet. Everyone in the room had witnessed it; the constant, subtle way Lewis and Y/n acted as if they weren’t fully aware of the chemistry between them. Like they did for the past two years. It was impossible to ignore how they seemed to end up next to each other in every game, every conversation, and how they always exchanged those little looks that spoke volumes.

“Alright, next song,” their friend finally announced, pulling a card from the deck. The music immediately started, an old-school R&B hit that no one could resist grooving to.

Lewis snapped his fingers, instantly recognising the tune. “Oh, oh, I know this one!” He turned to Y/n, as if this was the moment they’d been waiting for. “C’mon, tell me you know this.”

Y/n squinted at the phone playing the song, her brow furrowed. “I do, but… oh my god, I have no clue when it came out.” She wasn’t even sure what year this song belonged to, but there was no way she was admitting that. “I mean, was I even born? And how old would I be then?”

“You’re killing me, Y/n,” Lewis groaned dramatically, throwing himself back in his chair with exaggerated frustration.

“Hey, I thought you were the music expert!” she retorted, giving him a playful shove.

“I am, but I need teamwork, woman,” Lewis said, laughing.

The whole room seemed to stop as they leaned in closer to one another. Heads bent together, whispering possible years back and forth, exchanging guesses like they were solving a world-class mystery. It was a moment of absolute focus. Their knees, pressed against each other, a shared space that neither of them seemed inclined to move away from. Lewis’s hand rested on Y/n’s arm, his fingers absentmindedly tapping on her skin as they tried to figure out the song.

The rest of the group exchanged another round of looks, eyes widening at the pair’s unspoken connection. It wasn’t lost on anyone that their friends were now sitting at a front-row seat to what felt like the most painfully obvious romantic chemistry.

“You two done flirting or?” one of them finally muttered under their breath, the teasing tone clear, but neither Lewis nor Y/n heard it.

“2004,” Y/n blurted out, proud of herself for making a guess. “I think.”

Lewis gasped dramatically. “That’s so wrong.” He shook his head as though it was the most absurd guess possible.

“Well, what’s your guess, genius?” she challenged, already preparing for him to overestimate his own musical prowess.

“2002,” he said confidently.

Their friend flipped the card over. 2003.

The entire group erupted into laughter as Lewis and Y/n stared at each other in horror.

“I hate us,” Y/n groaned, slumping into the couch, her face burning from the embarrassment.

“I love us,” Lewis corrected, his arm casually draping over her shoulders without a second thought.

The room went eerily quiet at that, the playful atmosphere evaporating like water under the sun. The words were out there, hanging in the air like an unexpected confession. It was the kind of thing that people noticed, and yet Lewis and Y/n just stared at each other, unable to break the sudden weight that filled the space.

It took Y/n exactly three seconds to notice the heavy weight of Lewis’s arm around her. It wasn’t like it was the first time, but this time felt different. Her throat went dry, and she cleared it, eyes darting to the others in the room as she tried to find her voice.

“Uh,” she said, fidgeting awkwardly, suddenly too aware of how close they were.

Lewis blinked, glancing at his hand like he had no idea how it ended up there. His eyes flickered back to hers, his lips twitching as if he were about to say something, but nothing came out. He was equally speechless.

And then, like the complete idiots they were, they just… moved on. Pretended nothing happened. The awkward silence was quickly covered by a forced chuckle, and they picked up the next card as if nothing had shifted between them.

The game continued, but the atmosphere had undeniably changed. It wasn’t just about the playful banter anymore; it was about the unspoken tension that hung in the air, thick and undeniable. Every word between them felt charged, every glance seemed heavier, and every touch lingered just a little too long.

“So, uh, next round?” one of their friends said, clearly trying to steer the group back to normalcy.

Y/n forced a grin, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had suddenly settled over her. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s do this.”

But even as she reached for the next card, she couldn’t help but notice the small thrill that ran through her when Lewis’s knee bumped hers under the table. It was a casual gesture, something he’d done a hundred times without thinking, but this time, it felt like electricity. She quickly looked up at him from the corner of her eye. His expression was unreadable, but there was something about it that made her heart beat faster.

Another song played, and this time, their friend shot them a pointed look. “You two better get this one right. If not, I’m kicking you off the team.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me,” their friend teased, clearly not taking them seriously.

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh, the sound escaping before she could stop it. “Alright, alright. No pressure.”

The familiar energy of the game took over again, but this time, something was different. They both leaned in closer than they probably should have. Every instinct told them they were being ridiculous, but the way they were so easily in sync, even when they were wrong, kept pulling them closer.

“I got this,” Lewis muttered, tapping his fingers on the table, clearly pleased with his guess.

Y/n smirked. “Are you sure? You were so confident last time.”

His grin widened. “Trust me. 2010.”

Y/n paused for a moment. “2010?” She shook her head. “No way. It’s older than that.”

Lewis leaned back in his chair, watching her with that same knowing look he always had. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” Y/n insisted, voice laced with mock seriousness. “I’m saying 2009.”

Their friend flipped the card over. “2008.”

“You are sacked,” Y/n emotionlessly said. “Contract not extended.”

A collective groan echoed around the room, and the laughter that followed was inevitable. But this time, it was different. It wasn’t just about the game anymore. It was about them; about the way they were constantly in sync, even when they didn’t want to be.

“I’m starting to think we’re just here for the comedy,” Y/n muttered, burying her face in her hands.

Lewis, on the other hand, looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Well, we’re a great team, whether we win or lose.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? The way they worked so well together, how they were constantly in sync without even trying. They had always joked about it, pretending it didn’t matter, pretending they weren’t the slightest bit affected by it. But now, in the quiet aftermath of their last game, it felt like they were lying to themselves.

Their friends, of course, weren’t fooled for a second.

“You know, we’re not blind,” one of them finally said, breaking the silence with a teasing tone. “You two are, like, a walking rom-com at this point.”

Y/n’s face turned bright red, and she quickly glanced over at Lewis, who suddenly found the table to be incredibly interesting.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, trying to hide her embarrassment behind a laugh.

Lewis shrugged innocently, his grin widening. “Hey, we’ve got chemistry. That’s all that matters, right?”

And as much as Y/n wanted to protest, as much as she wanted to deny that anything was happening, she couldn’t help but feel a flutter in her chest at the way he said it. Maybe they were just two idiots playing a game. Maybe they were just a couple of people who liked each other in their own messed-up way.

But deep down, she knew it was more than that.

And so did he.

The problem was, neither of them was brave enough to admit it yet.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris

[anonymous-existences]

@demonic0angel I have a feeling you'll love this prompt, perhaps a backstory plot point of your First Burn Prompt :3.

DCxDP Prompt 14:

Song Prompt Inspiration : Satisfied From Hamilton, I made first burn but that's just very angsty... Why not make it MORE angsty but different ships.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Danny and Jazz happens to travel to Gotham to visit Dan, Danny and Jazz are inseparable siblings, both going to the same college and graduating together too. Vowing to never Seperate from each other and always have one another's back.

Dan himself was successful, became the heir to Dalv Co. Brought him many things but with the price of being forced to play nice in Galas. Danny and Jazz were both invited along with Dan to a Wayne gala, Dan begrudgingly attended as he always does and Danny and Jazz were happy to accompany Dan.

— — — — — — —

There Danny Met, Jason Todd. Danny felt themselves click, getting along with many topics and Danny felt himself falling for him, they felt like a match and Danny's core approved of this Man, He's a bit of a flirt but he'll give it a chance. He wants to take him far away from this place yet when he turns to see his sister's face and she is helpless.

God. Ancients. Danny felt his heart clench, he kept a smile on his face as he approached his sister, he kept his smile, he needed to keep it, he loved his sister and she...

She's fallen in love too with the same man, Danny did what any good brother would do, Introducing their Sister to the person they've fallen for. Danny felt his heart break and shatter but it was fine, Dan noticed it but didn't press anything out of Danny but merely comforted Danny as he cried in Dan's arms in private.

Ancients, Danny felt stupid for falling Inlove so fast but he can't help it, it was the first time he's met someone who's just like him, it was the first time he's fallen Inlove so fast and so hard for Someone but he loves and treasures jazz more.

He knew if he told jazz that she fell Inlove for that person she'd let HIM go to him and take him but Danny didn't want her to be heartbroken, he can't take the thought of Jazz being heartbroken, He'd rather be the one to be so than his beloved sister.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Everything happened so fast in Danny's perspective, Jason And Jazz got closer and now they're getting married.. Danny felt both proud and heartbroken, he can't choose which really but fuck does he feel so happy for his sister even if he is hurting.

He became her Groom of Honor, Danny was so happy to see his sister getting married to her love, he was so happy that she finally found love. But Ancients... It still hurts so goddamn much.

[satellite-evans]

Unfaithful

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x reader

Summary: Going trough a breakup hits harder whe you realize only your hearts gets broken.

Word count: 1.6k+

Warnings: angst, no happy ending. mention of age gap.

A/N:

I wrote something similar for Chris Evans a couple of years ago and wanted to write it now with Lewis bc I liked the concept xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Love. It’s a difficult word to understand, even harder to feel. Everyone has felt it at least once, but in different amounts. That’s why people sometimes compare it to chemistry. If you pour in too much, if the balance is even slightly off, it can become dangerous. It can destroy you.

And that’s exactly what happened with you and Lewis. You loved him too much. At least, that’s what your friends told you. They spoke in hushed voices, their pitying eyes following you across rooms, as if love had left you fragile. As if you might shatter if someone breathed too hard in your direction. You’d hear what your therapist had to say about it next week, but you weren’t looking forward to it.

What was she going to tell you anyway? That you had issues to work on, that it wasn’t your fault, and that healing takes time? Nothing you didn’t already know. Nothing you hadn’t told yourself a hundred times over in the dead of night while lying awake, staring at the ceiling, willing yourself not to check your phone. Because you knew there would be nothing from him.

But that didn’t stop you from wanting.

It hurt, like all endings do, but this was different. It hurt that it ended for you, but it also hurt that it never truly started for him. That realization struck you in the middle of the night sometimes, jolting you awake with a sharp pain in your chest. You would reach out for him instinctively, fingers fumbling against empty sheets, the cold linen burning against your skin like ice. The loneliness of your bed mocked you, whispering the truth you had refused to see for so long.

“You should’ve seen this coming, Y/N.”

How could you? He acted, he talked, he listened, and he loved like he was yours. In the 29 years of your life, you had never felt more alive than when you were with him. He made you want to do more, to be more. You remembered the way he used to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way his hands always found yours in crowded places. He was your best boyfriend.

Until he decided he wasn’t.

And looking back, you wondered if he ever really was. If it had all been an illusion, a cruel trick you had played on yourself. You combed through every moment, every smile, every touch, every whispered “I love you,” dissecting it all with a surgeon’s precision, trying to find the exact moment it all went wrong.

Was it the first time he hesitated before saying “I love you” back? The time he forgot your anniversary? The night he turned away when you reached for him? Or had he been leaving you long before that, piece by piece, while you remained blissfully unaware, drowning in a love that only you were truly feeling?

In all honesty, you never thought that someone you loved so much could become the person you hated most. But then again, you can’t hate someone you never truly loved, can you?

“There’s a thin line between love and hate,” someone once told you. “People cross that line all the time. Sometimes, just one word can make you fall in love, and just one word can make you despise someone.”

In your case, it was two.

“I cheated.”

You remembered the way he said it—calm, almost indifferent, like he was commenting on the weather. Like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.

The world had blurred around you in that moment. Your vision tunneled, sound faded, and for a few seconds, it was just you and those two words, echoing through your skull, carving themselves into your bones. You had expected guilt, regret, maybe even tears. But all you got was a hollow confession and a half-hearted apology that came too late to mean anything.

The worst part? You hadn’t even screamed. You hadn’t cried. You had just stood there, nodding, as if accepting the inevitable. As if you had known all along and had simply been waiting for confirmation.

But that was the thing about love—it made you blind. It made you believe in things that were never real.

And now, you were left with nothing but memories and an emptiness you didn’t know how to fill.

The words still echoed in your mind, playing on a cruel, endless loop. They replayed every time you closed your eyes, every time you saw a couple on the street, every time you passed a place where you had once been happy together. The thought of it made you want to pull your hair out. How had you been so blind? Had love really done this to you? Were you so deeply in love with him that you ignored all the red flags?

No. You weren’t doing this again. You weren’t blaming yourself for someone else’s choices. Lewis had painted all the red flags green with his charm and his words.

Until your tears washed the paint away and revealed the truth.

What hurt the most was that he didn’t care. He didn’t care that you stayed up talking to him for hours when you had early morning meetings. He didn’t care that you flew across the world just to surprise him at his race. He didn’t care that you were always the one encouraging him before every challenge. That realization cut the deepest. Not just that he had hurt you, but that he had never really cared if he did.

He. Simply. Didn’t. Care.

And now, you were left alone, with no one to talk to, no one to travel across time zones for, no one to encourage you.

“Why?”

It was just one word, but it held a thousand meanings.

Why did you cheat on me? Why did you make me believe I was yours? Why did you let me fall in love with you? Why me? Why did you hurt me?

It didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t worth your tears. He wasn’t worth your anger, your heartbreak, your sleepless nights.

Lewis didn’t deserve your love. Just like he didn’t deserve your pain.

Alcohol. That was his excuse.

"I—I swear, Y/N. I didn't mean to. I had too many drinks, and when I woke up, she was just… there."

Of course, he would blame it on everything but himself. Why would he take responsibility? Lewis Hamilton, the man adored by millions, was a selfish coward when it came to love.

At least he wasn’t a good liar. His stuttering, his clenched jaw, his hands running through his curls—all signs of guilt. He was suffering in front of you, and you should have enjoyed it.

But you didn’t.

Even now, even after everything, you felt sorry for him. Maybe it was because of your mother, who had always told you to see the good in people, to have empathy.

You wished she hadn’t. Especially now.

Deep down, you had known. Lewis had changed, right in front of your eyes. He went from the man who would rather stay in with you, watching movies on a rare free night, to someone who partied and came home at 3 a.m. You blamed it on stress, on pressure, on everything except the truth.

The truth was that it was all him.

“Whatever. I’m done listening to your excuses, done pretending everything is okay. You can’t even lie to me properly, Lewis. And maybe I should’ve known. You never cared about my feelings anyway.”

His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken. But his eyes—they told a story of regret. And you knew, if you stared too long, you’d start believing him again.

So you looked away.

“Please, Y/N. I don’t want to lose you.”

The urge to slap him, to scream, to break something, surged through you. But you held it back. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing he still had that power over you.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to stand tall.

“And I don’t want to keep waiting, hoping that one day you’ll realize I’m what you want, Lewis. I’m done. I lost someone who never cared about me. But you? You lost someone who would’ve done anything for you.”

His eyes were glassy now, staring straight into yours.

“What are you saying?”

“I was the only one who actually fell in love. You just pretended.”

With that, you grabbed your keys and walked out of his apartment, slamming the door behind you—just like he had slammed shut the door to your heart.

Your first instinct was to drive away as far as possible and never look back. But for some reason, you couldn't. For some silly reason, you looked back to see that he would come after you, begging to stay, but he didn't. The street was empty and cold, just like him.

