#but everyone knows now it is his gimmick

[elitehanitje]

[wereh0gz]

I need everyone to know that thinking abt sonic the werehog took me out of that bad thinking spiral last night

[pucksandpower]

Looking Up

Max Verstappen x tall!Reader

Summary: despite being Dutch, Max isn’t exactly surrounded by many particularly tall people — Formula 1, after all, is one of the few sports where height can be a disadvantage — so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised when a strikingly tall beauty queen catches his eye and refuses to leave his thoughts

Based on this request

Max drags his feet through the paddock, the sun glaring down in waves that seem to radiate off every surface. His Red Bull PR officer, Gemma, walks two paces ahead of him, clipboard in hand, her voice relentless.

“… and it’s a fantastic opportunity for engagement, Max. She has millions of followers, the Miss Universe Netherlands title — it’s a dream crossover. Positive PR for both of you. You’ve seen her photos, right? She’s stunning-”

“I don’t care,” Max cuts in, irritation dripping from his voice. He pulls at the neck of his race suit, already sick of the day, and now they’re parading him around like a puppet. “I don’t need a gimmick.”

Gemma ignores him. “It’s not a gimmick. This is strategic. A guest with her profile draws attention to you. To the team. Think of it as-”

Max stops walking, forcing Gemma to halt and turn back. “I already get enough attention,” he mutters, folding his arms.

She raises an eyebrow. “Yes, but not all attention is good attention. Just try, Max. Be charming. Be … approachable for once.”

He groans but resumes walking, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Charming,” he mutters under his breath. “Sure.”

They turn the corner into the Red Bull hospitality area, the usual mix of engineers, staff, and guests milling around. Max’s eyes are already scanning for the nearest exit when Gemma stops abruptly.

“There she is,” she whispers, nodding toward the seating area.

Max follows her gaze — and stops dead in his tracks.

You’re sitting at one of the tables, long legs crossed gracefully, an effortless posture that radiates confidence. The light catches on your hair, making it shimmer. You glance up, and your eyes meet his.

Max’s mouth snaps shut mid-complaint.

“Max!” Gemma hisses, but he doesn’t move.

You stand up, impossibly tall in your heels, the hem of your dress brushing against your thighs as you extend a hand toward him. Max blinks, his brain tripping over itself.

“Hi,” you say, your voice smooth, warm, unhurried. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m-”

“You’re, uh-” Max’s voice cracks. He clears his throat, willing himself to act normal. “I know who you are.”

You smile, a touch amused. “And you are Max Verstappen. Right?”

“Uh, yeah,” he manages, shifting awkwardly. Your hand is still extended, so he reaches out to shake it. Your grip is firm, your hand soft against his calloused one.

“Pleasure,” you say, tilting your head slightly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Same,” Max blurts, though he hasn’t. Well, not much anyway. His mind scrambles for something else to say, but all he can focus on is how tall you are — how he has to tilt his head up slightly to maintain eye contact. And the heels. The heels are making it worse.

“Max?” Gemma prods, her voice sharp in his ear.

He jerks his hand back, realizing he’s been holding yours a beat too long. “Right, uh, welcome. To … the paddock.”

You laugh softly, a sound that feels like it cuts through the noise of the entire paddock. “Thank you. Everyone’s been very kind so far.”

Max swallows hard, his eyes darting to your legs, your dress, and then back to your face. He knows he’s staring too long.

“So,” you continue, filling the silence he’s left hanging, “are you excited for the weekend?”

“Yeah. I mean, sure.” He rubs the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up. “It’s … racing. That’s what I do.”

You laugh again, and Max swears his brain short-circuits. “That’s what you do,” you repeat. “Good to know you’re consistent.”

Gemma clears her throat loudly. “Max, why don’t you show her around? Make her feel at home.”

Max shoots her a glare. “I’m sure she doesn’t need me to-”

“I’d love that,” you interrupt, smiling at him. “If you don’t mind.”

He freezes, his excuses dying on his tongue. “Uh … sure. Yeah. I can do that.”

You step closer, and Max’s breath catches. “Lead the way,” you say.

He’s acutely aware of the way everyone’s watching as he starts walking, you falling into step beside him. His PR officer gives him a pointed look before disappearing into the crowd.

“So,” you say, your voice light, “is this how it always is? Chaos, cameras, and all?”

“Pretty much.” Max glances at you, trying not to trip over his words — or his feet. “It’s, uh … normal.”

“You make it look easy,” you say, and he catches the genuine note in your voice.

He laughs, short and awkward. “Not as easy as you make the whole pageant thing look.”

Your smile widens, and he immediately regrets how stupid that sounded.

“Thank you,” you say, your tone teasing. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was,” he insists quickly. “Definitely was.”

You keep walking, asking questions about the team, the cars, the track. Max answers them, though his usual confidence is nowhere to be found. Every time you laugh or nod, he feels his brain falter.

“You’re taller than I expected,” he blurts out at one point, then immediately regrets it.

You stop, turning to look at him. “Taller?”

He stammers, waving his hands. “I mean, not in a bad way. Just … I didn’t realize.”

You glance down at your heels and back up at him. “It’s the shoes,” you say, but your grin tells him you know exactly what you’re doing.

“Right. Shoes,” Max mutters, his face burning. He clasps his hands in front of his groin, trying to hide the very visible reaction his body is having to … all of this.

You don’t seem to notice — or maybe you do, and you’re kind enough not to mention it. Instead, you keep walking, asking another question about the weekend’s schedule.

Max answers automatically, but his mind is elsewhere. He’s never felt like this — off balance, awkward, like he’s two steps behind and doesn’t know how to catch up.

As you reach the edge of the hospitality area, you stop and turn to face him fully. “Thanks for showing me around,” you say, your voice softening.

Max shoves his hands into his pockets, looking anywhere but at you. “No problem,” he mumbles.

You tilt your head, studying him for a moment. “You’re not as scary as they say.”

He looks up, startled. “Scary?”

“Yeah.” You smile again, and it feels like a punch to his chest. “People talk. But you’re … normal. Almost sweet.”

Max doesn’t know whether to laugh or crawl into a hole. “Sweet,” he repeats, deadpan.

“Almost,” you tease, stepping back. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” he says, watching as you walk away, heels clicking against the floor.

It’s only when you’re out of sight that Max exhales, running a hand through his hair. His heart is pounding, his thoughts a mess.

Gemma reappears, smirking. “See? Not so bad.”

Max glares at her. “Shut up.”

***

The sun blazes high over Mykonos, the air thick with salt and the faint thrum of music from a nearby DJ booth. The exclusive beach club is buzzing with energy — groups of friends lounging on cushioned chairs, waiters ferrying trays of cocktails, and the occasional splash of laughter from the turquoise water.

Max leans back on his chair, sunglasses perched on his nose, a cold drink in hand. Lando’s perched on the chair next to him, scrolling through his phone, while Martin Garrix, their mutual friend and the reason they’re here, chats animatedly with someone by the bar.

“Tonight’s going to be wild,” Lando says, nudging Max’s arm. “Martin’s set at Cavo Paradiso? Epic. You ready?”

Max shrugs. “Sure. It’s just a party.”

“Just a party?” Lando scoffs. “It’s the party. You’re lucky to even get in.”

Max rolls his eyes, half-listening. The heat makes him drowsy, and the rhythmic sound of waves is almost enough to lull him into a nap. Almost — until something catches his eye.

A woman, her long limbs moving gracefully through the water, emerges onto the sand, droplets glinting like diamonds on her skin.

It’s you.

Max freezes, his drink hovering mid-air.

You walk toward a cluster of lounge chairs, your friends laughing and talking around you. One of them — a petite brunette — stands on her tiptoes, trying to reach a bathing suit cover-up that’s hanging from an umbrella. She jumps, stretching her arms, but the fabric remains just out of reach.

“Short girl problems,” Lando mutters, following Max’s gaze.

Max doesn’t respond. He’s too busy watching you stroll over, your laughter mingling with the sea breeze. You reach up without effort, your long fingers plucking the cover-up from the umbrella.

“Here,” you say, handing it to your friend, who thanks you with an exaggerated bow.

You laugh again, and Max feels a familiar heat creeping up his neck — and lower.

“Uh oh,” Lando says, his tone teasing.

“What?” Max snaps, glancing at him.

Lando’s eyes drop pointedly to Max’s swim briefs, where the outline of his very obvious arousal is already visible.

“Oh, man,” Lando says, grinning. “You’ve got a situation.”

“Shut up,” Max mutters, crossing his arms over his lap in a futile attempt to hide the problem.

But Lando’s not letting it go. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you actually — because of that?” He gestures toward you, who is now tying your hair back into a loose bun, oblivious to the chaos you’re causing.

“It’s not-” Max starts, but before he can finish, Martin strolls over, a fresh drink in hand.

“What’s going on?” Martin asks, looking between them.

“Max has a problem,” Lando says, his grin widening.

“What problem?”

“This one.” Lando points directly at Max’s lap.

Max’s jaw drops. “Lando!”

Martin looks down, then bursts out laughing. “Oh, no. Max, really?”

“Stop it,” Max hisses, his face burning. He adjusts his position, but it’s no use. The snug fit of his swim briefs makes everything painfully obvious.

Lando’s laughing so hard he nearly falls off his chair. “This is gold. I’m never letting you live this down.”

“Will you two shut up-”

“Problem solved,” Martin interrupts, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. “We’ll just get you a bigger towel. Or a cold shower. Or-”

He doesn’t get to finish because your voice cuts through the conversation like a knife.

“Is everything okay over here?”

Max’s stomach plummets.

You’re standing a few feet away, one hand on your hip, the other holding a glass of something bright and citrusy. Your impossibly long legs seem to stretch on forever, and the sunlight makes your skin glow.

Lando and Martin exchange a glance before dissolving into more laughter.

Max wants to die.

You tilt your head, your gaze dropping briefly — too briefly — to his lap. A slow, knowing smile spreads across your face.

“Is that a banana in your shorts,” you ask, your tone teasing, “or are you just excited to see me?”

Max’s mouth opens, then closes. His brain has officially checked out.

Lando is wheezing, clutching his sides. Martin’s not much better, his laughter loud enough to draw a few curious stares from nearby tables.

“I, uh-” Max stammers, every coherent thought fleeing his mind.

You take a step closer, setting your drink down on the table. “Relax,” you say, your voice low enough that only he can hear. “I’m just teasing.”

Max swallows hard, his gaze fixed on your face. You’re even more beautiful up close, and it’s doing nothing to help his situation.

“Uh … thanks?” He manages, the word coming out like a question.

You laugh softly, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine. “For what?”

“I don’t … I don’t know,” he admits, running a hand through his hair.

Your smile softens. “Don’t be so tense, Max. It’s a beach. Everyone’s here to relax.”

“Yeah. Right. Relax.” He shifts awkwardly, wishing he could sink into the sand and disappear.

You glance over at Lando and Martin, who are still trying — and failing — to stifle their laughter. “Are these your friends?”

“Unfortunately,” Max mutters, shooting them a glare.

“They’re fun,” you say, your tone neutral but your eyes sparkling with amusement.

“They’re idiots,” Max corrects.

You shrug, picking up your drink. “Sometimes idiots are the best company.”

“Not these two,” Max mutters under his breath, which only makes you laugh again.

“Well,” you say, taking a step back, “I’ll leave you to your … situation.” You give him one last lingering look before turning and sauntering back to your friends.

Max watches you go, his heart pounding in his chest.

Lando wipes tears from his eyes. “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up,” Max mutters, throwing a towel at him.

Martin grins. “You’ve got it bad, mate.”

Max groans, leaning back in his chair and covering his face with his hands. “I hate both of you.”

But even as they continue to tease him, he can’t stop glancing in your direction. And when you catch his eye and smile, he knows he’s in trouble.