The moment your forehead touched the steering wheel, your eyes began to cry uncontrollably. Like a leaf in the cold night, your whole body started to shake, and the only thing you could do was cry even harder. It was a blessing you hadn't cried in front of him; you didn't want him to see you vulnerable and broken. Yet every fiber of your being had fought to hold those tears back, and now, they were no longer strong enough to keep them inside. In fact, you didn't want to be strong anymore. All you'd done in life was pretend everything was okay, acting as though words didn't hurt you. As though Lewis didn't hurt you.

You were done.

After drying your face with some tissues you found in your car, you took a deep breath, started the car and started driving.

You had no exact destination in where you wanted to go, you just kept driving. But one thing was clear:

You were never going back. Even if your heart ached, too.

[henneseyhoe]

Just One More. | 3

Lewis Hamilton x BLACK!FEM!Reader

WARNINGS: reader isn’t that included in this one since she’s away (srry lolzz), pure FLUFF, short but i’ll probably redo this cause i don’t like the beginning that much.

SUMMARY: just lewis being a softie with your daughter while you’re away ^3^

1 |2|3|4|

✮✮✮✮

It was 8PM at night and your house was louder than a zoo. Granted, you and your three boys weren’t there and instead watching through your phone as your daughter ran rampant through her closet, her father chasing her around with items of clothing. Half naked and hair soaked wet, she was working on getting herself undressed again after a bath.

You could tell she drove poor Lewis up a wall that day.

You and your three boys decided to go on a camping adventure near the lake, your daughter refusing to go and get quote “bit up outside”, end quote. She was only four and as spoiled as ever. When you told her she can’t stay home because everyone was going, she cried for an hour until her father cracked under pressure and agreed to stay back with her, even though Lewis would have loved a dip in the lake and some time away from the city.

You couldn’t do anything but laugh at your phone screen, pressing the record button to capture the moment.

“Darling, please! Daddy is tired and needs his sleep. Please put on your pajamas and get in bed”

He begged her for what seemed like the hundredth time, but the girl was too busy pulling her head out of her shirt and running into a wall. She got back up with no tears to Lewis’s surprise and took a dive into her princess themed bed, closing her canopy to hide from her dad.

Lewis lets out a huff and walks over to the bed sitting down right beside it with a look of defeat on his face. Hearing the presence of her father near her, your daughter erupts into a fit giggles, peaking her head out from the pink curtains.

“You got me, daddy!” She squealed with a smile on her face that was soon replaced with confusion. “what’s wrong?” She asks, wondering why her daddy no longer wanted to play with her, even after most of the days consecutive hours of it.

See, usually Lewis had help to balance out her energetic ways, you taking over whenever Lewis was tired and vice versa. Now that you weren’t here, even one kid alone was tiring when only running on a few hours of sleep.

Layla hadn’t yet understood that her parents weren’t robots that could just keep playing with no breaks. Sometimes she didn’t pick up on the cues when she had gotten a bit much to handle.

Climbing off of the bed, she fits herself into in Lewis’s lap and lays her head on his chest, giving him a hug.

“I’m just a little tired, love. That’s all” He reassured her with a pat on her semi wet braids, already knowing he’d have some serious frizz to tame in the morning if he let it dry that way.

“I’m tired too” Layla replies, thinking of how much she missed her mother now. “Will you read to me please? And the book mama reads, the one I like” Lewis pulls back from the hug to look at his daughter’s face, smiling.

“Yes, I can read to you. But first, let’s get you officially ready for bed”

✮✮✮✮

“And that’s how the cow jumped over the moon, and the stars” Lewis ended off the book with a drowsy toddler cuddled right in his arms. She had begged him just before the story to lay in bed with her also, giggling at how her father’s socked feet stuck out from the end of the bed because of his height.

“I wanna be a star one day” Your daughter confessed sleepily, making Lewis chuckle.

“Like…In space?” He asks to be sure and she nods.

“I dunno about becoming one but…If you reach high enough into the sky, you can catch one” Your little girls eyes brightened at her fathers words, Lewis smiling down at her as he tucks her into her covers.

“Really, daddy? You’re lying…” She says with her eyebrows knitted together, becoming unsure of the possibility that she could go so high that’d she’d capture burning light. Lewis nods and kisses her forehead.

“No lie. I almost did it once”

“Once when?” She squints and makes a face of skepticism, a mannerism she got directly from you.

“Hmmm…Just before you were born, actually. I remember praying while your mom slept, and I looked out the hospital window and saw two shooting stars as bright as your eyes. I reached out to catch them, but they were so hot that I let go. Fast forward an hour later, you and bubby were born” A wide smile grew on the little girls face, her little hands using her beaded braids to hide her blushing.

Lewis laughs and moves her hands and hair from her face before kissing her cheeks.

“So I was a star before I was a baby?” She inquired just after a yawn, Lewis humming at the question.

“Yeah. You and Bubby were stars”

In the morning you would wish you had caught the moment in real time as you slept with your phone placed on your stomach and your three boys lightly snoring by your side, but you’d be grateful you pressed that record button to capture the memory digitally instead.

✮✮✮✮

💌— Yippee! more fluff!!! 🤭

[just-some-random-blogger]

You'll Remember You Belong To Me

Loving and leaving Daemon were the two best things you ever did in your life. He disagrees with the latter, however, and is convinced you'll come back.

Mafia!Daemon Targaryen x Estranged!Reader | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, modern au, toxic!Daemon, mom!reader, exes trope, manipulation, typos, etc.

A/N: HI everyone. it's been so long since I've written anything ): I JUST CANT WRITE HUHUH but inspiration struck me so im running with it!! this is inspired by You'll Be Back from Hamilton so I suggest you give it a listen! Also it's kinda fucked up so read dis with care!!!!

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa

"Papa!" a hushed but excited voice calls.

Daemon grins and gets down on one knee. The little boy with burning white hair runs towards his papa's open arms and jumps into them.

Daemon embraces and kisses his son. He then throws him over his shoulder as he stands, making him giggle. The man asks as he head over to the open door, "where's mummy?"

"Cooking with Vivi."

"Oh," Daemon walks inside and takes his shoes off, "do you and Visenya help mummy cook?"

The boy cheers, way too loudly to his father's taste, "YES!"

Daemon immediately hushes the boy and sets him down. The boy is red in the face and giggling. Daemon gives him a lopsided smile and brushes his bangs out of his face, "remember what I told you, lovie? About keepin' a low profile."

The boy nods, "it's our secret mission," he raises a finger to his lips, "a surprise for mummy!"

Daemon chuckles, "very good, Baelon."

Baelon grins from ear to ear.

"Now, before we surprise mummy, tell me where you put the phone I gave you."

"I hid it underneath my toy box! Mummy never looks there."

Daemon pinches his son's cheeks, "good boy."

Baelon giggles under his breath.

"Remember not to let your mother catch you when I call again, okay?"

He nods.

"Right," Daemon stands, "you can go tell mummy daddy's home now."

With that, Baelon runs off and practically busts a lung screaming, "PAPA'S HERE!"

Daemon follows the child, and hears a high pitched squeal from the kitchen. Soon enough, his beloved Visenya is running towards him, "PAAAPPPAAAAAAAAAA!!!!"

Daemon scoops up the little girl in his arms and covers her face with kisses, "ah, my baby girl."

He twirls the girl around and after a 360, he is met with a deathly glare. Daemon smirks, "hello, baby girl."

"I am not your baby girl," you snap as you march towards him. You mutter under a groan, "and you're not supposed to be here."

Visenya tightens her arms around her father's neck. At a point, her blonde hair looks like it was Daemon's. He blows a raspberry onto her neck, his eyes on you the entire time, "my place is where my family is."

It takes everything in you not to explode, but you don't; you'd never do that in front of your kids.

Daemon knew that well.

That didn't stop you speaking your mind though, "this is from the man that uprooted our life in King's Landing because of a business plan gone wrong."

That makes Daemon tick. He puts down Visenya, much to her displeasure. The girl claws at Daemon's jeans, wanting to be in the arms of her father again but is ultimately ignored. "You knew what you were getting into when you married me."

"That's why I know better than to let the man I once loved conceal, lie, and cheat on me."

Your words really sink into him when you pick up Visenya when she burst into tears. Of course, she wanted nothing to do with you and so desperately clawed out to him, but the image was really sobering.

At least for a moment.

"Give her to me," Daemon says.

You glare at him and mouth threats laced with curse words.

Baelon runs up to him with a toy bus, "papa, can we play?"

Daemon looks down at his son and smiles. He crouches down, "of course, darling," he looks up at you, "we'll play with Vivi."

Visenya immediately wrangles out of your arms and you have no choice but to set her down.

As much as you wanted to grind his guts, you knew your children loved their dad. They so obviously missed him dearly.

Daemon sprawls belly-down on the floor without hesitation. Visenya and Baelon fall into their usual play mode and you take a deep breath before heading back to the kitchen to finish cooking.

By the time you were finished and calling for them and their joke-of-a-father to come to the table for lunch, you find yourself alone by the dining table waiting for seemingly nothing.

You were about to go get your kids, that is until Daemon walked over.

Your face immediately morphs into distaste. It makes Daemon chuckle, "that bad?"

"Where are my babies?"

"Our babies are napping," he says, pulling a chair back. He sits down and tilts his head, "I'm here though."

You make a disgusted face.

Daemon laughs. He missed your face very much.

You cross your arms, "what did you do to them?"

"You're accusing me of doing something to my children?" he chuckles in disbelief as places a hand on his chest.

"They never need to take naps."

Daemon shrugs, "you don't play with them hard enough."

He realizes his mistake when your face contorts.

"I didn't hurt them," he waves his hands, "I just made them chase each other around until they burned out."

"Good then," you point to the door, "leave."

He narrows his eyes in offence, "I promised I'd be here when they woke up."

You throw your head back in laughter, though you found no amusement in his words, "that wouldn't be the first time you lied."

"I've never lied to Baelon or Visenya."

"You think you deserve a consolation for that?" you snap, turning around to lean on the sink. You wash your hands even though you've just washed them, "I told you I would leave. I told you I would leave you if you kept up your bullshit."

Daemon stands and walks towards you.

You don't look back but you knew he was closing in. You didn't need to look; you could feel him. You knew exactly what he would do because you knew him like the back of your hand.

This was why before he could do anything, you turned away and flicked water into his face.

Daemon stills in his spot, taken off-guard.

You decide to finish cleaning up before you eat.

He wipes his face, "and I told you you'll be back."

You scoff as you tidy the counter, "am I the one crawling back?"

"Is that what you want?" Daemon raises a brow as he walks over.

You still in your spot when he drops to his knees.

"I'll crawl and beg," he whispers as if it was something solemn.

You watch him inch closer and before you have the brain to move, you let out a gasp when he grabs your thigh.

It didn't help that his palms were warm and your skin was cool from wearing shorts and damp from washing dishes. It didn't help that you hadn't been touched for so long and that your skin grew goosebumps.

It didn't help that he had it all figured out.

He kissed your thigh once and the next moment, he had you pressed against the counter, nose to nose, forehead to forehead, nearly lips to lips.

Daemon traps you between his arms, hands gripping the counter on both your sides.

You could smell him so clearly now. It did something to your stomach. Your hands wanted to instinctively reach out to him, but you thanked the gods you knew better than that.

"I'll atone for my sins whichever way you want," he murmurs, "just let me see my kids."

You press your hands on his chest, ready to pull him away, "I know better than to believe you."

Daemon waits for you to push him back. When you don't, he doesn't hide his smile. He grins and takes your hands, kissing them.

Your breath is pulled out of your lungs.

He shakes his head, "you don't have to believe me. You just have to watch me."

It wasn't right, but the feeling of his lips on your skin was too familiar to resist. Daemon kisses your hands, up to your wrists, up to your shoulders, then your lips were trapped between his teeth and you were pulling him in.

The only reason you stopped was because Visenya walked in on you, scratching her eye, asking if she could have help getting a plate of food.

You watch as Daemon smiles at her. You watch as your daughter giggles as her papa gives her a plate and kisses her cheek before telling her he's going to go wake her brother up.

You watch as he carries Baleon and sits him down next to him. You watch him dote on them and it nearly makes you forgive and forget all he's done.

Daemon knows better than to think you'd do anything of the sort.

And even though you sit across from him holding a look of spite, he gives smirks back and prepares you a plate.

[moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown]

The itch

An: so I’ve never written for TUA, I think, I haven’t written anything in like a long time cause my brain is made of worms most days, but the new season and mostly five in his new attitude? Personality? His almost soft tired of it all way, gives me the feelings. As a 28 year old women it’s odd that a 68 year old trapped in a 18 year old body works for me like it does but hey, I’ve liked weirder (cough I was in the Hamilton fandom cough) so enjoy this sort of bonding with Lila over the new mundane life and the exhausting reality of having to live it, because I love Lila and hate what they did to her and fives characters with the whole 7 year time line romance. Like why make her a mum of 3 and married to Fives brother just to ruin it like that. But anyway enjoy this weird fic.

Readers power: molecular manipulation, think piper from charmed, overhaul from my hero, uhhh it’s hard to explain but basically it means you can make things explode, freeze people and things by fucking with the molecular structure of said thing.

——————————————————————-

You wanted to scream, to smash things, to burn yours and fives apartment down, it had been six years of calm, six years of learning to enjoy ‘normal’. Six years of working at dead end jobs because you didn’t pass the god damn psych evaluation for the CIA, somehow you are far more ‘unhinged’ than your husband.

You and five spent 30 years together, a decade in an apocalyptic wasteland when you ended up teleported there by mistake, and then 20 years at the commission becoming trained and ruthless assassins. Now, now Five worked doing CIA investigations and you got stuck working at a grocery store gas station. It was calm, it was normal, it was absolute hell on earth and made your skin itch.

So sitting in the parking lot of the play place for your nieces 6th birthday, you didn’t know why you couldn’t make yourself leave your car, five was already here, he had texted you as much, everyone else minus Viktor who was in Canada, and Allison who hasn’t shown her face irl to any of her siblings in the 6 years, you just needed to get out of the car and walk in with the gift you signed from both you and five for Gracie. It was a set of toy weapons, knives like her dads old ones, and a few other random ‘play pretend’ things.

Closing your eyes you leaned your head back against the head rest, taking a deep breath. Almost hitting the gas when the passenger side door opened and slammed closed. Turning eyes wide you saw Lila, the exhausted mothers face blank staring forward

“I just needed a minute, just needed” you nodded

“Take all the minutes you need. I assume it’s like pulling teeth in there with Diego?” Lila nodded sighing loudly

“Fives the same way, just on other stuff, like deciding if he wants to go out to dinner or stay in and order pizza, or if he needs new underwear because the ones he has have so many holes in surprised they still count as underwear, or just simple things like the dishes, like how hard is it to wash a cup, it shouldn’t be as hard as it is, how hard is it to just tell me when you need a quiet night cause work was stressful, and you are exhausted from stupid people all day, i work retail, he acts like I don’t understand being tired of idiots…I just…” you paused looking back out the windshield

“It’s like your skin is on fire and nothing stops the itch of being a once highly skilled assassin who could fuck with peoples molecules and freeze them in time or make them explode?” You nodded looking at her

“I find myself flicking my hands out and remembering I can’t just blow up or freeze people anymore, it’s like an itch and anytime I explain it to five he just…”

“Doesn’t listen? Or doesn’t understand that you are used to how your life was and now that it’s different, it’s not bad but it’s eye burning mundane clock ticking by slower then ever reality?”