***

Monaco bustles with its usual mix of tourists, luxury cars, and locals navigating narrow streets. Max walks along Rue Grimaldi, a paper bag from the pet store swinging at his side. Inside are bags of treats for Jimmy and Sassy, who are definitely more spoiled than they have any right being. He’s dressed low-key: a plain t-shirt, jeans, and sunglasses, blending into the crowd as much as someone like him can in a town where everyone knows his name.

The walk back to his apartment is uneventful — until it isn’t.

He sees you first out of the corner of his eye, a flash of long legs and vibrant fabric catching his attention. He stops in his tracks, his brain taking a moment to catch up.

You’re standing in front of a brightly painted wall, posing effortlessly as a photographer circles you, snapping shot after shot. A team of stylists, assistants, and what Max assumes is a creative director hover nearby, adjusting lights and offering directions.

It’s undeniably you.

Max exhales, staring like an idiot. Once is chance, twice is coincidence, but three times? That’s a pattern. And this time, he’s not letting the moment slip by.

He squares his shoulders, hyping himself up. You’ve won four world championships, he tells himself. You’ve faced wheel-to-wheel battles at 300 kilometers per hour. You can do this.

He takes a deep breath, straightens his posture, and marches toward the photoshoot.

The moment he steps into the circle of activity, the entire team freezes. The photographer lowers his camera, the stylists stop mid-conversation, and all eyes turn to him.

You look up, startled, and your gaze meets his.

“Hi,” Max says, suddenly acutely aware of how everyone is staring. His confidence wavers, but he pushes through. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

The photographer blinks. “Uh, we’re in the middle of a shoot-”

“It’s okay,” you say, holding up a hand to stop him. You step toward Max, your heels clicking softly against the pavement. “What’s up?”

Now that you’re standing in front of him, Max’s brain short-circuits. You’re even more striking up close, the sunlight catching on your skin, your outfit perfectly tailored to highlight every line of your frame.

“I, uh …” He glances around, suddenly aware of the audience. He clears his throat, his voice steadying. “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight.”

You blink, surprised. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” Max says quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I mean, I’ve seen you a couple of times now, and I figured it’s not just … random, you know? So I thought — why not? Dinner. Tonight.”

You tilt your head, a slow smile spreading across your face. “You interrupted a photoshoot to ask me out?”

“Yes.” He hesitates, then adds, “Was that a bad idea?”

The creative director mutters something under his breath, and Max hears someone else stifle a laugh. He feels the tips of his ears burn, but he refuses to back down.

You glance back at your team, who are all watching with varying degrees of amusement and disbelief. Then you look at Max again, your smile softening.

“What time?” You ask.

Max blinks. “What?”

“What time should I be ready?”

“Oh.” Relief floods his face. “Uh, seven? I can pick you up at your hotel.”

You nod, clearly entertained by his flustered state. “I’m staying at the Hôtel de Paris. Does that work?”

“Perfect,” Max says quickly, ignoring the murmurs from your team.

“Great,” you say, stepping closer. You lean down slightly — because of course you’re taller than him — and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

When you pull back, there’s a faint smudge of lipstick on his skin. “See you at seven, Max,” you say, your voice teasing.

He nods, unable to form a coherent response. You turn back to your team, who are all pretending not to stare, and resume your pose in front of the camera.

Max walks away in a daze, the paper bag swinging at his side. He touches his cheek where your lips brushed, his mind replaying the moment over and over.

By the time he makes it back to his apartment, he’s smiling so widely that even the cats look suspicious.

***

Max pulls up to the Hôtel de Paris in his Aston Martin Valkyrie, the car’s sleek design gleaming under the soft glow of Monaco’s streetlights. He knows it’s over the top, but if there’s ever a time to make an impression, it’s now. The low hum of the engine draws a few curious glances from passersby, and Max shifts in his seat, checking the dashboard clock.

6:50 PM.

He’s early. Not by much, but enough to take a deep breath and give himself a mental pep talk.

“She said yes,” he mutters to himself, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “You can handle this. You’ve faced down Lewis Hamilton in a championship battle. This is dinner.”

At exactly 7:00 PM, the hotel doors glide open, and there you are.

Max’s hand freezes on the steering wheel as he watches you descend the steps. You’re wearing a sleek, floor-length dress that shimmers faintly in the light, paired with towering heels that make your legs seem impossibly long. Your hair is styled perfectly, and you move with the effortless grace of someone who knows how to command attention.

His throat dries. Wow.

By the time you reach the car, Max is already out of the driver’s seat, jogging around to meet you. “You look — wow.”

“Thank you,” you say, smiling warmly. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Max glances down at his tailored suit, a rare choice for him outside of mandatory galas, and tugs at the collar. “Figured I should try.”

You laugh softly, and the sound sends a flutter through his chest.

He opens the passenger door and instinctively places his hand on the edge of the roof, subtly cushioning the space so you don’t bump your head as you fold into the car. The move is smooth, almost second nature, but he catches the slight lift of your brow and the amused curve of your lips as you settle in.

“Chivalry isn’t dead, I see,” you tease as he closes the door.

By the time he rounds the car and slips back into the driver’s seat, his ears are burning. “Figured I’d give it a shot tonight.”

The Valkyrie roars to life, and you glance around the car’s interior, visibly impressed. “This is … something.”

“Just a car,” Max says, trying to sound casual.

You shoot him a knowing look. “A very subtle one, I see.”

He chuckles, pulling out onto the road. “What can I say? Monaco brings it out of me.”

The drive is short, but Max is hyper-aware of every moment — your laughter as he navigates the narrow streets, the way your dress catches the light when you turn to look at him, and the soft sound of your voice as you ask him about his day.

When you arrive at Le Louis XV, one of Monaco’s most exclusive restaurants, Max pulls up to the valet. The grandeur of the restaurant is impossible to ignore, its gilded facade shimmering under the night sky.

“Wow,” you say, leaning slightly to take in the view. “You really went all out.”

“I figured you deserved more than takeout,” Max replies, his tone light but his heart racing.

He steps out, handing the keys to the valet, and once again circles the car to open your door. This time, he offers his hand to help you out, and when you take it, his palm is warm and steady.

“Thank you,” you say, your smile soft but genuine.

The moment you’re both standing, it’s impossible not to notice the height difference. Max isn’t short — he knows that — but next to you, especially in those heels, he feels positively average. For a split second, he wonders if it bothers you.

But then you loop your arm through his as the valet takes the car, and the thought dissolves.

The two of you walk toward the entrance, and Max is acutely aware of the growing crowd around you. Fans have gathered, some holding their phones up to record or snap pictures.

“Max! Max, over here!” Someone calls.

He doesn’t flinch, used to the attention, but when he glances at you, he notices your calm expression. If you’re fazed by the cameras or the whispers, you don’t show it.

“You get used to this?” You ask under your breath, tilting your head toward the crowd.

“Kind of,” he admits, keeping his pace steady. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really,” you say, your tone amused. “But I think they’re more interested in you than me.”

He glances at you, his gaze sweeping up to meet your eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

At the door, the maître d’ greets you warmly, escorting the two of you to a private table near the back of the restaurant. The room is elegantly decorated, the ambiance intimate yet luxurious. A soft glow from crystal chandeliers bathes the space in golden light, and the quiet hum of conversation adds to the atmosphere.

Max pulls out your chair before sitting across from you, trying not to overthink every movement.

“This place is beautiful,” you say, looking around.

“Glad you like it,” Max says, reaching for the menu. “The food is incredible.”

A sommelier approaches, recommending a bottle of wine, and the conversation flows naturally as the first course arrives.

“You’ve been here before?” You ask, raising a brow as you take a sip of wine.

“Once or twice,” Max admits. “Usually for team stuff. Not exactly a regular spot for me.”

“So this is a special occasion?”

He hesitates, meeting your gaze. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

The corners of your lips lift, and Max feels the tension in his chest ease slightly.

As the meal progresses, the conversation deepens. You ask him about racing, and he asks you about pageantry, genuinely curious about your career and the places it’s taken you.

“What’s the hardest part of it?” Max asks, leaning forward slightly.

“Probably the constant travel,” you say, swirling your wine. “It’s amazing to see the world, but it’s exhausting sometimes. You must get that, though.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “The travel’s a lot. But I guess it makes the quiet moments at home more meaningful.”

“Home is Monaco?”

“Mostly now. Though I spend more time at the track than anywhere else.”

You nod, studying him. “Do you ever wish you had more time to yourself?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “Sometimes. But I love what I do. It’s worth it.”

There’s a pause, comfortable and filled with mutual understanding.

“And you?” He asks, his voice softer. “Do you ever wish for something different?”

You smile, but there’s a hint of wistfulness in your expression. “Sometimes. But I think we all do, no matter how much we love what we have.”

Max nods, his gaze lingering on you.

By the time dessert arrives, the tension has completely melted away, replaced by an easy camaraderie. You tease him about his driving habits, and he counters with stories of other drivers’ antics.

As the evening winds down, Max finds himself reluctant for it to end. He can’t stop glancing at you, at the way you seem completely at ease, despite the crowd of fans still waiting outside.

When the check comes, Max reaches for it without hesitation.

“Chivalry again?” You ask, arching a brow.

He grins. “I’m on a roll tonight.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine. I’ll allow it.”

Max leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you. “So, was it worth it?”

“Was what worth it?”

“Interrupting your photoshoot.”

You smile, resting your chin on your hand. “I think so. But I guess that depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’re planning to ask me out again.”

Max feels his chest tighten, his pulse quickening. “I was thinking about it,” he admits, his voice low.

“Good,” you say, your smile widening. “Because I’d say yes.”

***

The paddock buzzes with its usual pre-race energy: the hum of machinery, the chatter of teams, and the occasional roar of a nearby engine. But today, Max isn’t thinking about the upcoming race, his strategy, or even his car. No, today his focus is entirely on you.

You’re walking beside him, effortlessly chic in an AlphaTauri knit dress paired with stilettos that highlight your impossibly long legs. The team had sent you the gear ahead of time, but you’ve somehow managed to make it look runway-ready.

Max steals a glance at you as you navigate the chaos of the paddock with ease. You greet every camera pointed your way with a polite smile, and even the hardened mechanics pause to give you a second look. Max can’t help the small, smug grin tugging at his lips.

“Having fun?” He asks, leaning slightly toward you.

You look at him with a raised brow. “Are you asking me or the twenty people currently taking our picture?”

He laughs, brushing a hand over his face as if it could hide the grin. “Both, I guess.”

“Definitely more fun than the first time,” you tease. “I don’t think you’ve complained once today.”

“Because you’re here,” Max says simply, shrugging.

The honesty of his answer catches you off guard, and for a moment, you just look at him, your expression softening.

“Come on,” he says, clearing his throat and grabbing your hand. “I want you to meet some people.”

Max doesn’t miss the way heads turn as he guides you through the paddock, his hand securely wrapped around yours. He’s used to being the center of attention here, but today it’s different. The whispers and double takes aren’t about him — they’re about you. And if he’s honest, he loves it.

As they approach the Ferrari motorhome, Charles Leclerc steps out, chatting with one of his engineers. His conversation halts the second he spots you.

“Charles!” Max calls, waving him over.

Charles smiles, walking up to the two of you. “Hey, Max. And-” He pauses, his eyes drifting up as he takes in your height. His grin widens. “-and you must be the famous girlfriend.”

You laugh, offering your hand. “I suppose I must be.”

Charles takes your hand, shaking it warmly. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve been hearing about you nonstop.”

“Oh, really?” You ask, shooting Max a playful look. “Nonstop, huh?”

Max rolls his eyes. “Don’t start.”

Charles chuckles, his gaze flicking between the two of you. “I have to say, you’re even taller than I expected.”

“Thanks, I think?” You say, laughing.

Max grins, clearly enjoying the sight of Charles craning his neck to meet your gaze. For once, the usually confident Monegasque driver seems slightly flustered, and Max files the moment away as one of his new favorite memories.

As they part ways with Charles, you nudge Max gently with your elbow. “Are you introducing me to people just to see them react to my height?”

“Maybe,” he admits, his eyes sparkling. “It’s fun.”

You shake your head, laughing, but let him lead you further down the paddock.

Then, as you near the motorhome, you spot Yuki Tsunoda walking toward you, his petite frame standing out among the crowd.

“Yuki!” Max calls out, and Yuki looks up, his face breaking into a grin.

“Max!” Yuki replies, jogging over. His gaze shifts to you, and his steps slow slightly. “Oh, hi.”

“Yuki,” Max begins, his tone dripping with barely contained amusement. “This is my girlfriend.”

Yuki’s eyes widen as he looks up — way up — to meet your gaze. He blinks, his mouth slightly open, before glancing back at Max.

“She’s … tall,” Yuki says bluntly, his expression both amazed and confused.

You laugh, offering your hand. “Hi, I’m-”

“Yuki,” Max interrupts, clearly enjoying himself. “Why don’t you stand next to her for a second?”

Yuki looks at Max, then at you, and then back at Max. “Why?”

“Just humor me,” Max says, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

Yuki sighs but steps closer to you. The height difference is … staggering. Yuki barely reaches your shoulder, even without your heels, and when you smile down at him, he looks like he’s reconsidering every decision that brought him here.

Max takes one look at the two of you and doubles over laughing.

“Max!” You exclaim, though you’re laughing too.

“It’s not fair,” Yuki says, crossing his arms but grinning despite himself. “Why do you always have to make me look short?”

“You do that all by yourself, mate,” Max manages between laughs.

Yuki looks up at you again, shaking his head. “How do you put up with him?”

“It’s a challenge,” you say, your tone light.

Yuki snorts. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

Max steps back in, his grin still firmly in place. “Thanks, Yuki. That was everything I hoped for.”

Yuki rolls his eyes but can’t help grinning. “Yeah, yeah. You owe me for this.”

Eventually, the shorter driver waves goodbye and heads off, leaving you and Max to continue toward the motorhome.

“That was cruel,” you say, though you’re smiling.

“That was perfect,” Max corrects, his grin wide. “I’ve been waiting for that moment since the second I realized how tall you are.”

“You’re terrible,” you say, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

“Terribly lucky,” he replies, his voice softening slightly.

You glance at him, your expression shifting from amused to affectionate. “You really don’t mind the height difference, do you?”

Max stops walking and turns to face you, his expression serious. “Why would I mind? You’re gorgeous, and I love that people notice when we walk into a room. It’s like … I get to show you off, and they get to see what I already know — that you’re amazing.”

His honesty catches you off guard, and for a moment, you just stare at him, your heart swelling.

“Max,” you start, but he cuts you off with a shrug and a playful smile.

“Besides,” he says, leaning in slightly, “I think it’s hot.”

You burst out laughing, and Max joins in, his arm sliding around your waist as the two of you continue toward the motorhome, drawing every eye in the paddock.

***

Five Years Later

The hospital room is warm and quiet, save for the occasional soft coo of the newborn nestled against Max’s bare chest. The baby boy, barely a few hours old, rests peacefully, his tiny fists curled against Max’s skin. Max sits in a reclined chair, his head tilted back and eyes half-closed, utterly absorbed in the weight of his son and the moment itself.

In the bed next to him, you stir, your head turning toward the two of them. The exhaustion of labor still lingers in your features, but there’s a gentle smile on your lips as you take in the sight of Max cradling your son.

“Are you comfortable over there?” You ask, your voice soft but teasing.

Max’s eyes flicker open, and he glances at you with a faint grin. “More comfortable than you, I think,” he murmurs.

You chuckle lightly, wincing as you shift in the bed. “I don’t know. He looks pretty cozy to me.”

Max looks down at the baby, his expression softening. “He’s perfect.”

“He is,” you agree, your gaze lingering on the two of them.

The door creaks open suddenly, startling both of you. Max’s head snaps up, and his body stiffens when he sees who’s stepping into the room.

His father.

“Max,” Jos says, his voice gruff and clipped. He doesn’t wait for an invitation, stepping further into the room, his eyes scanning the scene.

“What are you doing here?” Max’s voice is low, measured, but there’s a sharp edge to it as he shifts in his chair, pulling his son closer.

“I came to see my grandson,” Jos replies curtly, his gaze settling on the baby. There’s no warmth in his tone, no trace of the pride or joy one might expect from a grandfather.

Max stands abruptly, careful not to jostle the baby. He moves toward the door, positioning himself between Jos and the rest of the room. “Now’s not a good time.”

Jos ignores him, his eyes narrowing as he takes a step closer. “Looks like he’s going to take after his mother,” Jos remarks, his tone disdainful. “With those long legs, he’ll be too tall for single-seaters. Not exactly ideal for racing, is it?”

The air in the room shifts instantly. Max’s jaw tightens, and a flicker of anger flashes across his face. His arms instinctively tighten around his son as if shielding him from the words.

“Get out,” Max says, his voice dangerously calm.

Jos scoffs, crossing his arms. “I’m just saying. If you’re hoping for another Verstappen on the track, you might want to manage your expectations.”

“Stop.” Max’s voice is sharper now, cutting through the tension. He glances at you, his expression softening briefly before returning to Jos. “I mean it. Get out.”

But Jos doesn’t move. “You know I’m right. Height matters in racing. You’ve seen it yourself. It’s not about love or coddling, Max. It’s about preparation, discipline-”

“Enough!” Max’s voice rises, and the baby stirs slightly in his arms. He immediately takes a deep breath, rocking gently to soothe the infant before continuing, his tone quieter but no less firm. “I won’t let you do this. Not to my kids.”

Jos raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Do what?”

“Turn them into something they’re not,” Max says, his eyes blazing. “Make them feel like they’re only worth something if they win. If they race. If they’re … perfect.”

Jos frowns, but Max presses on.

“If either of my kids wants to race, I’ll give them every opportunity. I’ll teach them, support them, and make sure they have everything they need — whether they’re five feet tall or six and a half. But if they don’t want to race, if they want to do something completely different, that won’t make me love them any less.”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy and charged.

Max shifts his son in his arms, his voice softening but remaining resolute. “I’m not you, Dad. And I never will be.”

Jos’ mouth opens slightly as if to argue, but whatever words he was planning to say seem to falter. He looks at Max, at the baby, then back at Max, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something almost like understanding in his eyes.

Almost.

But Jos says nothing, his jaw tightening as he turns and walks out of the room without another word.

The door clicks shut behind him, and the tension dissipates like a released breath.

Max exhales shakily, lowering himself back into the chair. He looks at you, his eyes apologetic.

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, your voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to apologize. You did the right thing.”

He nods, looking down at his son, who has settled back into a peaceful sleep. “I just …” His voice catches, and he clears his throat. “I don’t ever want him — or her — to feel like they’re not enough. Not for me.”

You smile gently, reaching out to rest a hand on his arm. “They won’t. Not with you as their dad.”

Max’s lips quirk into a small, grateful smile. He leans down, pressing a tender kiss to the top of his son’s head. “He’s not going anywhere near a kart until he’s ready. If he even wants to.”

“Good,” you say, your tone teasing now. “Because I think Mariska has already claimed the first shot at it.”

Max laughs softly, shaking his head. “She’s three.”

“And already faster than you in her Little Tikes Cozy Coupe,” you counter, grinning.

Max chuckles. “She’s going to be trouble.”

“Good trouble,” you say.

He looks back at you, his expression softening again. “Yeah. The best kind.”

As the room settles into a calm silence once more, Max leans back in his chair, his son still resting against him, and he allows himself to soak in the moment — a moment of peace, love, and the quiet certainty that he’ll never repeat the mistakes of the past.

***

Seven Years Later

The karting track buzzes with energy — engines revving, parents-turned-mechanics making last-minute adjustments, and young drivers darting around in full racing gear. Among them is Mariska, standing tall in her dark blue suit with “Verstappen” emblazoned across the back. At ten years old, she’s already a striking presence, her confidence tempered by the nerves of a child shouldering a big name.

Max watches from the sidelines, his arms crossed, a proud but protective look on his face. He’s been here countless times before, both as a driver and as a father. He knows this world, knows the pressure and the teasing that can come with standing out. And Mariska, with her long limbs and sharp mind, stands out in every way.

You’re beside him, your hand brushing against his. “She’s got this,” you say softly, your eyes never leaving your daughter.

“She does,” Max agrees, though the tightness in his jaw betrays his worry.

The race begins, and Mariska takes off like a bullet. Her natural talent is undeniable, her lines clean and her determination fierce. But the other kids aren’t just racing her — they’re ganging up, cutting her off in corners, and one boy even leans too aggressively, nudging her kart as they pass.

Max tenses, his fingers curling into fists. “That little-”

“Max,” you warn gently, placing a calming hand on his arm.

“She’s fine,” you add, your voice steady. “She can handle them.”

And she does. On the next lap, Mariska out-brakes the boy who had bumped her, overtaking him with a sharp precision that leaves him scrambling. A few laps later, she claims third place, her kart crossing the finish line with a triumphant roar.

The moment the race ends, Max strides toward the pit lane, his eyes scanning for Mariska. He finds her climbing out of her kart, her helmet tucked under her arm. A group of boys stands nearby, whispering and snickering.

“You’re too tall for this,” one of them says loud enough for her to hear. “Shouldn’t you be playing basketball or something?”

Mariska freezes, her posture stiffening.

“Yeah,” another chimes in. “You’ll never fit in a real car anyway.”

Max’s jaw clenches, and he’s ready to storm over, but Mariska surprises him. She turns to the boys, her expression calm but fierce.

“At least I don’t need dirty tricks to keep up,” she says coolly, her voice steady.

The boys’ smirks falter, and they shuffle awkwardly before walking away, muttering under their breaths.

Max approaches, his heart swelling with pride. “Hey, Mari.”

She turns to him, her face still set in a determined line, but her eyes betray a flicker of uncertainty.

“You okay?” Max kneels down to her level, his hands resting on his knees.

“Yeah,” she says after a pause.

He tilts his head, studying her. “You sure? Because you were amazing out there. Third place is a big deal.”

Mariska shrugs, her gaze dropping to her helmet. “They’re just … they’re always saying stuff, you know? About how I’m too tall. That I’ll never fit in a car.”

Max’s heart aches at the vulnerability in her voice. He reaches out, gently lifting her chin so she looks at him.

“Do you think Mama is pretty?” He asks softly.

Mariska blinks, startled by the question. “What?”

“Mama,” Max repeats, his tone light but serious. “Do you think she’s pretty?”

Mariska’s face scrunches in confusion, but she nods. “Of course I do. Mama’s the prettiest girl in the world.”

Max smiles. “I think so too.”

Mariska tilts her head, still unsure where this is going.

“You know,” Max continues, “you got your height from Mama. And she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. So, what does that make you?”

Mariska stares at him, her brows furrowing. “I don’t know.”

Max leans closer, his voice steady and full of warmth. “It makes you beautiful too, Mari. You’re tall because you’re strong, and you’re special, just like Mama. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel small because of that.”

Mariska’s lips tremble slightly, and she nods, a small smile breaking through.

“And for the record,” Max adds, a mischievous glint in his eye, “if you keep driving like that, those boys are going to have a lot more to say. But it won’t be about your height — it’ll be about how you’re faster than all of them.”

Mariska giggles, her confidence returning. “I was faster than them, wasn’t I?”

“You were,” Max says, his pride unmistakable.

You walk over then, crouching down beside them. “What’s going on here?”

“Papa says I’m beautiful like you,” Mariska says, her voice filled with a newfound certainty.

You smile, your hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “That’s because you are, schatje.”

Max watches the two of you, his heart full as he pulls Mariska into a hug.

“Now,” he says, pulling back with a grin, “what do you say we go celebrate? Ice cream from that little place down the road.”

Mariska cheers, her earlier doubts forgotten, and the three of you walk off together, leaving the track and its pettiness behind.

Max knows there will be more challenges ahead — more races, more comments, more moments of doubt. But he also knows his daughter is strong, just like her mother. And with a family like yours, there’s nothing she can’t face.