Nodding you sighed

“Diego, he wants to listen, he just, from what five always told me he had a hard time understanding others because his brain is just, frazzled and he feels inadequate, how they grew up I guess shaped them in every timeline. Five is just used to being alone he was alone for 30 years before we met, then I popped up and it’s just. I don’t think he gets that sometimes I just need him to..”

“Let you Help with the itching”

You nodded smiling at her

“He just, it’s been a lot, and we haven’t quite got the ‘normal life’ down just yet.” Lila nodded

“It’s not easy in normal marriage land either, 3 kids and a chunky husband who, doesn’t make it easier is….”

“Not helping the itching. Well how about me and you, when the itch gets too bad, we help each other? Maybe find a way to do something, go to a rage room? Do a fighting class something to feel the….rush? Of what we did before. Have Klaus or someone babysit the kids, be me and you and just….”

“Fighting each other like the before days?” You laughed nodding

“Yeah…I miss getting to kick your ass and having you kick mine…”

Lila laughed looking around

“We could start a fight club, you, me, Ben when he gets out of prison. Just….maybe we’ll get used to normal eventually….” You frowned nodding

“You know if you ever need anything, help with the kids, a friend to vent to when Diego is being Diego…I’m not to far from your guys place. I can always swing by, let the munchkin tornados beat up on auntie Y/N.” You smiled at her for all the mess you and her had been in against each other, she had become one of your closest friends and family members through it all.

Soon enough you finally made your way into the building, the screams of children everywhere, the smell of sugar and something faintly child everywhere. You spotted five by the ball pit, speaking with Ben, walking over you hugged five from behind sighing as you rested your forehead against his back

“Hello, love.” You squeezed him in response before looking up and over to Ben

“Ahh Benjamin, free from jail, good to see you didn’t die, love that you still look like you want to murder us all” Ben didn’t laugh, just glared at you before sighing

“Not in the snark mood got it.” You felt five squeeze your arm a bit pulling away from you, making you groan

Turning to fully look at you, he looked you over smiling softly

“How was work?” You looked at him blinking slowly before sighing and planting your forehead on his chest, groaning

“Ahh I see” his hand rubbed your back softly, his other lifting the beer to his lips.

“People are stupid. How hard is it to put a gas nozzle in a car….”

“Apparently impossible if what you tell me says anything” you looked at him nodding before turning to look around

“10 bucks says Diego forgets to put up the piñata like Lila asked him” five laughed slightly

“Nah 20 says Lila has a mental breakdown before cake is served” you looked over to where Lila stood with Gracie helping the young girl fix her party hat,

“Nah I think she has a breakdown after presents when she sees what we got Gracie” five laughed looking down at you, brushing the stray hair from your face, smiling at him you sighed softly again,

it seemed even if you wanted to rip your hair out from the new ‘normal’ reality you all had to live in, even if your skin itched from the need to return back to what life was before somehow, it was nice that you still had small moments, where normal wasn’t so bad, normal birthday parties for your nieces and nephews, seemingly normal holidays, and normal, non murder happy work. As much as you loathed admitting it, sometimes it was nice. Like now, now was nice.

[passengerprincessblog]

"Love and Affection" Lewis Hamilton Short

Summary: Y/N wakes up sick and Lewis takes care of her.

I roll over in bed, my eyes heavy and my limbs weighed down like lead. I glance up at the high ceilings of Lewis’s bedroom; it’s vast, luxurious, and usually makes me feel like I’m waking up in a dream. But today, everything feels muted, dulled by the scratchiness in my throat and the ache in my head. I let out a low groan, hoping somehow the sound might bring some relief. Soft sheets cocoon me, but even they can’t provide any comfort right now.

“Lewis?” I try to call out, but my voice comes out weak, hoarse, barely a whisper. For a moment, I worry he won’t hear me.

I press a hand to my forehead, feeling the unmistakable warmth of a fever. I feel miserable, and the only thought in my mind is, Where’s Lewis? A pang of guilt hits me—I probably slept through his morning routine again, and he’s probably gone off to start his day. Why do I always sleep in so much? I feel the sting of helplessness, and before I know it, my eyes are misty. I grab the water on the nightstand, take a slow sip, letting it soothe the burn in my throat, even if only temporarily.

Just then, I hear footsteps in the hall. A flicker of hope stirs inside me, and a moment later, Lewis appears in the doorway, one of his EarPods in and the other dangling from his ear. His eyes fall on me, taking in my disheveled state, and I see concern flood his expression.

“Did you call me, baby girl?” he asks, pulling out his EarPod completely. His gaze softens as he steps into the room.

“Yeah…” I whisper, sinking back into the bed. “I don’t feel good.” My voice sounds rough, like sandpaper.

His brows knit together as he crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. “Don’t feel good? What do you mean?” His tone is a gentle scolding as he presses the back of his hand to my forehead, the coolness of his skin like a balm.

“Baby…” he murmurs, his voice laced with worry. “You’re burning up.” He sets his EarPods and phone down, his hand lingering against my cheek, soothing me with his touch.

“I told you, you need more rest,” he says softly, a hint of reprimand in his tone, but I can tell he’s more concerned than anything else. He stands up and disappears into the bathroom, leaving me with a pang of guilt.

“I’m sorry…” I murmur, my voice small.

He returns a moment later, arms full of various pill bottles and a couple of little medicine cups. He looks focused as he reads the instructions on each bottle, muttering under his breath about doses and timing. Finally, he pours a couple of pills into his hand, holding them out to me.

“Here, take these,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. I take the pills from him, feeling a strange mix of relief and embarrassment as he watches me like a hawk. Then, he pours some syrupy medicine into a little plastic cup, handing it to me with a sympathetic smile.

“And this…” he says, holding it up. I make a face, dreading the bitter taste, but he raises an eyebrow, giving me a playful yet stern look. I roll my eyes but obediently swallow the medicine, grimacing as it slides down.

“Ugh, gross,” I croak, my voice rasping more than I’d like. Lewis’s expression softens even further, and he reaches out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingertips lingering on my cheek.

“My poor baby…” he murmurs, stroking my cheeks with a touch so tender it almost makes me want to cry again. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” His warm hand cradles my face, his thumb brushing gently along my skin, and I lean into his touch, finding comfort in it.

I frown, feeling even more vulnerable under his gaze. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, the warmth of his lips a stark contrast to the chill I feel from the fever.

“I’m here… all day. I’ll take care of you,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me close in a gentle embrace. I nestle into his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath my ear.

“Thanks, lovey,” I say softly, feeling my eyes close as I relax into his hold. His arms feel like a fortress around me, a place where nothing bad could ever reach me.

He pulls back slightly, patting my head with a comforting smile. “Let me go make you some soup, okay?”

I nod, too tired to say anything else, and he kisses the top of my head before heading out of the room. The bed feels colder without him, and I sink back into the pillows, letting my eyes drift shut as I listen to the sounds of him bustling around in the kitchen.

After what feels like only a few minutes, but could have been longer, I hear him come back. He’s balancing a tray in his hands with a bowl of steaming soup, a small glass of juice, and a couple of crackers.

“Look at you, all pampered,” he teases, setting the tray on the nightstand before carefully helping me sit up. “Got your royal treatment right here.”

I can’t help but smile, despite the way my throat aches. “You know… I don’t deserve you,” I murmur, my voice barely a whisper.

“Shh,” he says, ladling a spoonful of soup and holding it up to my lips. “None of that, alright? I’m here because I love you.” He brings the spoon to my lips, and I take a small sip, the warmth spreading through me. It’s comforting, the taste of the broth, and the way he’s taking care of me.

As I eat, he stays by my side, chatting about the most random things—what the weather’s like outside, some silly video he watched, even a story about his training mishaps. He does everything to make me smile, and it works. I feel lighter, less like I’m weighed down by the fever.

“Thank you for being here,” I say, setting the empty bowl aside. My throat still aches, but I feel a bit better, even if it’s just because he’s here.

He tucks me back into bed, adjusting the covers around me. “Always, baby girl. Now you rest,” he says, brushing a soft kiss to my forehead. He reaches over, dimming the lights, and I close my eyes, feeling his hand in mine as I drift off, comforted by his warmth and love.

[myillicitaffair]

Somethin’ Stupid | Charles Leclerc

Summary: while being interviewed by his former lover, bottled up feelings find their way out.

Warnings: english not being my mother tongue, lots of angst, some swearing, arguments.

Notes: this is the first time i’m ever posting anything on here, i hope you enjoy it xx

1.5k words.

Letting myself fall into his abrasive webs was surprisingly easy. His green orbs, pervasive and curious, piercing my soul.

We had our ups and downs, unbridled passion slowly dying with each tear shed, magnetic attraction burning my lungs.

We found ourselves in a hiatus, which found a way of prolonging itself further than I would have liked to. Perhaps he managed to keep himself occupied with his busy schedule; trainings, special dietary requirements, public relations… as for me, I rather hold my silence.

My routine was overflowed with his voice, with how much I missed his touch on my lower back, guiding me through the crowds, our hands intertwined in a tacit promise.

However, life demanded to continue with apparent normality. Dinner parties surrounded by friends, rounds of drinks avoiding alcohol… The last thing I needed was to degrade myself into a melancholic drunkenness.

Was he also having a hard time with the abysmal coldness on the other side of the bed or the loneliness of not having anyone to dilute your sorrow over morning coffee with?

My days had fallen into a sort of routine; waking up while missing him, showering while missing him, having breakfast while missing him… I think you get how thing are.

This particular morning, Silverstone was extraordinarily cloudy, the mist engulfing my view from the hotel room. How fitting!

Running away from my surreptitious misfortunes, I head downstairs, soaking up the competitive environment prior to every race. Emboldened as an agitated swarm, my colleges and me descended on the designated circuit.

Tedious security controls accompanied the anticipated fun, a hammer already pounding into my head at the thought of seeing him face to face once more.

Walking towards the space where the press was condensed, I check the days schedule for the last time. I am lucky enough to maintain friendly interactions with most drivers, so as to achieve fluid interviews, keeping the audience on the edge of their seats.

The only reason I can find as to why that fateful name is written on my list of drivers to interview was that God and I clearly have some unresolved business… funny timing to make me pay the price though!

A lump gets stuck in my throat just by thinking about it, preventing regular air flow.

The countdown only stuns me, even though my duty doesn’t start until the last lap. The smell of burnt rubber, product of speeding wheels, fills my lungs while intoxicating my nostrils.

The continuous lights turn red with overwhelming precision as seconds go by, lightning up the faces hidden with baklavas and iconic helmets.

Unconsciously (or maybe not so much), my eyes crawl back to the speeding number “16” that, red and furious, slides around the circuit while attempting to memorize every bump and curve along the way.

Chasing the sequence with collective looks of astonishment, a collision comes rushing down, disabling Piastri and Norris by the arrogance that only clear disagreements gives you.

Without further issues, the race concludes with a podium conformed by both Red Bull Racing drivers, trailed by seven time world champion Lewis Hamilton.

As possessed by group madness, the journalists rush into the victors. Microphone in hand, cameras shadowing us, content hunger gushing from our pores.

Driven by a exacerbated sadness, I shift my focus from the winners to him, returning my gaze with clouded tear ducts, bottled up frustration visible in his features.

With a touch on my shoulder, I’m brought back to reality by a co-worker, who, with a subtle shift of her head signals my awaiting obligations.

I head towards my press conference, where I take a seat with my name on it, psyching myself up for what I’m sure will be the most awkward interview of my whole career.

Dressed in Ferrari clothing and constantly stalked by flashes, both pilots near the platform where I await. They settle into their designated spots, holding still until the cameraman says otherwise.

I steal one last glance at my premeditated questions and hide my true feelings behind a focused frown.

“Welcome dear viewers! We find ourselves in the eleventh race of the year, accompanied once more by our friends from Ferrari, Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz.”

I desperately try stabilizing the noticeable shake in my voice.

“Friend”- the Monegasque interrupts my monologue with a mocking remark.

The puzzled look his teammate throws in his direction doesn’t go unnoticed by the former, who insists on jointing his glistening irises with mine.

I decide to ignore the brief impasse in the speech, running away from his calculated sarcasm as I force the corners of my mouth into an attempted smile.

“so, Carlos… do you think driving behind two cars that crushed ruined your performance?”- I question, tripping over my words under Charles´s scrutiny.

“It´s safe to say it wasn’t an unexpected accident”- the Spaniard pronounces, doing his best at minimalizing the awkwardness- “for at least a couple of laps, Oscar and Lando were teasing each other, clearly trying to gain advantage over the other. They were lucky enough neither of them got hurt.”

I nod absent minded, vibrating due to the pounding against my ribcage.

“Charles, what can you tell us about your engineers’ strategy for this race?”- I swallow loudly, praying he can´t notice the mesmerizing effect he has on me.

“I guess you could say I’m not entirely satisfied with my team´s execution this season”- he confesses, minimizing the tingles of frustration running down his spine- “It would also be quite unfair dumping the blame on my team when my failure has more to do with me letting my emotions get the best of me.”

The tension is intercepted by a longing sigh I didn’t know I was withholding. The world seems to stop in its euphoria simply to hang in his every sentence.

“A broken heart is no joke… even less when you have to patiently wait for the piece they decide to donate you”- he reproaches without saying my name but making it perfectly clear that I was indeed the recipient of his raw address.

My anxious movements become motionless, forgetting the when and where, just to focus on the displeasure bubbling in my stomach.

“Guys, I really don´t think it’s appropriate to discuss this now”- intercepts the Madrilenian, proposing a ceasefire.

Mi hand goes up in the air before I can help it, shutting him up mercilessly.

“I wonder where I must´ve learned it…”- I reply, drowning in the unexpected harshness of my tone- “don´t forget who was the one to suggest this ´no strings attached´ bullshit between us.”

The drivers face shines with a scandalous blush in response to my bravado. Right here and there, I comprehend the dept of his anger, making its way through his collarbones, until it climbs up his cheeks.

“Just because I thought that’s what you wanted”- he spits out his resentful response.

From the corner of my vision, I perceive Carlos´s discomfort by reading his body language; the friction of wiping away the sweat stagnant on his hands, his shoulders pouring forward in a clumsy attempt of hiding from the cameras, his chair weakly shaking under the constant bouncing of his extremities.

Madness atrophies my reasoning, blinding me enough as to not have merci on his apprehension. I took this way too far, it would be useless to swallow my feelings.

“how in the world could you think our agreement benefitted me? Really, Charles, you couldn’t be any more stupid!”- I scream back, jumping up from my seat.

The swing of my feet gets ahead of my thoughts, allowing me to run away from the premature conflict before it blows up in the air.

Mi face heats up from the warmth of my own tears, that start rolling down my cheeks. With each involuntary spasm of my jaw, sobs escape my gasps for air. I don’t dare to slow down.

“Can you please just listen to me?”- a voice behind me shouts, trying to stand by my side.

I turn around to face his scrunched up brows.

“you have nothing else left to make up. You may convince somebody with the whole ´heartbreak boy´ façade you’ve got going on, but you have genuinely driven me mad”

“You and I both now that isn’t true! Have you ever wondered why I always seem to take a step back after every show of affection?”- he manages to freeze me to the core- “How come you never noticed my excessive efforts to stay away from you? I can’t even behave like a functional human being if I’m not feeling you, touching you, having you with me.”

In the middle of the paddock, with every pair of eyes set on us, events unfold the way I’ve been dreaming of, however I can´t even react.

“I know I´m not in a position to ask you anything, but please, strip me from the torment that uncertainty means… even if that means to completely destroy me”- he whispers with renewed fragility.

My smirk slowly becomes uncontrollable laughter, reducing me to unbridled chuckles. I shelter the vestiges of my giggling in between his arm, until It ceases in its intensity.

Without noticing, I search for his lips with my own, craving the heat they irradiate.

“I think you know perfectly well how my soul aches for you”- I manage to sneak in between kisses, stumbling across his smile, displayed in all its glory.

[unyandere]

Yandere killer x reader who is a Theatre Kid and CAN’T stop making musical references every two seconds

Tw: Theatre kid behaviour (I should know, I’m a theatre kid) songs from Hamilton, Epic:the musical, Six, Heaters, Ride the Ciclone (and maybe other musicals) mention

Maybe some musical references here and there but nothing too big

Other Tw: probably cringy, I feel bad for the Yandere, LOTS of bad English, oh dear you are not ready for this musicals references (I am not tagging the musicals fandoms, I feel like my silly goofiness is too overwhelming today)

Wanna read more unyandered works? Here’s the master post

You shot your photo aaaand… posted!

Now that you thought about it, this was your first post on insta, and it was a photo of you smiling in the theatre awaiting to see the play that would’ve started in just a few moments.

You almost couldn’t contain your excitement, buying the ticket had been a real struggle, but finally you would have been able to see THAT musical.

You were mumbling some of the songs from the musical you heard on Spotify, while trying to calm yourself down.

After a couple of seconds you heard a ping, a notification, from your phone.

The show would have started in less than 10 minutes, but looking at a notification wouldn’t take more than a couple of seconds.

Well, looking at the phone you noticed it was just your childhood friend liking your post.

You smiled at yourself.

On the other hand, your so called childhood friend was… well, he was certainly not well.

Tied up to a chair, beaten up and, oh lord, were those burn marks on his head?!

Yeah, he wasn’t exactly at his best.

But the guy in the same room as him, who, oh so casually, was smoking a cigarette, that so casually happened to be the cause of the burn marks, was someone that could be considered physically well, mentally… let’s just say his therapist had to see another therapist who also needed to see another therapist after that and so on.

The cigarette-smoking-guy was also in a good mood!

Talk about being lucky…

Why? Well, he just found that his muse, his everything, his sweetheart (who didn’t even know him but those are just flimsy details, aren’t they?) was pretty close to where he and his victim were and, on top of that, was oh so cutely looking at a play.

He didn’t really like plays, but if his sweetheart, his everything, his muse liked them… well he could stand to lose a few pounds hours.

Maybe… just maybe… after this job (extorting vital info for a particular company from your friend) (he was really keen on making your friend either disappear or become his accomplice in making you fall in love with himself), he could wash himself, dress up nicely and, maybe, meet you outside the theatre.

And, who knows, maybe he could… dine with you? Oh, how his mind rode off thinking of all the things you two could do together.

It took him ten minutes to recompose himself, ten minutes that he could have used to finish this job earlier.

He almost got angry with himself, but he stopped before: he didn’t have the time for that.

And so he looked at your friend.

“Sooo… how about you tell me those little secrets of yours, then you help me out with this one little-itty-bitty really legal thing and then, on an incredible note, I let you live?” He asked smiling at your friend.

Your friend sighed.

Three hours later you went out of the theatre, feeling refreshed and happy after seeing the whole play.

You knew you would sing those songs in repeat for the next three weeks.

But, as soon as you were outside you saw your childhood friend with… a guy in a black trench that looked like the outlet version of JD from Heaters.

Obviously, you went to your friend to greet them and tell them what a GREAT show you saw and give them a preview on how you would annoy them for the coming weeks.

They looked at you smiled (kinda forcefully?) and introduced to you their new friend telling you that “They were also musicals fans”.

To be honest, that was in no way true, he, the killer and kinda kidnapper on demand, hadn’t seen A musical in his whole life, he just knew some of the most famous titles.

But he did ask your friend to introduce him in a way you would want to talk to him.

And BOY DID THAT WORK.

You grabbed his wrist, your happy-neutral expression becoming more and more crazed-happy the more seconds passed.

“You..” you looked at him, eyes shining “You like musicals?!”

He slowly nodded (he was in an emotion between the most extreme happiness one can feel, the most fear one can feel and the most in love one can feel).

You stopped breathing for a moment.

“OMG! WHATSYOURFAVOURITEMUSICAL?WHATDOYOUSING?YOULOOKLIKEABASSBUTYAKNOWIDONTLIKETOMAKEASSUMPTIONS…DIDYOUSEETHISPLAY?DIDYOULIKETHELASTSONG?IDIDNTREALLYLIKEHOWTHEYEXCLUDEDTHECHORUSBUTICANUNDERSTANDTHESTORYREASONBEHINDITIMEANITOBVIOUSLYISAMETAPHORABOUTTHEPROTAGONISTBEINGABLETOBETHEMSELVESALONEWITHOUTTHENEEDOFANYONETELLINGTHEMWHATTHEYHAVETOBETOBEHAPPYBUTWHATDIDYOUTHINKABOUTTHISDECISION?” You asked, not so calmly.

He didn’t process the question, more precisely, while trying to understand what you were saying his brain went into overload, caused a crisis and collapsed on itself leaving him with one thought: her face was really cute.

“I like your head” he said, not being able to form a decent phrase.

You obviously took the reference (which technically wasn’t there) and laughed.

“Man, you Henry the VIII?” You joked.

He didn’t understand the joke, and neither did he remember anything about Henry the VIII apart from him being called the “Golden Prince” or something, so he thought you were looking at him and complimenting him on his looks.

And he totally had to return a compliment.

But then another person, a girl you knew from drama class, chimed in wanting to ask your thoughts on the play but she was stopped by him (who misinterpreted her wanting to come to you as her trying to attack you)

“Yo, you got a bone to pick?!” He asked her.

You and her looked at each other, then him, then each other again and you both, being both theatre kids obviously, smiled devishly.

“You’ve come so far why now are you pulling on my dick? I’d normally slap your face off, and everyone here could watch, but here’s some advice listen up” you both sang and then took a (extremely melodramatic) breath “BEEYOTCH”

And, yes, you both started little dancing together the choreography.

Nit doing it too much (cuz you know you were still in public) but doing it enough for your friend and mr. Killer and kidnapper on demand to see.

And he… he was confused.

What the hell did you two just do? Why did you two sing? Why were you both moving your hips? What did he say that made you two act like that.

“Why Lord-“ he started but as soon as he said that you two stopped looked at each other and attempted the last part of “The ballad of Jane Doe” (the part with the Why Lord) even though none of you were a soprano so what people heard were two chicken like voices schreeching and hurting everyone’s ears.

And now, now he was regretting his life choices, as he was cursing the fact that he was in love with you and not with, idk, a mentally stable and not socially awkward person.

“You are the-“ before he could even finish the sentence you two chances song, almost reading in each other’s mind with the typical telepathy ability that all theatre kids have once they sell their soul to the devil in exchange for the part they want to be casted as.

“-WORST KIND OF GOOD CAUSE YOU ARE NOT EVEN GREAT! A GREEK WHO REEKS OF FALSE RIGHTEOUSNESS THAT’S WHAT I HATE!!!” You and your drama class classmate sang as one voice as you both exchanged really full of pride stares to one another.

“I-I’m sorry” mumbled the Yandere “I will go to work”

And as soon as he said the word WORK, an ancient almost primal instinct woken up inside you and your classmate.

And you both started singing “The schuyler sisters” from Hamilton

And so, the Yandere pining over you just, quietly, walked away.

Traumatized and comforted by your friend who was also put at discomfort by your… peculiar antics.

[persefida]

I genuinely don't know where all my life energy comes from. People don't live like that I'm pretty sure.

I make things every minute, every second of my life. I work hard, and when I'm tired I'm doing some other interesting things and relax hard. My job, my many hobbies, my every day walkings and my chores. I can't just sit and watch some tv series, I need to do something at the same time. Haha that's why I looove Hamilton musical, I find it relatable. No time to waste, spend your life as good, productive and sorrow-less as possible. I'm living like if I was hit by a car tomorrow, I wouldn't regret any of my decisions, because I tried to find a balance between my aspirations and reality.

I have a burning energy that makes me do things on weekends. Learning new skills after working days. There's no time to try these new games or watching youtube. Going for a walk? Then listen a podcast about science. Experience new things? Remember them for future inspiration and understand the world more and better.

I was asked to do some additional job tasks on free time (being paid of course). And even after doing them I still have a willing to do things. My last vacation was 7 months ago btw.

And I want to quit my job. My perfect 9-5 job, being an artist with a good salary and being able to work from home. Yes, I want to quit it and continue my own art business that I started before it. Because I want to have more time to learn more and do many other things. I have energy to work hard so this business would succeed. And when I'll get bored of that I will think about other things and proceed to succeed them too.

My mind goes really fast and I need to drink coffee so my body would keep up. Don't wish me to rest well, I take care of my mind and body because it's in my best interest for a long-run.

I don't know.

I think I'm burning bright and one day this unknown power source will end. I genuinely don't know how on earth I'm not combusted right at this place.

Here's the part of a Hamilton musical song that always gives me determination.

(The sketch about times when I was learning and practicing to do a hand stand. Just for fun.)

[throughgoesricciardo]

Skeleton Crew - Daniel/Max, explicit, 1/?? Max stepped closer and Daniel tilted his head up. Their faces were inches apart now. Max’s hand slid from Daniel's shoulder to his jaw, slow and sure, thumb brushing his cheek. Daniel’s eyes fluttered shut. “Don’t,” he said, barely audible. Max froze. “Don’t what?” “Don’t kiss me.” Silence. Tense. Wound-tight. Max let his hand fall away. “Why not?” Daniel opened his eyes. They were glassy, sharp-edged. “Because I’ll let you.” And that would ruin him. Max nodded once, jaw clenched, and stepped back like it costs him something. "Doctor Ricciardo," JOS chimed, "your scheduled rest period began ninety-three minutes ago."

ONE

MISSION LOG: Day 53

LOCATION: Officer Quarters – Deck 4

ONBOARD TIME: 07:14 SC (Station Cycle)

Valtteri braced himself over Lewis. It had started off slow and sensual like it always did in the morning, Lewis open mouth kissing Valtteri’s neck and asking if he was awake. If he hadn’t been, the awareness of Lewis’s thick cock pressing into his back certainly woke him up.

They’d kissed for a while, slow but hungry, Lewis’s fingers tangled in Valtteri’s bleach blond hair, Valtteri’s exploring the expanse of Lewis’s muscular back

And then Lewis had rolled them over so Valtteri was straddling him.

He wasted no time in easing himself down onto Lewis’s length, hissing through his teeth at how good it burned. Lewis bit back a sound at the base of his throat at how Valtteri’s heat ate him up so excruciatingly deliciously. It was all he could do to stop himself thrusting up. But Lewis had stayed still, watching Valtteri adjust as if he hadn’t taken Lewis’s cock a thousand times before, let his hands settle on the generous swell of Valtteri’s ass cheeks while Valtteri moved tentatively, hips rolling shallow, letting Lewis slip out before reaching back to guide him in again. They both moaned.

Valtteri leaned down so they could kiss, his movements still slow, gasping against Lewis’s mouth every time he took it a little deeper.

Finally, he cursed in Finnish, finding a rhythm that worked for him, taking it as far down as he dared before arching his back to move up again over and over. Hypnotic. 

When Lewis thrust up experimentally, Valtteri let out a high pitched moan and blushed.

Lewis chuckled, “you’re so cute like this, baby.”

He let Valtteri lean over him as he thrust up into Valtteri’s mind-bending heat at his own gentle, deliberate pace; enough to feel fucking great but not enough to finish too soon. Valtteri moaned more like this, trying to stifle it and that just made Lewis harder if that was even possible.

When he picked the pace up, hands going back to Valtteri’s ass, Valtteri growled. He was achingly hard already.

“Mmm,” Lewis hummed, slowing down, “you’re close already.” It wasn't a question - he knew Valtteri too well now for it to be a question.

Valtteri nodded, jerking his hips so his own cock rubbed against Lewis’s torso.

“Want me to give it to you, baby?” Lewis asked but he knew the answer, just wanted to hear Valtteri say it. It was so rare to see him come undone in any situation so he had to relish it when he could.

“Y-Yeah.” Valtteri breathed, pale eyes glassy. 

Foreheads together, Valtteri sitting a little higher up on his knees so Lewis could push up further, 

Valtteri’s hips moved erratically, pushing down on Lewis and rolling as he garbled that he was coming just as Lewis felt it hot and sticky on his stomach.

Lewis let Valtteri fall forward onto his chest, holding him there for a while, kissing his neck until he felt his breathing even out and then Lewis flipped them one more time so Valtteri was on his side murmuring, “my turn.”

He nuzzled Valtteri’s neck like this, he smelled like pine and standard-issue soap. He could lace his fingers with Valtteri’s while he thrust slow and deep,Valtteri’s soft sighs only making him pick the speed up just to hear him moan again: “fuck, Lewis-”

“Captain Hamilton,” JOS interrupted crisply though the audio system in the ceiling of their quarters, “you are eighteen minutes late to your scheduled briefing on the Bridge.”

They both froze, Lewis panting, still inside Valtteri. Valtteri clenched around him, rocking back slowly.

“Not now,” Lewis groaned, forehead dropping to Valtteri’s shoulder.

“Not in me.”

“She’s a real cock-block.” Lewis grumbled.

“I think this is classed as a hate crime.” Valtteri laughed breathlessly. Lewis moaned loud as Valtteri’s whole body vibrated around him.

Lewis was still hard. Still throbbing. His hips twitched once.

“I swear if you move-” Valtteri started.

“I’m not moving,” Lewis breathed, “just thinking.”

“Thinking about finishing?”

“Mmm…”

“And you’re already late so what’s another couple more minutes?” Valtteri asked playfully.

“Mmm…” Lewis said again, lower this time. “You’re a bad influence Lieutenant.”

Valtteri smirked. “Yeah? Why don’t you do something about it, Captain?”

That was all Lewis needed to slam his hips into Valtteri two, three, four, five more times feverishly, coming as he bit into Valtteri’s shoulder, both moaning.

“Nineteen minutes late.” JOS said.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going, I’m going.” Lewis grumbled, pulling out and rolling off of the bed, tugging on his uniform, body flushed and sticky.

Lewis kissed Valtteri one last time before heading towards the door, the airlock hissing open.

“You’re dead to me, JOS.” Valtteri mumbled into the pillow.

“Acknowledged.” She replied. 

MISSION LOG: Day 53

LOCATION: Central Spine Corridor → Bridge

ONBOARD TIME: 07:38 SC

As the door hissed shut behind him, the hum of the F1-75 wrapped around him like a second skin. This far into the mission, the ship had its own rhythm. The soft thrum of artificial gravity generators, the quiet whirr of ventilation systems and the occasional chime from the overhead AI intercoms created a sort of lullaby - one that was too easy to forget was entirely man-made.