[hermitcraftx]

Joel winning the Life Series where he centered his entire gimmick this season around Family under the guise of "Joel Toretto" makes me insane because he was alone for so long in the Life Series and it works out so perfectly that the guy who was allergic to allies for the start of the life series and had to be forced into it with soulmates wins the season he focuses on Family. Poetic cinema.

1. Third Life Joel. No friends. No allies. He joined up with Monopoly Mountain last minute and died out of sight of either of them, mostly alone. He had a house full of dogs, not full of friends (and where is that familiar?), and nobody really mourned him when he was gone, offhand comments and brief "Oh No!s" following his death. Being alone got him nothing.

2. Last Life Joel. No friends. He's alone again, for the most part. In Last Life there's a lot of unknowns, a lot of instability- people can get back in yellow or green, or they try, so Joel has temporary red alliances with the likes of Scar and Grian but they don't last. He's alone. Again. Joel laments it, in one of his videos, IIRC, that he's bad at making allies, and "look at where it got him". The closest person he had to an ally in Last Life was Grian when they were both red, Grian seeing first hand how insane and blood thirsty Joel becomes on red. They call themselves the Deadliest Duo, and they kill people, and they laugh when they die. But Joel dies, still, killed by Scott, shortly after Grian permadies.

3. Double Life. Now it's different. Now we're seeing some changes. Joel gets put with Etho, who off the bat immediately considers him a liability, a notion he rejects and fights against to get Etho to respect him. He builds Etho a ship to try and impress him. Etho purposefully takes fall damage to remind him of what's at stake. He's not just a lone wolf, anymore, Etho's life is in his hands and he's not happy about it. Joel hates it, being treated fragile and like a bomb to go off. Eventually, they find out they work together well, they get killed, they go red and Joel goes crazy. Red rage is a real, definable, re-occuring phenomenon for Joel, he IS angry and he DOES want to make people pay. Etho in the life series is usually more reserved, and he holds Joel back, yes, but Joel also helps Etho out of his shell and pushes him to do things he wouldn't normally do. The ship burns everything burns. And then they burned. And Joel's first real alliance goes up in flames, literally.

4. Now Joel has a taste of what it's like to not be alone the entire season. He teams up with Jimmy and Grian, his Bad Boys, and he's fiercely loyal to them, and then to him. (Even Grian by his standards is FIERCELY loyal to the Bad Boys- I mean, he doesn't even kill one of them! I think. Not permanently?) He changes his skin, matching leather jackets, these are his people. And he'd die for his people. Joel and Grian try their best to keep Jimmy alive, Joel going so far as to say he'd have sacrificed himself to keep Jim alive, but it wasn't enough, he wasn't quick enough, and he died right afterwards, leaving Grian alone. But he wasn't alone. And he didn't go out alone.

5. Secret Life is.... weird. He has allies, yes, but it's a bit of a strange situation, he allies with the Mounders and he lives a bit of a ways away from them, not quite in the group but not quite out of it. But he doesn't want to be alone again. He knows what happens when you're alone in this game, and he doesn't ever want that to happen to him again. Mumbo goes out almost immediately following Jimmy, the third to go out. Pearl IIRC betrays the Mounders and messes around with Gem, which is really funny given the events of Wild Life. It's only him and Bdubs at the end, both murdered by Scott.

6. Now. Wild Life. Again. Joel knows what happens if you're alone in this series, and he never wants it to happen to him again. So he bases his persona around a movie character, one that everyone knows and likes, he thinks. He makes himself someone that he thinks people will want to befriend, one where he won't have to be alone. He makes himself look strong, fake muscles clumsily attached to his arms, quoting about family and the importance of it, a vast difference from the lonely man in 3rd Life and Last Life who couldn't be assed to find allies. And it works. He has Gem- and everyone fears them, for once. Everyone already knows Joel is insane, but with Gem behind him, he's a significant threat. Gem keeps him grounded, and from doing stupid shit that gets him killed. They have Etho, and he comes and visits, which is nice. Everyone struggles a lot with the Wild Cards early game but them, neither of them losing lives for several sessions. Joel even comments that normally he's red by session 4, and he doesn't know what to do with himself without all that anger. He lives his best life, with Gem, with his car.

And then Grian's allies die, and isn't that familiar, and Joel lets him into the Family, because of course he would, allying with Grian is like second nature to him at this point. Maybe he feels guilty for leaving him in Limited Life, or maybe he just knows what it's like to be alone and doesn't want that for him. Who knows. He tries and fails at building traps. As soon as he's yellow he gets a double kill on Scott and Pearl, and Grian and Jimmy scream with him like old times. And it's okay, I mean it's stressful and it's like the end of the world but Joel's doing okay, he has his family, he's not alone.

And then the finale comes and it's so hectic and so many people are trying to kill him and Grian saves him, Grian tries so hard to save him, and isn't that something. Being worthy of being saved by Grian. And Gem goes out, not even to a player, to a vex, one of his family members is gone and it's so hectic Joel can't even stop to mourn or he, too, will die. And then he finds Grian and he stumbles to him screaming "Thank God you're alive!" because it had gotten so crazy, so wild that Joel didn't truly even know if Grian was alive, but he was, he still had Family, he wasn't alone again, not this time. And Grian says that he thinks Joel can win, Joel can win, that he'll give Joel his life, that it's about time he wins and Joel gets flashbacks to wanting to die for Jimmy, and Scar wanting to die for Grian and what that did to him, and he doesn't want that, but GOD he wants to win. So badly. And then Grian got knocked off the tower with Bdubs, ender pearling off, screaming how he refused to go like Mumbo, like Skizz, not on his tower and Joel's running, EVERYONE is targeting him, Grian takes out Pearl and Joel takes out Cleo and Ren.

And then it's just them, then it's just Joel and Grian, and Joel can't even find Grian, he just heard the arrows as Grian tries to shoot him, going back on his word as expected, which Joel-- Joel is glad for. Because he wanted to win this on his own terms, he wanted to win because he won, he would not be given anything. He's not alone this time. And he charges up the tree, and he kills Grian, kills his Family, his Bad Boy, his red friend, his ally in the sand, screaming that he's sorry, and Joel laughs.

Joel laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

[dreamertf]

New Outlook

Lucas wanted to start his fitness journey but he didnt know where to start. Laying around scrolling on tiktok he kept getting ads for this stepper machine.

He kept ignoring it but whenever the ad would pop up he'd stare at the hot girl on the machine, obviously she had worked on her body with more than that but what could it hurt to try.

As he added it to his amazon cart he noticed two versions, a "gay" and a "straight" one. There was no difference in how they looked or anything and the straight one was sold out so he decided to get the gay one. It was probably just some marketing gimmick anyways.

---

Once the little machine had arrived he tore it open eagerly. He was excited to get rid of his stomach. He frowned slightly as he noticed the rainbow colored sticker on the bottom of the machine. He shook it off as he placed it on his wooden floor.

He got on as he started to pump up and down. The machine going how it was meant to. He put on a show as he continued on the little stepper.

The next day he woke up sore, his whole body ached like the little stepper was an entire routine. His feet peeked out from under his blanket, they looked a little bigger but he didnt notice that.

As the days went by he would go on the little stepper for at least an hour a day, not noticing how much the little thing was changing him. His receding hairline crept forward, making his thin hair thicker. His fat melted off his body, becoming lean juicy muscle, his skin darkened into a nice tan like he spent hours hiking, his face defined itself into perfection with cheekbones a gucci model would be envious of.

Although he didnt notice his physical changes, he could feel the mental ones. How he'd wake up more energetic and be more charismatic to people, how others seemed to be naturally attracted to him, but most of all he noticed how much he preferred the attention of men now. Whenever he'd think of girls a cute twink would take her place. No boobs, instead a nice pair of lean pecs for him to lick.

He couldn't control himself when he saw a cute guy, it was like he was going througg puberty again.

his large calves pulsated as sweat ran down his 6'8 sculpted body. Something he never really had to work for and just had. His trim waist and broad shoulders would say other wise, but he never had a gym membership. He wiped the sweat off his brow as he continued watching sone dumb reality tv show about gay guys. Everyone was so incredibly hot he couldn't keep focus.

All he could think about now was railing some random twink.

[identifying-cars-in-posts]

Hi everyone

So i hate to do this again, but due to both personal stresses and the state of the world I’m officially going on an indefinite hiatus. I love running this blog and helping people but one, i have a ton of stressors happening in my personal life, and two, it feels wrong running a silly little gimmick blog when people are being needlessly slaughtered, persecuted against, and dehumanized in huge numbers for simply being, in the US, in Palestine, Sudan, Ghana, and so many other places. I’m black, trans, AFAB, and neurodivergent living in the US, so daily I’ve had to deal with trauma personal to me in the states while trying to do what I can to take action against the atrocities happening overseas. All that to say there are significantly more important things I think should be being done than running a gimmick blog on tumblr. As much as I love this platform and have had a blast with it, it’s also kinda terrible for my mental health, and something bad for my mental health has to go before I completely break down. I love y’all and have had a great time. If ever the world calms down, perhaps I’ll come back, but for now I’m deleting tumblr and stepping back.

It might sound selfish but I’m also not gonna be offering to hand off this blog to anyone else, this was a really fun personal thing for me to explore my special interest and as somebody who doesn’t have a ton to myself and is not interested in chasing any sort of legacy, I don’t feel any urge to keep it going under someone else’s moderation. I’d never had a platform before this so I’d like to keep it 100% mine, even when I’m not in a place to run it. I know that might be a bit of a controversial choice but it’s the one that feels right to me.

Thanks for coming along with me on this fun little project. Sorry for the things I said I’d do eventually that never came to fruition. Keep loving cars and learning about them, I hope at least a couple people who follow me here pursue that interest.

Love you all. Free Palestine.

- Alyx/identifying-cars-in-posts

[thisiswhereikeepdcthings]

AU ideas that are potentially crack or cursed:

Jason ends up in a dimension where most things are similar/the same except the Joker is just some minor villain with a gimmick and about the same threat level as condiment king. All the bats there are trying to support him as he deals with this trauma but also they’re all really confused that such a large part of his trauma stems from that guy.

Mumble mumble magic something and Batman is gone, except Bruce is still there. It just stripped him of his Batman-ness and everyone is left with Brucie Wayne. 24/7 Brucie Wayne. Who knows nothing about Batman and doesn’t see why he should bother “fixing” whatever this is. Also Brucie’s a great parent and so many people are having a crisis now.

Batman’s kids keep getting lantern rings and/or magical superpowers and he would like it to please stop.

Ra’s Al Ghul is now the magically-assigned guardian of the champion of magic. His continued existence rests on his ability to be a good parental figure to Billy Batson so he’s speed running his be-a-good-person redemption montage.

A member of the JL (not a bat) accidentally time travels and accidentally-on-purpose saves this little family in an alley that were about to get shot. Takes about ten minutes to realize they just saved Batman’s parents. But surely this will all be just fine.

Jason dies (again) and re-emerges from the pit, only to find that he’s in the body of Ra’s Al Ghul and Talia is like two, which means that Bruce is also just a kid.

Batman goes back in time to try and fix all his mistakes except he accidentally brought all his kids with him and none of them appreciate the sudden de-aging.

[sacredsorceress]

Hey queen! I love the way you write fluff! But help a girl out and send my love to worst!wolverine Logan. Poor man is just tired and I just wanna give his some stability in his life 😮‍💨💕

-🦑

my secret is that worst!wolverine is actually my favourite but i cannot write wade for the life of me so i haven't gotten to any fics for worst!wolvie yet. but god do i love thinking about giving logan the stability and domesticity he deserves...

⋆｡°Roommate!Worst!Wolverine⋆｡°

It all started with an attempted break-in of your apartment.

Afterwards, you ran (well, really, you took an Uber. After a close call such as that you were feeling uneasy about traversing the city at night on your own) to Wade's apartment.