The air in the corridor was cooler, almost rude against Lewis’s damp skin. His hair was still a little messy, collar half-folded and JOS had done absolutely nothing to hide the satisfied smirk in her ambient lighting tone.

“Good morning, Captain,” JOS said as he passed through the lift tube toward Deck 1. Her voice was syrupy-smooth today - still smug from the interruption earlier. “Your heart rate is elevated.”“No shit,” Lewis muttered under his breath.

He took the lift tube to Deck 1’s forward quadrant letting the silence stretch as the pod glided upward. By the time he stepped onto the Bridge, the mood had changed. The heat of Valtteri’s body is gone, replaced by the chill of reinforced titanium and flickering starfield projection screens.

The Bridge came into view as the lift doors opened. It was a spacious, domed command centre lined with angular consoles and floating holodisplays. The main viewport stretched across the far wall, displaying a projected starfield that shifted slightly as the ship corrected its course.

Oscar looked up first from the nav station. He was in full uniform, blue jacket for the Science crew (despite him also being the helmsman), crisp against his pale skin. His dark hair combed back precisely, boots gleaming. His hands were laced behind his back, posture painfully protocol.

“You’re late,” he said, deadpan.

Lewis stepped into the light of the Bridge’s central holodisplay, jacket not fully zipped,chest still faintly flushed and the bruise of a bite beginning to bloom on his collarbone. He didn’t slow. “Thank you, Lieutenant Commander, I’d forgotten how clocks work.”

Oscar didn’t blink. “Noted.”

Nearby, Alex lounged with considerably less rigidity, one of his long legs folded up where he rested his chin on his knee. He was half-turned in his pilot’s chair, fingers idly dragging a course correction across the flickering star map. His jacket (green for the Navigation crew) was tied at the waist, base layer stretched snug over his lean frame, collar skewed slightly off-centre. Tousled hair, dark lashes, amused eyes. 

“You look…” Alex paused, lips twitching. “Glowy.”

Lewis didn’t dignify that with a response. His attention was already on the floating projections: readouts, shifts in orbit, life support balances, comm logs.

The door to the Bridge opened with a hiss and Max entered in silence, every inch of him immaculate. His Commander’s red-and-black uniform was zipped to the collar, sleeves straight, shoulders squared. His hair was damp, not a strand out of place. His boots made no sound across the composite floor.

“Everyone behaving?” Lewis asked, settling into the captain’s chair, voice neutral.

“Mostly,” Alex replied with a shrug. “Oscar’s been making us all feel inferior since 0600.”

“Standard,” Max murmured, already taking his post at Tactical. The crimson light of his station lit the sharp lines of his face, expression unreadable as ever.

Lewis exhaled slowly and tapped a rhythm against the chair’s armrest. The main screen shimmered with the projected starfield. Everything looked as it should.

He didn't trust it.

“Let’s get the science team up here,” he said. “Might as well keep the morning interesting.”

Oscar stepped forward, pressed two fingers to the comms interface.

“Science team - report to the Bridge,” he said. Voice sharp. Precise. “Routine systems update and anomaly report.”

Lewis stared out at the illusion of space. Black and brilliant. Quiet and full of teeth.

Just another day in deep space.

MISSION LOG: Day 53

LOCATION: Medbay – Deck 2 ONBOARD TIME: 05:35 SC

The lights in the medbay cycled up gradually, casting a sterile silver sheen across glass panels and surgical benches. Daniel was already awake. He’d never really gone to sleep.

He sat curled in the diagnostics chair with one leg tucked beneath him, chin propped on his palm, elbow digging into the cold edge of the console. The biometric display glowed soft-blue in the low light, dancing in reflections across his tired eyes.

He should’ve been in his quarters. Or in the mess. Or still in bed - curled under standard-issue blankets, pretending to rest. Instead, he was here, scrolling through the crew’s vitals like they were his morning newspaper.

Data points blinked beside each crew member’s number: neural activity, sleep cycles, hydration, stress levels, blood oxygen saturation. 

He didn’t really need to check them. Not this early. But it gave him something to do. Something to hold.

“JOS,” Daniel murmured without lifting his head, “run vitals for Crew Member #1.”

“Working.” The AI replied smoothly. “Crew Member #1, Verstappen. M: resting. Heart rate: 57 bpm. Respiration: even. Neural stimulation: elevated. Dream state: active. Stress levels: within acceptable range.”

Daniel stared at the readout, at the soft, regular curve of Max’s heart.

Dreaming.

“Of course you are,” he whispered, lips barely moving.

His eyes slipped shut, just for a moment.

He could picture it too easily - Max, asleep in his bunk. That stupidly symmetrical face finally slack with rest. Dark lashes brushing flushed cheeks, hair tousled across the pillow in artful defiance of gravity. One arm thrown carelessly aside, the other curled in toward his chest like he was still holding something; guarding something only he could see.

Daniel’s throat ached. He didn’t know why he did this to himself. Or- no. He knew. That was the problem.

“Shall I project visual feed?” JOS asked calmly.

“No.” Daniel replied quickly, cheeks burning, “no, that’s… No.

He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to smear the softness off his skin. He wasn’t supposed to care this much. Not again. Not about anyone. But he always did.

His eyes flicked back to the display. Still steady. Max always seemed like he slept without fear, like he trusted the dark not to bite. Daniel, meanwhile, still checked the lock on his door. Twice.

He leaned back in the chair, let the silence hum around him. The medbay felt too big this morning. Too clean. Too empty.

Then, footsteps along the corridor outside; soft, but confident. Rhythmic. Measured.

It was Esteban who stepped inside when the airlock opened.

The xenobiologist wore his white and blue science uniform jacket buttoned high, sleeves rolled to the forearms with clinical precision. His hair dark, his sharp eyes had that restless, bright edge they always did this early in the cycle. Always working. Always chasing.

Daniel straightened a little in his chair. “You’re up early.”

“I could say the same for you,” Esteban replied, heading for the analysis console without asking. “But I suppose you’re always here.”

Daniel shrugged. “Someone’s got to babysit your biology experiments.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Esteban’s face. “Good thing I only test them on the harmless organisms.”

Daniel snorted. “Harmless until they melt through the deck plating.”

There was a lull but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

They had a tenuous kind of understanding. Old acquaintances, from different orbits but tangled paths. Daniel had met Lance a few times. Scotty used to talk about him; Lance’s sister had been Scotty’s best friend. And when Lance died… well. You didn’t forget that sort of thing. Even if you wanted to.

Esteban, for all his edges, never forgot it either. He didn’t speak of Lance often, but he never had to. It clung to him in the quiet hours like a scent.

Daniel watched him work for a moment, then said softly, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Esteban shook his head, still scanning. “Didn’t try.”

Daniel understood that. He understood it too well.

MISSION LOG: Day 53LOCATION: Officer Quarters – Deck 4ONBOARD TIME: 06:01 SC

“Mon amour, come back to bed,” Charles purred, voice low and silk-soft with sleep.

Carlos stood near the small built-in wardrobe, fastening the last button of his uniform. His dark hair was still damp from a sonic rinse, curling at the nape of his neck and resisting every attempt at neatness. The orange stripe down his engineering uniform caught the shifting light like a pulse.

He smirked. “Corazón, you know I can’t.”

Charles shifted in the bed, one bare leg emerging from beneath the sheet like a threat. His chest and collarbones glowed warm in the low light, hair a wild mess. He looked ridiculous. He looked perfect.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you,” Charles said, pout unmistakable in his voice.

Carlos turned, leaning against the wall just beside the door. “You saw me all last night, didn’t you?” His voice dropped as he crossed back to the bed, leaned down and kissed Charles lazily; soft and slow, tongue just a little smug.

Charles hummed but didn’t kiss back right away. “It’s not the same,” he whispered into Carlos’s mouth. “You’re always leaving me. Valtteri in the gym, engineering calls—Carlos, come fix this leak, Carlos come and fix this panel, this reactor coil that’s about to explode.”

Carlos chuckled. “That reactor coil was about to explode.”

“And what about me, mon beau?” Charles asked, dramatic now, hand sliding down Carlos’s chest. “Am I not also about to explode?”

Carlos’s brow lifted, amused and impossibly turned on. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m lonely,” Charles corrected, but it came out petulant. “Have lunch with me later.”

Carlos traced a thumb across Charles’s cheekbone. “I’ll try.”

“Try?” Charles scoffed. “I might forget what you look like.”

That made Carlos lean in again, this time nipping at Charles’s bottom lip with teeth. “Liar. You’ll dream of me.”

“I’ll dream of smothering you with my pillow,” Charles muttered.

Carlos kissed his temple and straightened up, shoulders back, smirk firmly in place. “See? That’s love.”

Charles flopped back onto the pillows with a dramatic sigh. “Go. Break things. Burn things. Be useful.”

“I’m always useful,” Carlos called as the door hissed open.

Charles didn’t reply. He just pulled the sheet over his face and groaned.

Carlos left smiling.

MISSION LOG: Day 53 LOCATION: Corridor – Deck 4, Central Spine ONBOARD TIME: 06:07 SC

The door sealed shut behind him along with Charles  and that melodramatic pout.

Carlos exhaled, rolled his neck once, then started down the corridor toward the lifts. The ship was still in its quiet cycle, lights low, the hum of its systems more noticeable in the hush.

He didn’t get more than five metres before someone stepped out of a side corridor like he hadn’t been standing there for ten minutes pretending to look at a maintenance panel.

“Carlos!” Lando’s voice was all brightness, faux surprise painted across his face.

Carlos didn’t stop walking. “What a coincidence.” He said but he was smiling.

“Total coincidence,” Lando grinned, falling into step beside him. He was still tugging the top half of his uniform jacket into place, cheeks flushed. “Didn’t know you took this route.”

Carlos arched a brow. “It’s the most direct route.”

Lando blinked innocently. “Right. Yeah. That makes sense.”

They walked in silence for a few paces, boots soft against the metal floor. Then Lando said, too casually, “Sleep well?”

Carlos smirked without turning. “I was barely in bed.”

“Busy night?”

Carlos looked over at him. “Something like that.”

Lando bit his lip. It wasn’t subtle. He shifted a little closer, just enough that their shoulders almost brushed. “I was gonna go to the training bay,” he said.

“I figured.”

“Thought maybe you’d want company.”

Carlos chuckled. “You’re not exactly subtle, Lando.”

Lando stopped walking, stepping slightly in front of him. “I could be.”

Carlos looked down at him, mouth curling. “You’re not.”

Lando tilted his chin up. The corridor lights caught his lashes, the little freckle on his neck. His voice dropped.

“I don’t want to be.”

Carlos didn’t move for a second. Then he reached out, fingers brushing Lando’s jaw, tilting it just so. Their eyes met, heat and hesitation crashing against each other, until Carlos leaned in.

The kiss was soft. Quick. Meant to be nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. Not to Lando, at least.

Lando made a sound, pleased, and Carlos kissed him again, a little deeper this time, a little slower. 

And then he stepped back. “Come on,” he said, voice lower now. “Let’s train.”

Lando nodded, dazed but grinning.

MISSION LOG: Day 53LOCATION: Bridge – Deck 1ONBOARD TIME: 07:45 SC

The lift tube opened with a soft chime, spilling in three members of the science team: Daniel, Esteban, and Zhou.

Daniel was the first through the threshold, still rubbing at one bleary eye, curls unbrushed and base layer sleeves pushed to the elbows. His white medical jacket hung open, half-buttoned like an afterthought. He looked like he hadn’t slept, which, judging by the deep shadows under his eyes, was not a new development.

Esteban followed with crisp, polished indifference. His deep-blue xenobiology uniform was pristine, not a thread out of place. He carried a dataslate tucked beneath one arm and an expression like he’d already decided this meeting was a waste of time.

Zhou came in last, young and wired with nervous energy. His sleeves were still a little too long, his blue junior rank badge freshly clipped. He clutched his tablet like it might try to run away.

“Captain,” Esteban said with a nod, already moving toward the central interface.

“Morning,” Daniel offered, half-hearted. He caught Max’s eye briefly, then dropped his gaze to the floor like it burned.

Lewis didn’t stand. “Report?”

Esteban tapped a few commands into the interface and the holodisplay in the centre of the Bridge shifted. Star maps cleared to reveal something… not quite natural.

Oscar, already anticipating the moment, spoke first. “There’s a new cluster of unidentified objects on the outer edge of our current flight path. Roughly 40,000 klicks out.”

Zhou adjusted the map scale, zooming in. “They weren’t there during the last long-range sweep.”

“New trajectory?” Max asked.

Oscar nodded. “Adjusting steadily. Drifting with intention, seemingly. They’re correcting course every few hours - just by a few degrees.”

Lewis leaned forward. “And they’re headed for us?”

“If nothing changes,” Esteban said flatly, “we’ll intercept in three days.”

Daniel frowned. “Could it be debris?”

“Possibly,” Oscar replied. “But not likely.”

“No active transponders. No known designations. No power signatures,” Esteban added. “And definitely not behaving like junk.”

Lewis tilted his head, studying the rotating projection of clustered heat points, just slightly too uniform in shape to be natural.

Daniel cleared his throat. “We’ve got space in the mid-deck containment lab if we need to isolate something. But if it’s biological…”

“If it’s biological, I’ll want it dead before it boards,” Max said simply.

That earned him a glance from Lewis but he didn’t disagree.

Alex hummed under his breath, fingers dancing over the trajectory display. “It’s moving like it wants to be found.”

A beat of silence.

Then Esteban murmured, “That’s what worries me.”

Lewis stood slowly. “Prepare a preliminary investigation. I want a drone launch within six hours. I want full scans, visual feeds, all of it. If it breathes, floats, twitches or pings - we log it.”

“Yes, sir,” Oscar replied, already uploading the protocols to JOS.

Lewis turned to Daniel. “Prep Medbay. Just in case.”

Daniel nodded. “I’ll get Yuki to start a systems sweep too. If there’s external interference, it might show up in environmental controls.”

“Good,” Lewis said. His gaze swept the room one last time. Calm faces. Controlled voices. But the energy had shifted.

He looked back at the display.Those little objects just sat there, waiting.

“Let’s hope it’s nothing,” he said.

No one answered.

MISSION LOG: Day 53 LOCATION: Maintenance Accessway – Deck 5, Port Side ONBOARD TIME: 08:11 SC

Yuki was shoulder-deep in a wall panel, cursing softly in Japanese as sparks kissed his knuckles. The relay had been cycling too loud for days. No one else had noticed but he had.

“Gotcha,” he muttered triumphantly, twisting the seal and easing a damaged cable loose with careful fingers. The hum softened immediately, dropping back to the baseline rhythm he knew by heart.

The ship sighed. Not literally but close enough.

“Better,” Yuki said, wiping his hands on his undershirt, smudging grease across his collarbone. He didn’t hear the footsteps until they were close. A shadow stretched long across the corridor.

“Is this your idea of a good time?” Pierre’s voice came smooth and lilting, laced with fondness. “Choking the ship into submission?”

Yuki didn’t look up. “She likes it rough.”

Pierre snorted. “You’re going to make the AI jealous.”

“JOS wishes she could get this kind of attention.”

Now Yuki looked up, squinting in the overhead glow. Pierre was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jacket still buttoned up like he cared about regulations. His hair was soft and neat today - Yuki hated how good it looked.

“I brought you breakfast,” Pierre offered innocently. “Protein bar and a lukewarm energy pouch. I know, I spoil you.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“Yeah, but if I don’t, you forget and then you faint and then I have to carry you to medbay again,” Pierre said, handing over the rations. “Which, I’ll admit, was charming the first time.”

Yuki scowled but took the food, tearing into the bar with more hunger than he meant to show. “I was just low on salt.”

“You were unconscious.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Same thing.”

Pierre crouched beside him, eyes flicking over the exposed panel. “This the relay you were complaining about?”

“She was whining in her sleep,” Yuki muttered around a mouthful. “Cycle frequency was 0.004 off.”

Pierre raised an eyebrow. “That’s microscopic.”

Yuki shrugged. “You hear with your ears. I hear with my heart.”

Pierre smirked. “You’re such a little freak.”

Yuki flashed him a greasy grin. “Yeah? But you still keep showing up.”

Pierre didn’t answer. Just looked at him for a second too long.

They sat there like that for a while. Shoulder to shoulder. Maintenance hum cradling the quiet. Yuki fiddled with a recalibrator; Pierre passed him tools before he could ask. They worked like they’d done it a hundred times before.

Eventually, Yuki muttered, “She’s fine now.”

Pierre tilted his head. “You sure?”

“I know this ship like my own pulse,” Yuki said. “If she was sick, I’d feel it.”

Pierre didn’t smile this time. He just nodded. “Ok,” he said. “Then I trust you.”

Yuki tucked the recalibrator back into the panel with a click and began sealing it shut, fingers moving with practised ease. Pierre passed him the final tool without being asked, just like always.

Their hands brushed.

Not a graze, not incidental.

Yuki stilled. So did Pierre.

For a heartbeat, they didn’t move. The hum of the conduit filled the silence. Pierre’s hand was warm. Yuki’s fingers twitched, just slightly, before he snatched them away.

“Thanks,” he said, too fast.

Pierre didn’t tease him. Didn’t smile.

“You’ve got grease on your cheek,” he murmured instead.

Yuki scowled, scrubbing at his face with the back of his wrist. “Whatever.”

“You missed it.”

Pierre reached out - slow and deliberate - and wiped the smudge away with his thumb. His touch lingered for the briefest moment.

Yuki swallowed.

“I could’ve done that myself.”

“I know.”

They locked eyes. Yuki opened his mouth, then closed it again. The moment stretched long and taut between them, something unsaid pressing up against the glass wall of it.

Pierre stepped back. “Coffee?” he asked lightly, like nothing had happened.

Yuki blinked, shoulders loosening. “Yeah. Ok.”

And just like that, they were two crewmates again. Walking down the corridor. Side by side. Not touching. Not talking about it, as usual.

MISSION LOG: Day 53 LOCATION: Mess Hall – Deck 4, Forward ONBOARD TIME: 13:24 SC

The mess hall buzzed with energy: cutlery clinked, trays sliding and chatter in at least three different languages. Somewhere, Valtteri was arguing with the coffee machine again. Esteban and Oscar were still locked in a passive-aggressive debate over oxygen curve readouts at the corner table. Max sat alone at the far end, reading something on a flickering holopad.

Lewis slid into the seat across from Sebastian, whose tray held a neatly segmented selection of rehydrated tofu, greens, and something else unidentifiable but no doubt ethically sourced.

Seb looked up. “I saved you the last of the seaweed cubes.” He said with a gleam in his bright blue eyes.

Lewis grimaced playfully. “Aww, you shouldn’t have.”

Seb smiled. “You need the iron.”

They ate in silence for a moment, like old men on a park bench. The kind of silence worn in and familiar.

Then, softly, Seb said, “Kimi and I are trying for a baby.”

Lewis blinked. “Oh?”

Seb nodded once. “We filed the request two weeks ago. Hormonal prep arrived this morning.”

Lewis let that settle, he grinned wide and genuine. “That’s amazing, Seb.”

“It’s terrifying,” Seb admitted. “But beautiful. We want roots. Something real. Something…” He gestured vaguely to the sterile light panels above. “...not metal.”

Lewis watched him. “You always said you’d leave the stars behind one day.”

“I think I’ve had enough of stars,” Seb said, sipping his water. “I want bees.”

Lewis chuckled. “You miss the bees.”

Seb grinned, eyes a little misty. “Of course I do. I miss things that hum for joy, not function.”

A pause.

Lewis’s gaze drifted down to his own tray. “I used to think about it too. Kids.”

“Nico?”

Lewis nodded. “Back then, yeah. And… now and then with Valtteri.” He picked at his protein ration. “He’d be a great dad. He’s calm. Patient.”

Seb leaned forward. “But?”

Lewis shook his head. “No but. Just… Wondering if I’m cut out for it.”

Seb tilted his head. “You built a brilliant command career. Seven long-haul missions. A reputation that even Nico and all his bitchy pettiness can’t dent. But raising a child?” He smiled gently, a glazed faraway look in his eyes. “That’s the only mission that doesn’t need to be perfect.”

Lewis met his gaze. “I don’t think I’ve ever not tried to be perfect.”

Seb’s voice softened. “Then maybe it’s time you tried to be just happy.”

Their trays sat forgotten for a moment. The mess hall faded into soft blur. Just two men with too much history and not enough Earth under their feet.

Seb reached for a cube of seaweed, broke it in half, and handed it to Lewis.

“Eat your greens, Captain.”

Lewis huffed a laugh. “Yes, Dad.”

MISSION LOG: Day 53 LOCATION: Maintenance Bay – Deck 5, Aft ONBOARD TIME: 14:03 SC

Carlos had grease on his jaw again.

Charles noticed it instantly, of course, of course, as he marched into the maintenance bay like he was storming a battlefield. His boots echoed off the industrial plating, past racks of spare parts and humming diagnostics screens. The scent of ozone, engine coolant and Carlos's cologne- that one Charles hated because it made him feel things - lingered thick in the air.

Carlos was elbow-deep in a conduit, muttering to Yuki about some faulty regulator when he heard the distinct sound of righteous footsteps.

“Ah,” he said without looking up. “The thunder approaches.”

“Connard!” Charles snapped.

Yuki blinked. “I’m gonna... go calibrate... something.” And wisely made himself scarce.

Carlos turned, slow as sunrise, wiping his hands on a rag with the calm of a man who lived to be scolded. “Corazón.”

“Don’t corazón me,” Charles growled, jabbing a finger into Carlos’s chest. “You said lunch.”

“I know.”

“I waited thirty-five minutes.”

“I know.”

“You promised, Carlos.”

“I said I’d try, baby.”

Charles’s lip curled. “So a piece of machinery gets more of your time than I do?”

Carlos tossed the rag over his shoulder and stepped forward. That smirk - his insufferable smirk - was already blooming. “You sound like my ex-wife.”

Charles blinked, confused. “Tu as une ex-femme?”

“No. But if I did, I imagine she’d sound a lot like this.”

Charles narrowed his eyes, all golden fury and chiseled cheekbones. “I made you lunch. I traded rations with Esteban for your stupid noodles. I even saved you a seat.”

Carlos grinned. “Did you save me a kiss, too?”

“I saved you a fork. To stab in your thigh.”

Carlos stepped closer, eyes gleaming. “Kinky.”

“Test me.”

“Too late.”

Heat sizzled between them, thick as plasma.

Charles’s voice dropped. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”

“You saw me last night.”

Charles flushed. “That’s not the same.”

“What, my mouth all over you doesn’t count as quality time?”

“Carlos.”

“Mmm, I like it when you say my name like that.”

Charles shoved him, hard. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“You’re arrogant.”

“You’re obsessed.”

“You’re a problem.”

Carlos’s hands were already on Charles’s waist. “Then solve me.”

And before Charles could throw another insult, Carlos grabbed him by the thighs and lifted him clean off the ground. Charles gasped, legs wrapping instinctively around Carlos’s hips. Their mouths collided: feverish, hot, teeth and tongue and too much heat too fast.

Carlos pinned Charles against the wall beside the storage lockers, one hand tugging his hair, the other pressing bruisingly into the meat of his thigh. Charles moaned low, desperate, biting Carlos’s lip in retaliation. His fingers curled into the collar of Carlos’s jumpsuit, dragging him even closer, like he needed to be buried in him just to breathe.

Carlos rocked against him, once. Twice. The friction was obscene.

Charles cursed in French. Carlos answered in Spanish.

“Still think I’m a problem?” Carlos asked as he kissed down Charles’s neck.

“Shut up and fuck me.” Charles replied.

MISSION LOG: Day 53 LOCATION: Bridge – Deck 1 ONBOARD TIME: 20:01 SC

Autopilot engaged.

Alex lingered longer than he needed to, watching the nav readout cycle through systems that hadn’t changed in hours. The stars out front looked the same as they had yesterday. And the day before. Alex was still at his console, one leg folded beneath him, fingertips resting lightly on the edge of the panel.

Lewis lingered a few feet away, arms folded, gazing somewhere in the middle distance. The others had filtered out already, even Max. Just the two of them now.

“I said you could go, Lieutenant,” Lewis said after a beat, not unkindly.

Alex didn’t look at him. “I can stay a little longer. It’s fine.”

Lewis’s brow furrowed. He took a half-step forward, voice lower. “Alex…”

Alex stilled.

“I know things have been…” Lewis hesitated, searching for the right word, “complicated. I just want to check - you’re holding up alright?”

Alex’s fingers tightened slightly on the console. No one had asked him that. Not directly. He didn’t know how to answer.

“Yeah,” he said, too fast. “Yeah, I’m…fine.”

Lewis tilted his head, unconvinced. “You don’t have to say that.”

There was a beat of silence. The bridge lights buzzed faintly overhead.

“I just think better here,” Alex said at last, quieter now. “Easier to be here than… somewhere else.”

Lewis nodded slowly. “Have you… spoken to Doctor Ricciardo? Or Doctor Lawson?”

Alex’s gaze dropped to the nav map’s faint glow. “I’ve tried everything. Nothing can help him.”

Lewis’s brow lifted slightly.

“I meant for you,” Lewis said gently. “This… What you’re going through - it’s not something you need to deal with alone.”

Alex looked up then, eyes too bright in the half-light. “I don’t need a doctor, Captain.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Lewis exhaled softly. “I meant… someone to talk to.”

Alex looked away, jaw tightening. “I appreciate your concern.”

“I’m not trying to push.”

“I know.”

“Just promise me you won’t stay here too long.”

Alex gave a faint smile but he hadn’t smiled truly for months. Ever since… “Ok.”

Lewis lingered for a moment longer, like he wanted to say something else but didn’t. He just nodded and turned, footsteps soft as he left the bridge.

That had been about an hour ago.

And Alex still hadn’t moved.

Alex logged out with a sigh, fingers moving lazily across the panel. His neck ached from hunching and he rolled his shoulders with a wince as he stood. The collar of his base layer was wrinkled, his hair a little too flat from the headset.

He passed through the corridor with a soft hum beneath his boots, nodding absently to Esteban exiting the lab. The mess was half-empty when he walked by. Someone had started playing music from Earth - low, jazzy, too sentimental.

Their quarters were empty when he got there. Dark, tidy, undisturbed. George’s side of the room was unfathomably neat: towel folded perfectly, uniform jacket hung like it had never been worn, charger still docked and untouched. The bed was smooth and made, like no one lived there at all.

Alex showered, quick, efficient and pulled on a fresh shirt before curling up with a ration tray at the small table near the viewport. He picked at the unappealing grey food, watching the stars pass like silent sentinels.

By 21:46, George still hadn’t returned.

Alex tapped the comm on the wall. “JOS,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. “Where’s George?”

A pause. “Crew Member #63 is in Observation Bay B.”

Alex stared at the wall for a beat. Then, quietly, “How long has he been there?”

“Two hours and nineteen minutes.”

Alex didn’t respond. He just stood, heart low in his throat before slipping on his boots and heading to Observation Bay B.

MISSION LOG: Day 53LOCATION: Observation Bay B – Deck 1ONBOARD TIME: 21:52 SC

The door opened with a hiss.

George didn’t turn. He stood at the centre of the bay, framed by the long curve of reinforced glass and the glittering veil of space. The stars reflected coldly in his eyes.

George stood completely still.

“George?” Alex said, carefully.

Silence. Then: “Hello, Alex.” His voice was flat. Polite. Measured. Like he was speaking from a script.

Alex took a breath. “You haven’t been back to quarters. I waited.”

“I did not forget,” George said eventually. “I  reprioritised.”

His voice was calm. Stripped of softness. Of him.

Alex tried to smile. “We used to talk about the stars. You said they looked like freckles.”

“I recall the comparison,” George said. “Freckles. A point-based pigmentation variance.”

Alex’s heart cracked. “No,” he whispered. “You laughed and said they looked like mine.”

George’s head tilted, just slightly. His eyes glowed softly, they never used to. “Alex,” he said, almost like a question.

It made Alex ache. “Come back with me. Please.”

“I do not require sleep.”

“But I do,” Alex said. “I need you. Even if you’re just… sitting next to me. Please, George.”

“I detect sadness,” George said.

Alex blinked rapidly, throat tightening. “Yeah… I guess you would.”

George stepped forward. His hand came up, brushed Alex’s cheek like it was normal. It was the same gesture he’d used to calm Alex down after simulations. The same touch he used to wake him gently in the morning.

But it wasn’t warm.

It wasn’t him.

It was learned or remembered or both; something salvaged from the cracks of George’s memory of their life before.

“I remember this,” George said softly. “You used to… smile, when I touched you like this.”

Alex’s breath caught. “Do you feel anything now?”

George tilted his head. Thinking.  “I am aware that you are in distress. It causes… unfamiliar processing patterns.”

“You used to call that love.”

Silence.

Alex’s shoulders curled inward, trying to suppress a sob. “Please. Just come back. Come back and lie beside me.” He whispered, voice shaking, “you don’t have to sleep. Just pretend. Like before.”

George didn’t answer.

Alex stepped forward anyway. Rested his forehead to George’s chest: no heartbeat. Just stillness.

Please, he thought. Just for a second, remember me. Remember us.

George replied, “I can try.”

Back in their quarters, Alex curled in on his side. George sat on the bed beside him, upright. Hands folded. Perfect posture. Like he was charging instead of resting.

“Do you remember,” Alex whispered, “the night before the launch? You kissed me and said you’d follow me into hell.”

George didn’t move. For a second, Alex thought he wouldn’t reply. But then:

“I remember,” George said. “Your pulse was elevated. You wore a green T-shirt. You tasted like spearmint.”

Alex let out a shaky laugh. “That was our last Earth night. You held me so tight I couldn’t breathe.”

Silence. And then, softly George replied, “I thought if I held you close, I could keep you.”

Shit. It sounded like him. Like the real George.

Alex felt himself shake as he looked up at him. “Then hold me now.”

George hesitated before slowly lying down. Arms around Alex. Mimicking the way he used to. His chin touched Alex’s hair.

It felt right.

Alex exhaled, body trembling. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for trying.”

He felt George’s fingers twitch against his back. Like muscle memory. Like something was waking up. 

And then—

the glitch.

George’s fingers spasmed. Once. Twice.