A rapping against the door forced Logan from his alcohol-induced reverie. An old movie- black and white and far too reliant on gimmicks for Logan's enjoyment- had continued to play through his stupor. He felt around for the remote.

Checking his watch- a cheap thing he had bought at the local convenience store- the time blinked back at him. 3:42.

The rapping on the door escalated to a pounding.

Logan threw off the thin blanket that covered his knees. His forgotten beer bottle slipped from his lap, onto the floor and shattered.

"Ah shit."

He pushed himself up from the couch with a groan. With his stature, Logan crossed the apartment in five strides, throwing open the door as you lifted your fist to continue.

"Oh." You said surprised, dropping your hand to your side. "Logan. Hi. I was looking for Wade."

Logan, who knew Wade had disappeared for the evening with Vanessa, clicked his tongue.

"It's a bit late." He said gruffly.

"Yeah, well, tell that to the guy who just broke into my apartment."

You slipped past Logan and into the kitchen, the realization of what had just happened to you- what could have happened- settling in.

Locking the door behind you both, Logan followed you with his brows furrowed.

"What?"

Logan blinked a few times, sobering up at your last sentence. Someone broke in?

"Some crazy guy broke into my apartment." You explained, hugging yourself. "I scared him off with a knife, thank god, but what would have happened if I hadn't woken up? I didn't know what to do, Logan, I was so scared I ran right here."

In the past few weeks of living on Earth-10005, Logan considered himself well-behaved for the lack of violence he had found himself in. Now, however, he felt a familiar red, hot rage.

Despite the few moments you and Logan had shared in the short amount of time, you had left your imprint on him.

You were uncharacteristically kind to him: far more gentle and friendly than he felt he deserved. Everyone smiled when you walked into a room and it wasn't simply because of the fresh baked goods you carried in your hands; the fresh aroma of vanilla and cinnamon trailing behind you as you went. You were warm, funny, soft: attributes Logan had nearly forgotten existed behind the cold, hard walls he had built.

To think that someone had ill intent with you made him not only sick, but furious. Enraged. In the brief moments where his mind would run ahead of him, imagining the soft touch your skin on his and how your lips would feel against his rough cheek, he had felt twisted- perverted. Logan didn't deserve your love and any fantasy his mind conjured for him felt like an affront to your generosity.

And all he had wanted to do was treat you right. Who did this sick fuck think he was?

"My friends are right," you wrung your hands. "I shouldn't be living alone. It's not safe."

Your eyes glanced over to the scratchy couch on the far side of the living room. A discarded blanket and flattened pillow from who knows how long ago laid amongst its cushions.

"Wait, Logan?"

"Huh?" Logan asked, pulling himself from his thought. It only occurred to him then that he hadn't responded in a while.

"Would you... want to move in with me?" You asked, fingers toying with the frayed edge of your jacket, unable to meet his eyes. "I know that you don't exactly have the best living arrangement here and it would just... make me sleep easier knowing someone else was there. I'd feel safer with you around."

I'd feel safer with you around.

Now, that was something Logan hadn't heard in a while.

He stood a little straighter, bolstered by your confidence in him.

"I don't know, bub." Logan said, leaning against the cabinets. "You sure you wanna guy like me around?"

A dry laugh escaped your throat.

"I'd prefer to have a guy like you around." You said. "What do you say?"

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

With only a backpack full of his belongings and a note to Wade in chicken scratch left on the counter, Logan moved in the following afternoon.

"And this..." you said, opening the door to the last room. "Is your room. I know it's not much, but I got you some new sheets and a phone charger-"

The room, quaint but equipped with a queen size bed, two matching nightstands, a window, and a desk was more than Logan had had even in how own universe. At least since-

"This is nice n' all," Logan said, shaking his head. "But I can't accept this, sweetheart. The couch'll do just fine."

Sweetheart.

You shook your head.

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Logan." You said, inviting him into the space. "This is your room. Besides, I like my couch too much to give it up for you."

You smiled at the last sentence, informing Logan that it was part joke (but also part not).

"I'm going to go finish dinner." You said. "And before you even say 'don't worry about me': save it. I've seen how empty Wade's fridge is and I'm not going to have you not eat, okay? Let me do this for you."

Logan brushed his hand through his hair and chuckled.

"Alright then."

With a triumphant nod you left the room.

Logan tossed his backpack onto the bed and took in the room around him. The sheets that had been neatly tucked into the bed were a crisp white and held the distinct scent of laundry detergent from its wash earlier that day. Draped across the comforter was a soft blanket- hues of browns and greens that stood stark against the pure white benath.

Was this hand-knit?

Brushing his fingers against the cloth, he turned and glanced at the desk where a journal caught his eye.

A yellow sticky note sat atop.

Welcome home, Logan

Logan's calloused fingertip ran over the script, feeling where your pen marked the paper with the loops, swirls, and divots of your penmanship... for him.

The journal beneath was leather bound and carried weight in his hands. Logan flipped through the pages considering your words earlier- how you had set up this room (on such short notice)- with Logan in mind.

He almost felt overwhelmed by how you had done all this in consideration of him- for him. Whatever had made you do it, he wasn't sure but you had looked at this journal and thought of him. It almost made him want to pick up a pen and start writing then and there.

Logan decided that even if you had painted the room bright yellow he'd have made yellow his favourite colour because however you thought of him- and clearly it was very highly- it was the type of man he'd strive to be.

In the few minutes since you had stepped from the room, Logan had heard the distant clatter of pots, pans, and dishes echoing from the kitchen. Now, the chaos had settled down, and instead his ears perked at the familiar, scratchy sound of a vinyl beginning to play.

"Logan!" You called. "Dinner's ready!"

Dropping the book onto the desk, he allowed the sweet sound of music and the mouth-watering aroma of dinner to lead the way. In the dining room, the lights had been dimmed, the table was set as a large dish sat in the middle of the table.

Bathed in the warm light of the lamps surrounding you, Logan swore you shone like his own personal guardian angel. A part of him wanted to fall to his knees before you and relinquish himself to your care. Instead, he shook his head.

"Fuck, that smells good."

Taking off your oven mitts, you smiled.

"Well what are you waiting for?" You asked, pulling out your seat. "Let's eat."

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Anywho this was so fun and so cute to write!! If you'd like to see more roommate!worst!wolverine PLEASE let me know because I have lots of thoughts.

feel free to come chat about any of your favourite mcu characters in the ask box!!

[marciaillust]

the older i get the more I fall in love with kuroko no basket. I wouldn't say my enjoyment of it comes from the strength of its writing or the depth and pathos the characters bring to the table but it's just so. so. it frog boils you

it starts off by introducing the generation of miracles and its just a buncha kids that are super good. one is turbo fast, one is naturally turbo tall, one can make 3 pointers from far far away. like sure there is a gimmick but its tiny, it's *believable*. these six kids are just that good whatever you watched sports anime, you know how this goes

but all in all the show starts off as. hey. we love basketball. this show is named kuroko's basketball, it is gonna be about what basketball means to its characters', especially kuroko. ok. fine. you have this duo and one is loud and obnoxious and the other one is quiet, they are the opposites but they are like light and shadow, we are gonna root for them as they go on their basketball journey and tell us what basketball means to them. ok

but the shadow guy. he's so much of a nothingburger he disappears on the court so he can make surprise moves. ok. wow. kinda funny. kinda gimmicky, more than being just tall or just fast, but like. its his whole personality anyway. everyone doesnt notice him off the court in real life too. it causes problems for him. its his dominant trait as a person on the whole. gimmicky but in character. out there but lowkey fits the threading of the fabric you're weaving here. that's just our main character and who he is as a person.

and then for the next 100 episodes you're slowly. with every match. getting exposed to new characters. with their little gimmicks. but you've seen anime before, everyone's got their thing. One will be less agile but the brains of the operation. One will be good at observing. One can do really really good fakes. Ok fine. But then. then the plot keeps escalating. the stakes keep going up. we need more characters. new matches. new gimmicks.

One of our characters can see the court really well, he knows whats what immediately in his surroundings. Eagle eye, they call that sense. But then he meets another guy, an opponent, who can see the court EVEN BETTER. He has got the HAWK EYE! the zone (state of intense focus) becomes a mythical land that only select few have the access too. Regular dunks become *METEOR STRIKES*. Slapping a ball away from your opponent becomes a *SPEAR*. Dribbling with 3 fingers becomes an indicator that you're actually on LEVEL 1 of your dribbling skills and it can go up by TWO MORE LEVELS

But throughout all of this you're like. Ok. Ok. Obviously this is basketball. The things we're seeing are merely visual metaphors and allegories for my enjoyment. It's not meant to be taken literally. BUT THEN. EVERYONE REACTS TO EVERYTHING. DIAGETICALLY. ITS WATSONIAN ALL THE WAY DOWN? EVERYONE is aware of the eagle eye and the hawk eye and the technical differences between them. Noone has done a meteor strike before! That's only theoretical! THE ZONE? its a door. Its like the door from fma. you can get cast out, the door can close on you. AND It guarded by someone! WHO IS STOPPING YOU FROM CROSSING THE THRESHOLD? Search. Find out. Withstand the storm. Open the door!! The dollar store yaoibait becomes all but text. The bonds between characters get elevated to biblical proportions. The main charas are light and shadow. But that shadow already had his light in the past. But they had a breakup. Now its like being in a new relesh looking to prove your ex boyfriend that he was wrong to dump you. And the new light is gonna stand up for his man, he's not gonna take the disrespect laying down. And the pot keeps boiling until the final bad guy of the whole tournament, the defending champion, is this redheaded twink with heterochromia in his eyes and hes GOT THE EYES OF AN EMPOROR! AND PEOPLE FALL TO THEIR KNEES FROM MERELY LOOKING INTO HIS EYES ON THE COURT! HE SAYS BOW BEFORE ME AS HE DRIBBLES PAST THEM AND THEY FALL!!! AND HE TALKS TO EVERYONE LIKE HE'S A DIVINELY PROTECTED TSAR OF REALITY! AND EVERYONE TAKES HIM SERIOUSLY!!!

BUT THEN YOU LEARN THAT ACTUALLY HE'S GOT A SPLIT PERSONALITY THING GOING ON AND HIS REAL SELF IS BEING HELD HOSTAGE BY HIS EVIL AND MEAN BASKETBALL SELF AND THAT TO DEFEAT THE GAY LOVE THAT OPPOSES HIM (the main characters) HE MUST SUICIDE HALF OF HIS PERSONALITY TO FREE HIMSELF TO REACH THE BASKETBALL HEAVEN AND HE DOES THIS VIA A CONVERSATION IN HIS HEAD DURING MATCH AND I CANT STRESS, A "PERSON" DIES, AND HE LOSES THE HETEROCHROMIA AND ITS LIKE. ITS TEXT I GUESS HE WAS POSSESSED

AND ALSO EVERYONE IS COLOUR CODED AND LIKE 17 AND ALSO THE 3 WOMEN IN THIS SHOW HAVE AT LEAST 5 SCENES DEDICATED TO SIZE OF THEIR BOOBS BECAUSE IT WAS 2012 AND THAT'S WHAT WOMEN FIGHT OVER IN PRIVATE AND THE LIGHT AND THE SHADOW WANT TO PLAY TOGETHER FOREVER AND THEY WANT TO GET BASKETBALL MARRIED AND THEY LITERALLY HAVE AN AIRPORT SCENE IN THE FINAL EP IS ANYONE ELSE SEEING THIS HELLO? TAPS MIC HELLO???

[doppel-doodles]

A normal post about Doey the doughman from poppy playtime

Round 4 everyone!:D The grand finale to a series I had no idea was gonna be a thing-

I also wanna mention that these posts probably were the most engagement I've ever gotten on Tumblr EVER, it was kinda overwhelming ngl but I'm nonetheless grateful and super happy about it!:>

But now let's get into the thick of it:

These share the common theme of: I'm not sure how to start this, this time my excuse is the fact that I already talked about each of the boys sharing Doey meaning that covers all the basis for his personality and a lot of his interactions.