His voice came, cold and flat:  “System error. Loop detected. Restarting touch pattern.”

Alex froze. “George?”

Silence.

Then George blinked. “I am here, Alex.”

But the warmth was gone again. And Alex knew it had only been a flicker. A flicker of what was left.

He curled tighter against George’s chest and cried soundlessly.

[alwaysonf1]

date?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 3.3k

Warning: Mild Language.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: PSA there will be no French hear unless it's a pet name or I love you.

A knock on her door makes Iman jump. In the process a bit of the lip gloss she was applying gets on her chin. Panic fills her and she quickly grabs a tissue and blots it away. 

“One second,” she calls out.

Iman would love to say that all her nervous energy was because she needs to touch up her make-up quickly, but it was there long before that. It’d been there since she’d woken up from her nap. She’d opted out of the late lunch she’d been invited to, claiming she was tired and needed a bit to recharge. Which hadn’t been a lie, but it also wasn’t the complete truth. Iman needed alone time to pull herself together and scream into her pillow.

The giddy schoolgirl behavior was back.

There was a part of her that still hated that feeling, but she’d also started to embrace it. Most of her relationships didn’t come with it. That didn’t mean the ones that did were amicable at all, but for some reason she felt like this time it made sense. This time it was okay to fall into her emotions, even if the potential bad outcome comes true.

As soon as the thought enters, even though it’s not sending her into a spiral, she pushes it out. Going into this with only thoughts of the good, while being realistic is what she needed to do. Even if things ending badly, was a realistic possibility.

With a tap of her setting powder and then a light mist, she gets herself up from the seat in front of the vanity and grabs her purse from the bench near the door. Her gaze flits over the mirror on the other side of the door and she walks toward it. One thing she isn’t nervous about is her outfit.

The olive-green dress she chose fits her well up top and flares perfectly at the bottom, stopping just below her knee. It’s her favorite color to wear and she’s full of herself enough that she knows that others agree with her choice. However, the one area where she’s a little hesitant is the shoes. Why she packed stiletto length heels she was unsure, but they work and that’s all that mattered.

A deep breath, an adjustment on how the bottom half of her braids not in an updo, and then she opens the door.

Unconsciously she takes a sharp inhale. When Charles looks up at her he does the same. It stops some of the burning in her cheeks, but she could see the rosiness forming on his face immediately. He looks bashful and that comforts her for some reason.

“Hi,” she says.

Not enough to get her to say something better than that though.

“Hi. You look… beautiful, mon ange.” He sounds a little breathless.

However, that isn’t what she focuses on. No, her brain is fixated on the term of endearment. Fixated on him calling her his angel. Iman is sure that the burn in her cheeks is enough to be visible. But she hopes her blush is hiding it. Being this flustered is a little embarrassing.

“Thank you. You look handsome.” 

The statement could easily just be a throw away compliment since he gave her one, but Iman means it. Her eyes scan him from head to toe, his combination of brown slacks and a cream ribbed button up makes her warm in a different way. Her eyes meet his again and he his lips are quirked in a smirk and there’s a fire in his eyes.

A second passes with them just staring at each other, then Charles extends his hand. Iman takes it without a second or first thought. Their fingers lace together, and Charles nods his head toward the elevators.

“We shouldn’t miss our reservation.”

Iman nods and they begin to walk. 

Silence fills the space between them, but it’s comfortable. Once inside the elevator she thinks Charles will let go, but he holds her hand firmly. Not giving a single sign, he plans to release her. Even as one of her fingers taps against the back of his hand due to her mild fear of being trapped in an elevator. Something that came from getting trapped in an elevator once with Logan. 

He leads her out of the elevator once the doors open, squeezing tight for a second. 

The only times he’s been in front of her is to motion her forward in a lady first gesture. Something she doesn’t need for a date but feels good.

Though the usual move was to rent a house on vacation, everyone thought a new resort that had everything you could want on the property was a good idea. So, from the moment they exit the hotel to their arrival at the restaurant only five minutes will pass.

The first minute is with more silence, but then suddenly Iman is pressed against Charles’ side. Her eyes go wide, and she turns her head to look up at him, but then she feels a whoosh of air. She turns her head just in time to see a golf cart going too fast.

Shock is the word that best fits her as she watches the cart until it disappears. Then she looks to Charles again. Despite their impending danger just moments ago he seems very calm. Too calm.

“Did you set that up, Charlie?”

“What do you mean?” Confusion takes hold of his features. 

“Your saving the damsel in distress moment?” 

His confusion only seems to grow, and she watches as he opens his mouth to reply, then closes it. An expression that Iman would call a little arrogant replaces the confusion.

“Are you a damsel in distress, mon ange?”

Iman purses her lips in thought, then bats her lashes at him.

“Maybe.”

Charles leans in close and whispers in her ear, “Then I will save you whenever you need it.”

Involuntary shivers run down her spine and from the growing smirk she knows that Charles noticed it. Her immediate response is to fall into a shy persona, but she steels herself, this time being the one to whisper in his ear.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

There’s a mild shift in expression, but he manages to keep it off his face. 

“We have to go. Don’t want to be late, remember?” she says.

Charles clears his throat and nods, leading them to the restaurant. This silence is more tension filled than before. The kind of tension that Iman enjoys.

But because she knows that he’s already flustered she doesn’t do anything to get him even more riled up. Just holds his hand until they get to the entrance of the restaurant. Her hand goes to push open the door, but Charles beats her to it. He gives her a look that she’s sure is about the audacity of her opening the door herself and then guides her in by the small of her back.

This resort has quite a few F1 fans on staff, so it doesn’t shock Iman when the host’s face lights up and he gestures for them to follow him without a word said. He leads them through the half full restaurant and to a table that isn’t completely separate from everything else but has some level of privacy.

Charles pulls the chair out for her, and she sits, her hands itching to look at the menu, but she waits until he’s seated and the host leaves. Iman’s hand reaches out to grab the menu, but it’s gone and in Charles’ hands before she can. She opens her mouth, ready to ask what he’s doing, but that’s paused by the waiter arriving with water and taking the drink orders. Before he leaves Charles promises they’ll have their orders ready for when he comes back.

So, instead of saying anything Iman looks at Charles with a raised brow. One of his hands extends across the table and takes her’s. He looks into her eyes and she almost melts.

“I know what you want,” he says.

Immediately she wants to be apprehensive, but she doesn't give into that. Yes, people could be different when a romantic relationship is on the table, but Charles sat through an hour rant about a date with someone who ordered for her and then ate half her food while she was in the bathroom.

“Go on,” Iman says.

“They have wagyu here.”

All funny feelings fled her at once and she could feel giddiness building up in her. 

“And a asparagus dish similar to…”

A soft sound of joy escapes her, cutting him off. The mention of two of her favorite things is all she needs to hear. Without thinking she gets out of her seat and goes to his side. She takes his head in her hands and leans down, kissing him in a way that isn’t soft, but also not intense.

When she pulls away Charles looks breathless again. And for a moment Iman thinks about doing it again but sees their waiter out of the corner of her eye and moves back to her seat. 

“What did I do to deserve that?” he asks when the waiter leaves.

“Listen.”

“That is all it takes?”

Iman knows he’s teasing her. They’ve had many conversations about the bar being in hell. Though he says it’s much deeper than that.

“I also just wanted to kiss you.”

“You are welcome to any time, mon ange.”

Embarrassment for her reaction to that or her reactions at all is nowhere to be found. Maybe it will turn up when she’s trying to sleep at night, but Iman has no regrets. Charles is a man she’s liked for longer than she’d care to admit and like she told herself in her hotel room, she’s allowing her elevated emotions to be what they are. She’ll mellow out.

Neither say anything else, taking a moment to taste their drinks. Wine isn’t her favorite thing, but she likes the red wine she chose. She hadn’t specified what kind, and the waiter didn’t ask. It worked in her favor.

Throat clearing and she’s looking at Charles again.

“Do you like it?’

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Good.”

“Do you want to try it?” 

Charles’ eyes widen. “Oh no, mon…”

The glass is already outstretched to him, he hesitates, but takes it after a few seconds. Iman watches intently as his lips press to the rim and he takes a small sip. And then another. And then for a third time.

“Hold on now, I didn’t say you could drink it all.”

Her hand beckons for him to give it back and he takes one last sip then hands it over. There’s a pout taking shape, but Iman refuses to be swayed by it.

“Put that lip away before I bite it. Order your own.”

Brows are raised at the word bite, and he doesn’t stop the pouting. In fact, he exaggerates it. 

“Sharl…” she warns.

That brings a smile and she can’t help but roll her eyes, before smiling as well.

Time either moved quickly or the staff did, because two waiters approach with their meals a second later. They’re both covered until the plates are on the table and a man is now no longer what Iman is salivating over.

“Thank you,” they say as the waiters leave.

Once they’re gone Iman takes no cues from Charles, just picks up the smallest piece of her already cut steak and fights a moan. It’s nearly perfect and it’s been a while since she’d had it.

Her next step is tasting the asparagus. There’s a little surprise in the restaurant having it whole, the only time she sees them in an up-scale restaurant is usually as a barely there part of the meal. 

The moment she touches her tongue her eyes go wide and she takes another bite immediately. This time something akin to a moan almost comes out, but there’s another piece in her mouth before she can release it.

“That is almost the taste exactly,” Iman says.

“I don’t believe I have asked you, why do you enjoy those so much?”

Iman puts down the cutlery and takes a sip of her wine.

“Lewis was, and still is, a terrible cook. But that didn’t stop my mother from leaving me with him for a week while she worked. I only knew the basics and that got tiring after a while. So, I begged him to make something fancier. He caved, we went to the store and grabbed anything. Then we got home and it was a disaster trying to figure things out. Burned chicken, burned chocolate lava cake, and somehow burned mashed potatoes. Asparagus is the only thing that we managed not to burn and we’d just thrown random spices on them before roasting so we were terrified. But we agreed it was the best vegetable eating experience we’d ever had. Took weeks to figure out how to recreate it.

“And then he went vegan on me. So, it became one of the few shared favorite dishes we have.”

Charles appears thoughtful. There was some eating here and there - from both of them - as Iman spoke, but she had his full attention the entire time.

“Ah. I will admit that this love you have for it is still confusing to me, but I understand. Now, how did you come to love such an expensive cut of cow?”

Soft laughter escapes Iman because of his phrasing.

“For one of my birthdays, Lewis just showed up and said we were going to Japan. I’d always wanted to, but mom refused to let him just jet me here and there because it would spoil me or something. As if he didn’t in every other way,” Iman rolls her eyes. “But anyway, we went and did all the touristy things, ate ramen in small towns, and bought way too much in all the districts of Tokyo. Then we went to a restaurant that was just the fanciest place I’d ever seen. It was a kind of place that had a set menu.

“I wasn’t all that sure about trying the wagyu when it came out redder than I liked, but he convinced me and it was the best steak I’d ever eaten. We still had a week after that and I convinced him four more times to take me to places with wagyu, but I refused to have anything but the best. That’s the first and only time he’s cut off my spending. Which is fair. I was at risk of actually putting a dent in his bank account if I got my way.”

A fondness fills Iman and she thinks back to the chaos and fun of that trip.

“So should I raise my price when I go into contract negotiations to prepare for this addiction of yours?” he asks, laughing.

“If you like me, happy.”

“Then I will do just that.”

Iman was uncertain if he was joking or not, but there was this look in his eye that made her think he might not be.

Instead of addressing that she continues to eat her meal. They speak here and there about the things they loved in life. There’s a lot of focus on Iman getting back into dancing and Charles wanting to release more music.

“Why not release a single? Get the fans excited.” Iman asks

“I have nothing ready.”

“I’ve heard your “unfinished” music before, it’s great. You’re just too in your head.”

“Perhaps.”

Two waiters arrive to take their plates and then leave quickly. As if scared to linger longer than necessary.

“Dessert?”

Lips pursed, Iman shakes her head. “Hm… I usually wouldn’t say no, but I don’t know if I can manage.”

“We could share?”

Iman thinks it over, she knows that she’ll have to satisfy the sweet treat craving later if she doesn’t now. Which is fine, but she kind of wants to know what the restaurant has to offer. 

“Okay.”

Hand not even halfway up and the waiter is at their table.

“What can I help you with?” he asks.

“One of your chocolate mousses, please.”

“Only one, sir?

“Yes, we will share.”

Their waiter pulls a face. “I’m sorry sir, are you sure? The mousse is quite small.”

Charles looks at me and I turn toward the waiter.

“Two of them, please.”

The waiter nods and is gone as fast as he arrived. 

They continue talking about everything under the sun and just like their food, the mousse is there before they know it. And when they see it, their understanding of what small means is very clear.

“No wonder they provide such small spoons, trying to make people think it’s more than two scoops,” Iman says.

Nothing else is said and they dig in. It takes them both three spoonfuls to be done with it, confirming that Iman will need to order something from room service anyway.

“Ready to go?” Charles asks.

“Yes.”

He leaves the table and returns a minute later with his hand outstretched.

Iman takes it and rises from her seat and allows him to lead her out of the restaurant. The sun is much lower in the sky and so the walk is much slower than it was before. Their hands lightly swing between them.

When they reach Iman’s room she thinks it’s too soon, despite turning a five-minute walk into twenty. 

Stalling, she turns to face him and just stares. Charles does the same thing. Then he’s creeping closer and closer, until Iman’s back is flush against her door. One of his hands slips to her waist and the other cups her face. He angles her head up and then his lips are on her’s. They’re soft and taste of chocolate. It’s gentle to start, but Iman wraps her arms around him, trying to pull him closer and it takes a turn.

They part for a moment and then Iman puts a hand in his hair and pulls him back in. Her teeth graze his lip, he shivers. So, she does it again, but instead of a graze it’s a bite.

A haze comes over her.  As they finally pull away and she doesn’t know how long they’ve been at it, but she hears voices and doesn’t want to get in trouble for indecent acts in public.

“I should probably…” she trails, hitching a thumb at her door.

Charles clears his throat and loses some of that spacy look he has going on.

“Yes, you need your rest. We have an early morning.”

“Someone really should have stopped that Florida man from booking a sunrise breakfast boat ride and then snorkeling.”

Laughter. “I am sure it will be fun.”

“I hope so.”

Seconds tick by with neither of them doing anything. Then the voices get closer and Iman rediscovers sense. 

“So… good night, Sharl.”

“Good night, mon ange.”

They lean in and kiss again, but it’s more of a peck. Then he watches as she unlocks the door and goes into her room. She waves at him as she closes the door.

Inside her room Iman stands perfectly still as she counts down thirty seconds, hoping that he’s on the elevator. She reaches thirty and she grabs a pillow from the love seat in her room and screams into it.

“Hell yes,” she shouts.

###

Every second since Charles kissed Iman at her door has been like he’s floating on a cloud. His every moment is almost autopilot and when he breaks from his stupor for a second or two, he can’t remember when he changed into his pajamas or dimmed the lights. 

Standing in front of the bathroom sink so he can brush his teeth, his eyes meet the reflection and he sees a dopey smile on his face. Not that he hasn’t known it was there this entire time. But seeing it is different. It confirms something for him.

He’s not going to let this slip away. 