So instead let me talk about some things that they scrapped for Doey.

So- first things first, some scrapped content that we know of, the first was that apparently Doey was at one point planned to be an antagonist for chapter 2, at first I couldn't really see it but then I did think about it and it weirdly fits when you compare him and mommy longlegs??

Like their gimmicks are kinda similar, both of them are toys that can bend,stretch and twist their bodies however they wish and even from a design standpoint they kind of go together.

Mommy is long and spindly, pink from head to toe meanwhile Doey is big and round with his main color being blue. And I know pink and blue are not opposites on the color wheel but people often associate them as opposites. Not to mention mommy has cool accent color and doey has warm accent colors.

The point I'm trying to make is: they weirdly go together.

Its giving the main big bads henchmen vibes with how they are sorta matching opposites.

Ngl I love that-

It makes me wonder about what could've been, I wouldn't trade my boy does for anything in the world but simply IMAGINE what a more antagonistic Doey could be like, maybe he was more calculating and hid his crazy better or go full hulk on us, maybe he was simply an obstacle mommy would throw at us in the game station.

Some food for thought.

A second thing that was scrapped from chapter 4 was a side quest for Doey where we go to retrieve a book for everyone to read.

And you know what?

We. Were. ROBBED.

FUCKING ROBBED.

I think a little side quest where we just get to contribute to the safe haven would've gone a long way in making the loss of it all the more gut wrenching.

And it just hammers home the fact that all of them are still CHILDREN.

Just imagine: we retrieve the book and then we get to see a little scene of Doey reading to the toys, maybe we even get to sit with them and listen to the story as well, or heck maybe WE get to read the book to them if we wanted to.

And afterwards we get new voice lines from the toys talking about how they really are starting to like us! Maybe even talk to US! It's a little thing that does a lot to make us feel like a part of this community, no longer an outsider.

And a tiny scene like that would make Doeys outburst hurt so much more.

Because we gave him a taste of something better only for the worst possible thing to happen right after.

Like Matthew could've finally gotten to sit back, enjoy a story and experience his first break in YEARS.

Kevin could've started to be more comfortable around us, seeing how much effort we put into helping them, even when it was small things that "didn't matter". He might even start viewing us as a safe adult to be around!

And Jack could just feel like a kid again! Imagine if he doesn't even know the story since he isn't from the orphanage, and he just gets so excited hearing something new and just-

UGHHHHH MY HEART IT WAS SUCH A FUMBLE!

Wanna hear my thoughts on the boys?

Here ya go-

Matthew

Kevin

Jack

[rainchyna]

⌗ ˚ ͙◌˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝐇𝐇𝐇 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝟗𝟎𝘀˖ ࣪ .ִֶָ

(f!reader, fluff, language, mentions of drug and alcohol use, smuttish, i've lost my touch i fear)

⏾ you didn't really care for hunter when he first joined the wwf. you didn’t exactly know who he was, you just saw him around backstage. he wasn’t exactly memorable to you, he had the basic wrestler look. 6’3, blond, muscular. not much to think about.

⏾ hunter, on the other hand, had his eyes on the prize way before signing with wwf. you had been established in the company as women’s champion at the time, the company heavily relied on you as their top female draw. you were great, the fans loved you, and your merch sold.

⏾ after he was signed, he’d just admire you from afar, you were so effortlessly cool. you've always been his wrestling crush. you were beyond talented, bombshell of a beauty, so, so sweet, and well liked by everyone. of course everyone liked you, look at you. the things he would’ve done to even be near you.

⏾ hunter began hanging out with shawn (who had essentially recruited him for the kliq) almost immediately. you and shawn were really good friends at the time, as vince had put the tag team belts on you and shawn as a joke. shawn could immediately tell that hunter had a thing for you, the way he could barely pull a proper "hello" when you're around immediately gave it away. hunter's eyes would be glued to your face, and up and down your body, he'd immediately smile and look away, slightly blushing when you'd even glance at him.

"dude, what's all that about?"

"don't. don't even, I just-.. she's.. wow."

"do you want me to introduce you-"

"yes, please."

⏾ you were somehow, magically, (backstage politically, shawn michaels sends his regards) dragged into a romance angle with hunter. he was the new signing, and the company wanted to give him a little push. so, now you two were forced to be around each other a lot. you dropped the tag belts soon there after, but kept the women's championship.

⏾ he had kept his french aristocrat gimmick from wcw, but instead of Jean Paul Levesque, he was now Hunter Hearst Helmsley. you were his ‘wife’, y/n y/l/n-helmsley, you escorted him into the ring, interfered in his matches, and cut promos with him. you spent a lot of time on and off the road with him, it's not like either of you had a choice.

⏾ you two slowly became friends, though the dynamic was a bit weird at first since he seemed to be a big fan of you. he kept up some of his 'aristocratic' behaviours, he was trying so hard to win you over. he'd hold doors open for you, always keep as seat open for you, push chairs in and out for you, carry your stuff whether it's a bag or a championship belt.

⏾ and warm up to him, you did. you thought he was really sweet, even though he'd give you 'funny eyes' when you worked out together. hunter was always complimenting you, your matches, your gear, your looks, anything. if he could find a way into your heart, he sure was going to sweet-talk his way there.

"your match was so good earlier, I watched the whole thing."

"yeah, I know. I saw you at the commentary table, burning holes into my body."

"how could I not? you're so talented, and you looked so damn gorgeous."

⏾ a friendship was beginning to blossom between you two, he was actually genuinely so lovely. it was nice for once to not be the only one sober when the rest of the kliq were either drunk or stoned off their mind. you two became the friend groups 'parents', and were often left alone when shawn, kev, scott and sean were passed out.

⏾ you could talk to him for hours about the most random things ever, whether it was wrestling, music, life, ways to get the idiots on the floor to sober up, it was just so easy to talk to him. you two had a whole lotta chemistry in real life, and it translated into the ring.

⏾ having you almost as a 'mentor' to his french gentleman character was constantly messing with his brain. it was like the really hot, popular girl tutoring the new guy in class.

⏾ you were trying to hard to teach him how to cut a babyface promo, but he just couldn't do it the way you wanted him to. he was just a natural heel. you ended up convincing vince to turn you both heel, as it would've been better for him. but, as you turned heel, vince wanted you two to turn up the sexual element of your on screen relationship.

⏾ you were now all over each other at all times, you were wearing shorter dresses, unbuttoning his white shirt before matches for him, he was constantly groping you and kissing your neck, just touchy.

⏾ you two immediately became significantly closer. the tension from your fake relationship spilling into your friendship. it was obvious, something was happening here.

⏾ you two were now hanging out without shawn, or the chaos of the kliq, just one on one. you work out together in hotel gyms, go on coffee runs because the coffee in the arena sucks, eat together in catering way before or after lunch breaks so you can be with each other in peace. sometimes, you'd just sit together just to be in each other's presence.

⏾ you and hunter were entering the mutual crush phase, and it was so beyond obvious to everyone around you.

⏾ shawn was your biggest fan, no one wanted you two to get together more than he did. he was always teasing you two, making loud kissing noises when you and hunter were doing literally anything, 'your girlfriend' to hunter's face when you were right there. shawn would even purposefully create situations where you and hunter had to be basically breathing each other's air. whether it's him taking up more space in cars so you'd be forced to sit on hunter's lap, or talking one of the boys who didn’t need much convincing into locking you two in a a tiny closet.

⏾ then degeneration-x formed, you two couldn't escape each other now.

⏾ shawn lobbied hard for you and hunter to be in the faction, and it was immediate perfection. it became a public secret that you and hunter had something going on, everyone backstage was so aware of it, and the fans began seeing it during shows. it was obvious it wasn't just the 'y/n and hunter are married' thing, even commentary would make jokes about it.

⏾ it went from casual friends, to close friends, to no one really knows what's going in with you two. now became stolen glances, hidden touches, whispered words, longing looks, painful yearning. hunter was always hugging you, his arms were always around your shoulders or you waist, hand glued to your hip, heart eyes.

⏾ you two were almost always cuddled up, hunter didn't care if people talked, he was obsessed with you. he wanted to always be near you, to be the one who made you laugh, to be the one who made you feel safe and love. he would even kiss your head and cheeks, he didn't care who saw. the relentless teasing was worth it, all the jokes and the stares. it was all worth those couple minutes of intimacy.

⏾ but he wanted more, both of you did.

⏾ it all boiled up to a moment when are four of you were on the road. shawn had stopped the car, and him and chyna went into a convenient store to buy some snacks and drinks. you and hunter were sitting in the back seat when he turned to you, and asked;

"why aren't i your boyfriend?"

"you haven't asked me-"

"can you please be my girlfriend? like please?"

"yeah, i would love that."

⏾ by the time shawn and chyna came back, you two were busy making out, not paying attention to anything but each other. shawn loudly knocked on the window, "happy for you, idiots, but not in my car." he said, chyna laughing in the background.

⏾ hunter is so obsessed with you.

⏾ hunter is also such a jealous boyfriend. it took him so long to finally have you all to himself, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let you get away from him. he fucking hated the way some wrestlers backstage looked at you, sometimes even the fans at ringside pissed him off. you were his, and his alone.

⏾ he would possessively show you off. if someone in particular was annoying him, he'd pull you as close as possible to him, sometimes on his lap if he could. he'd hold and kiss you while holding eye contact with that person. he didn't give a fuck, you were his.

⏾ he'd also refuse to let you out of his sight. if you had a match, or a promo, he's there watching, the furthest he could be was gorilla. if you had to change, he was in your locker room. he was always there, but he had limits, of course. if you wanted to be left alone, he respected your boundaries.

⏾ he was so protective of you, so, so protective. he hates seeing you upset, or bothered. he would do anything to make his girl happy. he didn't care if he had to spend his entire cheque spoiling you, hunter would go to hell back to see you smile.

"is that a diamond fucking ring?"

"anything for my baby."

⏾ loves, loves, loves when you ask him to give you head. that man is a munch, i don't care what anyone thinks. especially as he gets older, baby, that alone gets him off.

⏾ absolutely adores seeing you in his clothes, specifically in his leather jackets.

⏾ super touchy. whether it's a hand around your waist, around your shoulders, finger hooked on a belt loop on your pants. hunter always needs contact, especially when emotions are high. you're the only person who he could feel genuinely and wholly vulnerable with.

⏾ huge on cheek and forehead kisses

⏾ genuinely, has a sexual thing for you sitting his lap. has something to do with him being so much bigger than you.

⏾ massive daddy kink, even worse sir kink.

⏾ also has thing for seeing you in his merch, or anything with his name on it.

⏾ literally gets so annoyed and straight up upset when you have to do anything. he wants you to just sit back and relax, he wants to take care of you all the time. hates seeing you up on your feet doing something he could do for you. he gets borderline embarrassed.

“where are you going?”

“to get.. water..?”

“water? mhm, what else do you want?”

“uhm.. a sandwich…?”

“seat your ass the fuck down, then.”

⏾ you’re so beyond spoiled in this relationship. want a sandwich? he’ll start with making his own bread from scratch. need a change of clothes? here’s his comfiest hoodie, while he does your laundry. want to paint your nails? gel, or regular polish? you want a diamond ring? do you want that lab grown or naturally mined?

⏾ when he began growing his beard, he became absolutely in love with you trimming and cleaning it up for him. he closeness, having you on his lap, the bathroom smells like aftershave and your perfume, your clothes are slightly damp and he can’t get that silly smile of his face for you to actually work.

⏾ you’re his bestest friend :(

⏾ constantly reminds you that he loves you, mostly because he’s loves hearing you telling him you love him back.

⏾ gets the most raging boners when you tug on his hair. like, this man is borderline whimpering when your fingers barely graze his scalp.

⏾ the second you’re on your knees for him, he loses his mind. it’s like he can’t breathe anymore.