That’s not the thing he’s confirmed though, but he can’t find it in himself to address it. It feels too fast.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

'DON'T BLAME ME, [PART TWO]

-GOTHAM!JERVIS TETCH X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; You meet the man from the club again.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!jervis x female reader. SLOW BURN!!! Not sure how many chapters this will be yet! LOTS OF PLOT SET-UP!! AGE GAP ROMANCE! (reader is Jim and Barbara's daughter) Jervis and reader are lowkey Hamilton and Burr parallels. She fell first, he fell harder. Writing this kind of artistically and as character studies for everyone. Reader's still reminiscing. Daddy issues. Jervis being an obsessive freak, per usual. More reader lore is dropped. I'm taking canon out back and beating it with a stick until it stops twitching. Jim Gordon is...Jim Gordoning.

⋆ tag list (tell me if you want to be removed!) @adalwolfgang @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @honestmrdual @moonlightnyx

⋆ 'PART ONE, - 'PART TWO, - ‘PART THREE, - ‘PART FOUR, - ‘PART FIVE, - ‘PART SIX, - 'PART SEVEN, - 'PART EIGHT, - 'PART NINE, -'PART TEN, - 'PART ELEVEN, - 'PART TWELVE, - 'PART THIRTEEN, - 'PART FOURTEEN,

♫ “Something happened for the first time, in the darkest little paradise.” Don't Blame Me by Taylor Swift

Everything feels cold on mornings like these.

The light bleeds in through the venetian blinds, gray and gloomy. You huddle into the blankets, clinging to any warmth you can find. It's your dads house, or rather, apartment. You remember waking up in a king-sized bed years prior.

Your thoughts drift back to old memories again. You wish you could push them out.

"Dad, I'm scared." You say, seven years old, middle of the night, clutching a rabbit stuffed animal. Your mom rubs her face, still groggy and half-awake.

"Hey, hey. It's okay." He whispers through his own fatigue, stretching out his arms for you to join them on the bed. "Why are you scared?"

You hop on the bed, crawling into him. Your mother tosses, turning over with a lazy hum before drifting back to sleep. You squeeze your rabbit, Mr. Marbles, and bury yourself in the covers.

"What if they get me?" You ask, voice small. You can't see your fathers eyes soften through the darkness.

"Who?" He seems to sober up from sleep at your question, clearing his throat. His voice becomes a bit clearer.

"The bad guys." You say the words like they're sacred. It feels hard to get them out, and it feels swallowing salt-water.

Silence.

"I won't let them, I swear to you." Your dads voice speaks, and in his arms, you feel sleep slowly return to you. "I'm gonna protect you. And mommy."

"What about you?"

Silence.

"Go to sleep, Y/N. Everything's going to be okay."

You fell asleep that night, quiet, waking up to pancakes, and light that was much warmer than what you have now.

You sit up in your own bed, cramped. You heave a sigh, rubbing your temples. You're not tired like you should be. You stayed up the previous night, jumping roof-tops with Selina. It was a welcome distraction, the adrenaline that pooled in your blood at night. Mornings in Gotham were worse.

You hear whispers in the room over. Thin walls. You don't care to listen as you get dressed, but you do wonder who exactly your father could be talking too.

"How'd you find me?"

"Oh, you're famous, sir. You're names in the papers. The famous bounty hunter." You wince. Jim Gordon. Your father. The bounty hunter.

You walk to the room quietly, before stopping. You see the two men sitting down, and you piece together just who exactly is on the couch.

Both men turn to face you at the interruption, and Mr. Tetch looks equally as surprised as you are. His eyebrows pull together, and your dad looks like he's been caught doing something. He knows you don't approve of this bounty hunter bullshit.

"Ms. Y/N?" Mr. Tetch calls, and Jim picks his head up at this. He gives you a look.

"You two have met...?" Your dad speaks, sizing up the situation in concerned curiosity.

Before you can answer, Mr. Tetch does for you.

"Yes, sir. We've met at the Siren's club. Your daughter, I presume?" He asks, inquisitively. He looks as though gears are turning in his head. Jim simply nods, a bit uncertainly.

"Hi." You give a small wave. Mr. Tetch brightens up at this, somehow fascinated.

"Right." Jim says, slowly. He looks back between the two of you.

That familiar feeling of silence sounds out again. It tastes bitter.

"...I want you to find my dear friend." Mr. Tetch speaks up. "We're very close. But...her condition proved too much for me. I sought help, the worst kind, the fiend. Professor Strange." He hisses the insult with venom. You watch your dad raise a brow as he sips his coffee.

"Her condition?" He asks, and you marvel at the words. How odd.

"Some poison, in her blood." The man responds, like it's casual. "very rare, unique, in fact. He took her in. Said she needed constant supervision. He wouldn't let me see her."

There's an edge to his voice. The way he talks about this friend of his. Poisoned blood, you think, curious. For some reason it embitters you. You hate this fucking city sometimes.

"You go to the police?" Your dad asks. Of course he'd ask that.

"Useless." Mr. Tetch says, solemnly. "This is Gotham, after all."

You let out a soft chuckle at that, which makes both of them look at you. Both sets of eyes zone in on you. Your dad looks disappointed.

"Well, he's not wrong." You nip, and Mr. Tetch cocks his head up. "The GCPD is a shit show."

Mr. Tetch looks surprised at your audacity, and a bit amused. Your father reprimands you.

"Y/N." He says, and you bite back a retort. He sighs, dragging a hand along his face. "Indian Hill escapees get five grand from the GCPD. You able to top that?"

You remember when all the money in the world couldn't have swayed the famous Jim Gordon from his duty.

Mr. Tetch pulls out a wide wad of cash from his pocket, "I'll double it." He speaks. Woah. Did your mom give him that much for just one show? No way in hell. He must have gotten this money somewhere else.

"I'll see what I can do." Jim says, without question. You want to roll your eyes.

"Thank you, very much." The man responds. Polite, isn't he?

You watch as your dad pockets the money, and how he's handed a photo of a beautiful woman. In a strange way, it makes you feel a bit insecure.

"Leave your number-" Jim goes to speak, when Mr. Tetch interrupts him, handing a business card. Eager much.

The man leaves without a word, sending you a final glance before he turns. Those dark eyes...they startle you. He sends a small, intrigued smile. Again, it feels like the world stops. Your breath catches in your throat.

When he's gone, you stand on your toes to hover over your dads shoulder. You two stare at the business card in synonymous silence.

"The Great Jervis Tetch" Hah. So that's his first name. Jervis.

You suddenly feel warm. Maybe this house isn't that cold after all.

[yomawari]

Sketches from the President/Vice President Jefferson era of my modern Jamilton AU, featuring John Adams and my attempts to give Alexander a modern hairstyle without just copying LMM.

I spent some time thinking about Jamilton and Adams while sketching, which I put under the cut because I tend to be very long-winded and my mind went to some odd places.

I find Hamilton's portrayal of Thomas Jefferson's friendship with John Adams interesting when it is examined purely in the confines of the musical and outside any historical context.

I think there are only two references to Thomas Jefferson and John Adams' personal relationship in the entirety of Hamilton:

In the cut version of the The Adams Administration, Hamilton tells Adams to "Say, 'Hi', to the Jeffersons!"

In the Election of 1800, which was historically near the height of the Jefferson-Adams feud, Jefferson says that, "John Adams shat the bed. I love the guy, but he's in traction."

Both lines imply a close, positive relationship between the two characters (and the latter line also informs the audience that Adam's will not be running for re-election because his political career crashed and burned). That's it. There is no clear evidence of the historic Jefferson-Adams feud and broken friendship within the musical, which makes sense since Hamilton is telling the story of Alexander Hamilton but has an interesting consequence: in Hamilton cannon, given the positive statements in the two songs, one can argue that Thomas and John's friendship survives the Washington and Adams administrations.

I mean this was clearly not intended, and I am definitely reading too much into things, but I find the idea really interesting--especially how it impacts any romantic relationship between Alexander and Thomas.

Alexander and John are the two leaders of the Federalist Party; yet, Thomas likes John in spite of their differences while initially being antagonistic towards Alexander. I absolutely believe that Alexander would be jealous of John and his friendship with Thomas. Especially during the early stages of his and Thomas' romantic relationship, Alexander's inferiority complex would arguably give him yet another reason to hate John Adams and cause some unnecessary relationship drama. Meanwhile, Thomas' friendship with John would help Thomas move past his political differences with Alexander in order to pursue a relationship and cause some tension given the John-Alexander feud.

The possibilities for conflict are further fed in a modern political Jamilton AU. It's been a long time since I studied the era, but I remember that one reason why Adams' vice presidency went so poorly is that Adams was not part of Washington's inner circle and the Vice President's authority was pretty limited at the time, so it certainly seemed like Adams didn't "have a real job anyway."

In a modern AU, however, that is not the case. George would have chosen John as his running mate. The Vice President is a vital part of the Presidential administration and has far more authority than in the late 1700s. The Vice President is now constitutionally part of the Cabinet and, in fact, presides over the Cabinet in the President's absence. George couldn't sideline John as much as he historically did, even if he (or Alexander) tried. Given the Thomas-John friendship and John-Alexander enmity, I think John's increased authority and participation in the Washington Administration would have very interesting consequences on the Jamilton rivalry/relationship.

[irrealisms]

that bright, clear line liner notes

fic here if you haven't read it!

the title comes from that one animorphs quote about ruthlessness. it's one of the things that immediately springs to mind for me whenever i think about s4 spoke. the fic is... not actually about that, really; it's about the aftermath of that. getting to point B and looking back at the wreckage and going oh, fuck. something that struck me in his newest video which provided a lot of the inspiration for this fic is how much-- in s4 he is so purely goal-directed; everything he's doing is always for this, and no matter what happens, his only thought is how do i spin this back in my favor, with no thought given to collateral damage or irl feelings. and then, afaict, as soon as s4 ended and he actually thought about the past year he went “holy shit that sucked so bad”

my backup title for it was let future historians wonder from, uh, burn from hamilton. yeah, i know. but this fic cares a lot about ... what you do and don't make a matter of public record. choosing to keep some relationships and conversations private. controlling the narrative. parrot ultimately taking himself out of the lifesteal narrative altogether. and on a different level, i joke about feeling like a historian in my approach to unstreamed events and relationships on lifesteal, trying my best to piece together guesses about what happened from a varyingly biased and patchwork record. and it's also fun bc, well--hamilton is also fiction about real people :P

this fic was very much sparked from conversations i had about the most recent spoke video; i mention this in the end notes but i'd like to give extra shoutouts to @void-chara , @myrmica , and @taiey for conversations they had with me about the newest spoke video. this fic might still exist without those but it'd probably be different.

something i've been thinking about a LOT is the way that spoke is deliberately sort of cutting a lot of himself off from the audience? and the way that neither spoke nor parrot streaming means that the NPPP, from dupe war to end of server, gets a lot more privacy (and deliberate, post-hoc control over the narrative and information flow, when they do end up making things public) in their fallout than, say, eclipse did. and spoke himself, from very early s4 until Like A Week Ago, just... does not mention the NPPP in his videos. in his dupe war and wormhole videos he has to edit around its existence, it's not just that he's making videos about other things, it's very much him making a deliberate choice to leave it out. there's a bunch of possible motives you could extrapolate there--i tried to suggest a few different ones in the fic--but it's interesting to me! this is also a big part of uhhhhh why this fic had to be rpf and not something in character on the lifesteal server.

i like the little character note where spoke is really judgy of eclipse in general and zam in specific for the amount that they are emotionally vulnerable on stream. and then is like "wait no shit i'm trying to be a better person". that was one of the first things that popped into my head when i got the idea for this fic

all video view counts are accurate. when possible i tried to check wayback machine for an approximation of how many views they had at the time, since the fic starts in 2023. in general i tried to be as accurate as possible but i'm much less knowledgable in general about anything they do off-server so it's totally possible i got some details wrong lol

it was fun to write spoke and parrot bc they are both so oriented towards content. in different ways admittedly but like. spoke is ALWAYS thinking about views. he cares sooooooo much about the algorithm. and content is the implicit motive for a lot of lifesteal but i don't usually make it as explicit as i do in this fic bc, well, i'm usually not writing rpf! but in this fic the viewpoint character is just. CONSTANTLY thinking about specific view counts, which videos do well, how well they do in comparison to each other, what affects that, and i get to really draw that out. my beta for this fic, @fitmc , wrote me a lifesteal drabble once, formatting, and the author's note of it lives in my mind forever. The posing of himself for the camera. The fact that Lifesteal players are as sweaty about YouTube growth as they are PVP.

parrot on the other hand is oriented towards content in a way where.. a huge part of their conversation where spoke apologizes is that parrot can't quite bring himself to be mad because. it was good content. parrot keeps repeating that, and it's... when you sign up for lifesteal you're signing up for people to fuck you over for good content. that's the job description. he trusted spoke, not only in the way where he trusts spoke's words, but in the way where he trusted spoke to make the apocalypse a good video for parrot. and it was. so in some ways it was only half a betrayal? the unforgivable line for parrot would be if spoke had done that and it wasn't even good content. (extremely normal way to relate to your friend hurting you.) but parrot's...still upset, because it is still a pretty major betrayal of his trust. and so he switches to making content where Doing Fucked Up Mind Games To Your Friends In Real Life is NOT part of the job description. (also a lot of other reasons, the obvious one of which is "pays better and more consistently without a corresponding increase in work". but, yknow, The Way Lifesteal Is is also part of it.)

also writing about the fact that spoke blew up when he was 14 is. well i already knew this but also. Oof. spoke in this fic is NOT thinking about this as horrifying at all, he thinks it's awesome, but i the author think it's kind of horrifying. fame in general scares me & i have a particularly ambivalent fascination towards the sort of fame where your entire life is a story you're telling. if you've read enough of my other stuff you probably already know this. fourteen!!! that's a kid!!! and while he's 18 now as of a few days ago, even this fic starts when he's 16, like....he's so YOUNG. it's fucked.

“of course” is kind of a motif here. at first parrot is the one to say it to spoke but then i had a vision and edited the fic a couple hours after posting so spoke now says it back at the end.

i think this is... kind of weird for rpf? like--don't get me wrong, i'm not trying to claim any sort of superiority over other rpf writers. but it's also very focused on the fiction they are creating and the process of it, and almost entirely disinterested in their general personae or in aspects of their life that...aren't that. what can i say, i have specific demons. but like...most people who have demons primarily about a fiction and don't care as much about the author's life, including me, don't usually write rpf! i'm not sure i would write rpf of anything that wasn't lifesteal, bc my demons are so tied to the fiction, but lifesteal is so weird with c/cc dynamic that ... idk. writing rpf of them felt like what i wanted to do to process my feelings around the story they created together on lifesteal, bc ... the story they created together on lifesteal is in many ways the same as the story of them becoming best friends irl. when spoke goes far enough hurting parrot in lifesteal, he hurts parrot in real life. they're not easily separable. arguably this changes when parrot leaves lifesteal altogether and removes "~ic, as part of the story being told on lifesteal" as an option on the table for their interactions but this only pushes it further towards rpf in terms of resolution for them & therefore also for the story they told on lifesteal. idk! interesting to think about

i wrote this fic in like. 6 hours. and then did a couple edits the next day. total time between "starting the fic" and "publishing the fic" is only barely over 24 hours. i was possessed by the spirit of rpf i think

i haven't actually watched any unstable. i'm sorry.