⏾ LIVES between your thighs. his eyes barely open, licking and sucking, he’s humping the bed beneath him. it’s gets him off so much. (i’m obsessed w this can u tell)

⏾ sit on his face, smother him. his nose takes care of your clit. (iykyk)

⏾ “angel” and “baby” are his favourite nicknames for you.

⏾ one of his favourite things to do was to rub the fact that you’re his in the faces of your fanboys. he lived for it, it gave him an excuse to be all over you on national television. the explicitness of dx also added to him being just inappropriate on live television.

“see this? see all of this? *actively groping you*, i get to have this gorgeous, sexy woman all to myself *more groping ofc*. and you pathetic scums can’t have her, you can just watch. *groping intensifies*”

“suck it? i mean, as long as it’s this pretty little thing”

⏾ (stupidly) flirts with you like his life depends on it

“ya come here often?”

“??? we both work here.”

⏾ 5939/10, need him. need him bad

[therobotmonster]

What does the Comic tell us About the Brute Force Toyline that Never Was?

Brute Force was Marvel's failed attempt at joining in the toy-cartoon-comic fun back in 1990.

What isn't often talked about (if ever) is how much effort Jose Delbo (and whoever else was doing character design work in pre-production) put into planning for the realities of toy design, because it's not hard to suss out what was intended from the art alone.

Parts Reuse Was Planned From the Start:

The metal production molds are the most expensive part of toy production, so any time you can reuse parts across multiple figures is a savings. Each side has two unique members (Hip-Hop and Lionheart for Brute Force, Armory and Ramrod for Heavy Metal) three that share obvious parts with an opposing figure.

Uproar and Wreckless appear to use the same upper arms, upper legs, pelvis and probably chest. Uproar's bullets were likely planned as an accessory.

Surfstreak and Bloodbath appear to just have different heads, maybe tails, and either different accessories and limbs or just different accessories depending on execution.

Soar/Slipstream and Tailgunner appear to have unique add-on armor for the wings, heads, and legs. The wings might also been different, but I'd guess that when time came to mold plastic they'd have used the same ones.

Size Classes are Easy to Guess:

The "charge into battle" shot gives you every indication of what size everyone was going to be sold at. My guess, based on the art and the action features later shown off, is it would break down like this:

Small - Soar, Surfstream, Bloodbath, Tailgunner

Medium - Lionheart, HIp-Hop, Ramrod, Uproar.

Large - Wreckless, Armory, the toxic mutant (if they planned on making the off-theme guys)

Super Large - Heroic and Evil Transports

It's harder to place Heavy Metal since they don't seem to have add-on vehicles, but the art represents Armory as being huge and a major threat...

And uproar seems to have mass equal to Lionheart on his cycle, though he might have been packed in with the villain's large transport or had another add-on vehicle planned later.

It's likely that the vehicle-attached figures would have gotten solo releases, likely with different decos. As was the style at the time.

They Planned for Action Features, and I think I know what they were.

Furman and Delbo knew how to make a toy-comic, and everyone gets to show off their action feature in a toy-comic. Brute Force leaves some solid clues for what those features would have been. Now, there would probably have been launchers (Wreckless's Bearzooka), water-shooters (Surfstream almost certainly had one), etc, but I'm talking more about the showcase feature.

Surfstream and Bloodbath Were Low-Effort Transformers-

-or else they were biting MOTU Dragstor's style. Surfstream and Bloodbath clearly had both swimming/rolling configurations and upright figure configurations.

Soar (and likely Tailgunner) Had Blast-Away Armor

You don't do this trick twice in 4 issues if it's not your gimmick.

Wreckless and Uproar loved Hugs

My guess is there was at least some thought put into the possibility of Wreckless and Uproar having a "bear hug" feature that could work as general limb-swinging and chest pounding. In addition to the grabs Wreckless does a lot of right hooks and, oddly Uproar mainly fights with his mace for a character with bullet bandoleers. This one's harder to nail down because the actions are very obvious for bear/ape characters, but either a weapon-swing or a grab/bear hug seems really likely.

Wreckless's gun is the kind that you could mount on a figure's shoulder without them needing to hold it in-hand, so the arms might have been free for the action feature if my guess is right.

This Octopus Bastard Spins

You can't tell me Armory doesn't spin. perfectly radially symmetrical middle section designed in such a way the central body could spin while the legs and head stay stationary. arms that grip weapons or other figures, he's huge and clearly meant to be Heavy Metal's mega-weapon. He spins.

Hop-To Heroes

Now, if there's one thing the Brute Force characters do, it's leap. But the characters with the larger lock-on vehicle armor all leap out of the vehicle to attack a foe at least once.

I have to wonder if the vehicle figures were intended to be ejected from the vehicle as a leaping attack. (this would seem thematically in line with the armor-shed gimmick from Soar) This would be in addition to some general reconfiguration between low-riding "speed" modes and upright battle modes.

Ramrod would have had a headbutt gimmick.

It's literally all he does in the comic. I don't think he even has a gun.

Conclusions

Brute Force was intended into be a not just an action figure line, but a feature-heavy character driven line. The play patterns imagined were ambitious. I see Starriors, Transformers and Centurions DNA in there, and it would have been a lot more fun than Captain Planet for an eco-themed franchise.

The Marvel crew clearly learned a lot from the toy industry from working with Hasbro, Kenner, Mattel, Mego and numerous others through the years, and it shows. This concept started with toy ideas, it's just a pity no one was incentivized to make them.

[livfastdieyoung69]

OH OH YK WHAT I NEED BAD? KO SIBLING X CODY OOOOO I NEED IT I NEEDDDD IT

NEW BEGINNINGS

(Cody Rhodes x Non-described!Owens!Reader, can be read as adopted or not)

Anger issues and complaining runned in the Owen’s family. It was what your family did, most of you on the side, but your brother, he did it for his literal career. Like seriously, Kevin just complained for a living- he got on a microphone and yelled. As jealous as you were, it wasn’t your gimmick unfortunately. The two of you grew up side by side, falling in love with wrestling together, and eventually even growing in the business together. Though you had pretty similar styles, Kevin loved being in the WWE and everything he stood for there, and you loved being in TNA, and all of the accomplishments you’ve made in the company.

Though you were on separate paths, whenever they happened to cross, you’d sit down and have lunch, or dinner, or whatever else you could manage and do what Owens’ did best- complain together.

“How’s working with all of the Bloodline guys, still?” You ask after taking a gulp from your soda. Before you can even finish, he’s rolling his eyes and groaning with a mouthful of cheeseburger.

“Still fucking terrible. There’s more of them! Like an endless amount, they just keep popping up out of nowhere, and the more that come, the crazier they fucking get,” His exasperated sound makes you laugh. “I’m serious!”

You shake your head while he takes another massive bite out of his burger.

“Who’d you just work with? Uh, what’s his name? That woo woo woo guy? Zak Ryder!” You nod, taking a bite of your own food after muttering the ‘You Know It’ part of the catchphrase.

“He’s Matt Cardona now- that’s his actual name. He’s a nice guy…a lot, but nice. Like so much, really, all smiles and enthusiasm all the time. When Chelsea won the title, he brought a replica the next day and everyone thought it was the real one.”

This was how it usually went- catch up through each others feuds and how annoying everyone else was, and eventually the chatter would die down and you’d eat for a little, and then someone would pick up an actual conversation. The only problem here though, was there was one more feud of Kevins you were trying to avoid, but it was kind of hard. He was a massive deal in the company and a massive part of Kevins life right now.

“I know what you’re doing.” Kevin states causally, leaning back in his chair after starting on his fries.

“What?” You try to laugh it off, but you don’t look up from your own plate.

“Cody. You don’t wanna ask me about him.”

“….I just figured you’d want to keep your mind off it with the match at the Royal Rumble coming up.” You try, but he shakes his head. That was still in a couple weeks.

“Dude. I know you’re a fan- you literally still have the shirt from when he did the Dashing thing years ago. You liked Stardust, you know who else liked Stardust? No one.“

“Okay, I get it, you don’t have to publicly shame me about it. You can complain about everyone else, that’s my exception.” The two of you are quick to go back to silence while you try to finish your meal, and he chugs down another soda. The man ate ridiculously fast, nothing could stop him.

“You know,” He broke the quiet again. “You would really like WWE. Paul keeps bugging me about talking to you.”

“So you’ve told me,” You shrug. “I don’t know. TNA’s my home at this point, I can’t imagine leaving.” A laugh rips through you at a sudden thought and he nods his head for you to continue. “Maybe, maybe if you got Cody to ask-“ His eyes close with a sigh, and he immediately starts shaking his head, which only makes you laugh harder.

“Don’t push it.”

That had been about a week ago. You’d both gone back to your regularly scheduled program, him on Fridays and you on Thursdays. His feud with Cody continued, with a whole bunch of shit happening over there, and you moved on to work with other TNA superstars. After another long Thursday night you’re ready to conk out from the very fun, but tiring, on top of the night of wrestling, celebration with Joe Hendry for his new, recent title win (you’d already given your condolences to Nic).

As soon as your head hits the pillow, your phone rings. And you know it’s Kevin because you had set his theme song for his ringtone.

“What’s wrong?” You answer on the first ring. It’s late, and this is unusual, the first thing your mind goes to is that something happened.

“Did you see the news?”

“What fucking news Kevin, you’re freaking me out-“

“WWE and TNA signed a contract, anyone can go anywhere,” He rushes out, your name following it. “Anyone can go anywhere.”

You aren’t even sure what to say, and the phone line goes quiet while you stammer before Kevin interrupts.

“I gave Paul your number- he wants you in the Rumble.”

And now, here you were. This was fucking crazy! Of the entire TNA roster, you, Joe Hendry, and Jordynne Grace had been picked to join the Royal Rumble. Everything was so different here, you could see why Kevin liked it. Everything reminded you of him, and to be able to see him this much was so great. You traveled together, for the first time since your teenage years, and with all of the excitement you felt that young again too.

The Guerrilla was packed. It was great to see people you had worked with in the past, like Naomi and AJ Styles, but it was also great to meet new faces. Maxxine Dupri was the nicest person you had ever met, and so pretty. And you finally got to meet Chelsea! She wanted to keep in touch in case Matt tried to take her actual belt next time, apparently she hadn’t known he bought the replica.

Right now, the women’s rumble was seconds from kicking everything off so it was mostly women in the area, but a couple guys were wandering around too. Joe Hendry had stayed near you, which both of you were thankful for, he was actually a pretty shy guy behind cameras and you hated being alone around so many people. Jordynne and Naomi were a lot more acquainted than you were with her, so they snuck off to the side to have a chat.

The match was quick to begin with Iyo Sky and Liv Morgan before others started to quickly fill in. Your number was later on, you’d gotten 22. You didn’t want to be so late, and had tried to fight Paul about it but he was adamant the crowd would be excited, plus you had enough spots behind you to stay in for a while. The crowd started to wear out in Geurilla, and eventually you found yourself in the small room everything led to, with about ten other entrants, Maxxine had just went through the curtain at number 14.

“So,” Kevin strolls up from behind you with a bowl of something from catering. “I don’t want to hear a single word of this. But I called in a favor.” Your eyebrows furrow as you turn to him, and he holds up a hand. “Not a word.” And then he walks out. What the fuck?

You don’t have time to think about that anyways, now you’re wishing Jordynne (number 19) good luck as the buzzer rushes. After her, is the great return of Alexa Bliss, who is granted the biggest pop so far, which Zelina Vega follows, and then all that’s left in front of you is the grey curtain covering the biggest opportunity you’ve received in your life.

That was both the longest and shortest minute and a half of your entire life, but when the crowd counts down, and the buzzer rings out, and your music starts playing, you’ve never heard anything louder. You fight to your last breath, and then you keep fighting. You make it pass Nia Jax’s mass elimination, and lots of other attempts, and somehow, its just you and Charlotte Flair. You give it your best, but the nerves get the best of you, and Charlotte ends up throwing you over the rope.

As disappointed as you are, you made it farther than you could’ve dreamed of, and as the fans yell for your attention while you walk back up the ramp, you can’t help but be proud. You walk through the curtain to find your fellow (past, and present) TNA stars cheering you on, and you’re too busy taking the praise with embarrassment and a shy gaze to the ground, that you don’t notice Kevins favor until you’re snapping a picture with HHH for media.

In all of his glory, standing directly across from you all the way across the room, is Cody Rhodes. Clapping. And staring at you, with that one smile. Y’know, the one, the Dashing Cody Rhodes shit eating grin.

“Oh my God, Kevin,” You mutter under your breath when the pictures are over and you can turn away. “What the fuck. Kevin. What the fuck.” Kevin is no where in sight, and Paul is laughing at you so hard.

“Heard you’re a pretty big fan,” You can hear him approaching from behind you and there’s nothing else you can do but face him and hope not to embarrass yourself any further.

“I’d say I’m an avid watcher, if that’s what you’d like to consider me, yes.” He’s still grinning at you like that, and it’s making this so much harder. The rest of the room is funneling out.

“Oh, okay, okay. Just a big Stardust fan, then?” Your lips purse into a fine line when you find you have no explanation.

“How much did he tell you, exactly?” God, you’re never coming back to this company ever again. Only to get back at Kevin for this. He shrugs.

“I’m just teasing, don’t worry,” His grin relaxed, and suddenly he looks more like the American Nightmare Cody, and his hand is resting on your shoulder. “I’m a pretty big fan, too. You were great out there.”

“Oh, I tried my best, thanks,” Your face is heating up again, and you try to push it off.

“Really, you were great. I hope I get to see you around some more.” You still can’t find any words, and the room seems to be getting hotter by the second. “Or, out of it either. Not to be this straight forward, and feel free to tell me to back off, but if you’re around tomorrow, I’d love to take you to dinner or something.”

“Uhm, uh-“ I’m between your sputtering you find yourself laughing. “You’re about to go fight to the death with my brother.” He laughs, looking down at his ring gear, and nods his head, because yes, he’s going to go beat the shit out of your brother.

“I’m guessing that’s a back off?” He looks back up through his eyelashes with the grin that makes you melt.

“No, no, please, bring him to hell and back.” You grin back, before nodding shyly. “Dinner would be great.” Before you have the chance to keep talking, Pauls calling him over, and he gives you an apologetic look and tells you somehow, he’ll get ahold of you before he rushes over to HHH. Kevin comes in shortly after, and laughs at you with no clue that his worst enemy thinks your fine as hell, and that you’re going to go chase Jey Uso down for his phone number. You sit in the Guerrilla for just a second longer and watch them both disappear behind the curtain before you run off to take a shower, and text everybody you’ve ever known that Cody Fucking Rhodes just asked you out.

Maybe you would be coming back to WWE a couple more times.

Wow look at me goooo it feels like its been so long since i wrote for Cody (prolly cuz it has been)

I’m hungry, sick, and tired but I’m ignoring all of my problems and sat down during raw and couldn’t stop so here you go ig

Enjoy this you probably wont get much more from me this month but im gonna try my best i think the seasonal depression hit me mostly last month but its supposed to snow on Wednesday so that’s when we’ll really see

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey I was wondering if you would be up for writing a fic where the reader just showers Buggy in affection and just takes care of him. He could definitely do with some tlc

When you first shown Buggy any form of affection or love, his natural reaction was to pull away, to flinch, to push you away for the sake of upholding the gimmick he had thrusted onto him by others. He just wasn’t use to someone being genuine, being so kindhearted, patient and filled to the brim with unconditional love and adoration towards him like you have that it made him fearful, for the first time for he finally had something he was so scared to loose.

Buggy knew now that he couldn’t run away from this fight against letting himself drop his guard and fall apart within your arms forever, no matter how much he wanted to. He knew that one day he’d have to raise the white flag and admit defeat, little did Buggy know that he’d wave that white flag long ago and had admitted defeat whilst in the comfort of your arms and your sweet honeyed words. You provided Buggy with the safe space to be vulnerable, to be able to be rid of his make up, allow for you to see the beautiful man beneath the flashiness, the gimmicks and the theatrics; He even remembered the words you told him when he first allowed himself to sink deeply into your embrace, which opened his eyes to the route he was leading himself down towards.

‘Just because one person destroyed your ability to put your trust in others doesn’t mean that everyone else is going to do the same.’ You whispered into his ear as your hands ran through his beautiful blue hair with care. ‘The actions of one person isn’t a reflection of others. You can choose to not trust but live to regret to be open with that one special somebody or open up to everybody and blindly hope that they don’t use your kindness to stab you in the back.’

Not that Buggy would ever tell you but you held his glass heart within your hands and instead of smashing it like he originally thought you would, you surprised him by holding it close to your chest; looking down at it adoringly and so full of love that it made Buggy a tad teary eyed, for if someone as beautiful and downright perfect as you could ever love someone as flawed as him without being forced into loving him…then he guessed that he was finally doing something right. Soon enough your arms and being smothered in your kisses and honeyed words had become Buggy’s most favoured place to lay his aching self to rest after a seemingly stressful day, where nothing seemed to go exactly to plan.

‘You look comfortable there? Hard day?’ You asked softly as Buggy grunts as he buries his head into your neck, his arms quickly latching onto your waist tightly. Normally you’d have to be the one who initiated affection, which you still do on most occasions, but you also wanted Buggy to feel comfortable to come seek you out on his own terms rather then force him to. ‘Just cuddle me will ya?’ He said groggily and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his neediness.

‘What’s the magic word?’ You teased, trying so hard to bite back your snickers when Buggy lifted his head from your neck to glare at you softly but before he could say anything, you pressed a quick kiss to his cute nose, rendering him wide eyed and speechless before going in to plant a kiss directly to his lips. ‘Cute.’ You whispered against him, getting off on the expressions you pull out of him from gifting him basic levels of love and affection, before pulling away to look back into his gorgeous eyes that you never went a day without complimenting.

‘I’m not cute.’ Buggy said, his cheeks warm as the arms at your waist tightened their grip. ‘Dogs are cute, cats are cute, but I am not cute. I’m terrifying, people look at me and shit themselves from running away with their tails between there legs. And even then the ones that are stupid enough to stay behind are made examples of, so please tell me again how I’m apparently cute.’ He finished, choosing not to look into those soft, understanding and patient eyes of yours that he oh so loved. ‘You’re always cute to me Buggy,’ you started, raising his head to look directly at you by his chin, allowing your hand to drop back to his waist when you were confident he wouldn’t drop his gaze again.

‘Just like how you’re not only just cute but you’re also handsome, strategic, expressive with the way you talk and how you move your hands whilst you talk, flashy, dramatic, and above all you’re beautiful.’ Between each word you’d press a kiss to some part of his face, ignoring his adorable squeals and squawks of surprise that were music to your ears, not caring that you were smudging his make up and getting it on yourself as you held nothing but pride in your love for your Buggy, for as on rare occasions you would openly express your love towards him but saved a majority of it for behind closed doors; Not as though Buggy was anything but boisterous of his love for you and would shout it to the rooftops for all to hear in a possessive sort of way.

‘Really?’ Buggy asked once the flurry of kisses came to an end, looking at you with bright, hopeful eyes it melted your heart. ‘Yes, of course I do Buggy. How could I not? I’m extremely lucky to have you in my life and I couldn’t be more happier.’ You told him, watching as a goofy smile graced his lips as a chuckle fell out from his lips before Buggy decided to burying his head back into your neck, where he whispered against the skin there. ‘If either one of us is the lucky one, it’s me because you could’ve listened to everyone else and avoid me like the plague but you didn’t and I’m glad you didn’t because without you I wouldn’t know where or who I’d be. So thank you for never giving up on me…I love you.’

[daddy-dotcom]

Scents and Sensibility

Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Summary: You see an ad for those “pheromone perfumes” and decide to test its effect on your boyfriend at work. Requested by the lovely @swaggysagiewagie

Words: 1,164

Warnings: Implied smut and maybe like 1 swear word

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I'm normally not one to make impulse purchases, but I just couldn't resist. I always thought those pheromone perfumes were a gimmick, but as a woman of science, I decided to test one and see if it actually worked. More specifically, I wanted to see if it worked on Spencer. Normally, we keep things very tame while we're on the clock. The team knows we're a couple, but we make sure to keep the PDA to a minimum. I don't mind his lack of affection at work, especially given the fact that he's not very expressive in public either, but it wouldn't hurt to get more than a peck on the cheek every now and then while were on the job. To test the effects of my newest purchase, I applied just a bit of the perfume before walking out the door to work.

Immediately as I walked through the lobby, I began turning heads. I typically went unnoticed when I entered the lobby, but the security guards said hello to me this morning as did the men in the elevator. I made my way up to our unit and I made my way to my desk, as usual. As I passed Morgan's desk, I could instantly tell that something was out of the ordinary.

"Good morning, babygirl," he said, eyeing me up and down more than usual. He's called me beautiful, gorgeous, or even pretty several times, but babygirl was exclusively reserved for Garcia.

"....good morning?" I replied, somewhat confused, but mostly smug because I had a feeling that my new perfume was working.

JJ Prentiss were talking amongst themselves when I came over to greet them. We exchanged our typical weekend updates before Emily asked me if I was wearing a new perfume.

"It smells amazing. Is it vanilla?" JJ asked.

"I think so? To tell you the truth, I'm not actually sure. I actually bought it on a whim because it's a pheromone perfume."

"Oh come on, (Y/N), you know those are all fake right" said Emily.

"You wanted to see if it worked on Spence didn't you?" JJ asked with a grin creeping up on her face.

Just then, an angry Garcia walked up to us demanding to know why Morgan had started referring to me as "babygirl."

I proceeded to spill the beans about how I wanted to mess with Spencer and see if he would be able to keep his hands off me at work now that I've used the perfume. They agreed not to reveal my secret weapon to Spencer, but we also wanted to see if it had an effect on any of our other team members.

Almost on cue, Spencer made his way over to greet us.

"Morning everyone!" he said in his usual upbeat tone. I saw him pause for a moment when he got close to me and I could practically see his brain short-circuiting. Then, in a much softer tone with his voice dropped a few octaves, he turned to me and said "good morning my love." He leaned in to give what I assumed would be our usual daily quick peck on the lips, but he gently placed one hand on my hip and let his lips linger much longer than usual. I pulled away after a few seconds, my face beet red from the realization that Garcia, Prentiss, and JJ were still watching us.

"I'll see you in the meeting," he said, walking away with a smirk.

I could feel the other agents' eyes on me as I stood there like a lovesick teenage girl.

"Well I would say that definitely worked on him" JJ said.

"You're making it way too easy for him, (Y/N)," Prentiss added.

And she was right. I was giving in to Spencer's advances way too easily. If I wanted the full effect of the perfume, I was going to have to make him beg for it. We dispersed and made our way to the meeting room to be briefed on our case. On our way in, I brushed past Rossi, who also seemed to take notice of my new scent.

"You're looking nice today, (Y/N), got a hot date?" he joked, glancing over at Spencer. I let out a laugh before replying, "I hope so."

I took the spot between Hotch and Spencer, acting somewhat indifferent to my boyfriend’s presence to see if he would notice. As I settled into my seat, I saw Hotch do a double take out of the corner of my eye. He may not have said anything, but I could tell he wasn’t immune to the effects of my new perfume either. Garcia began her usual presentation about our new case, but I could hardly focus on anything she was saying because I could feel a hand slowly creeping up my thigh, and it definitely wasn’t Hotch’s. Still, I pretended not to notice his slender fingers toying with the hem of my skirt, even though I was consumed with thoughts of where I'd rather have them.

After what seemed like ages, Hotch finally dismissed us to prepare to board the jet. Since I was pretty much always prepared, I was the first one to board, and I noticed Spencer followed me shortly after, looking like a lost puppy dog. I was reaching up high to put my luggage up in the overhead bin, which was a task I usually asked Spencer to do for me. However, Spencer would be boarding the jet any moment now, so I decided to do it myself, an action which not-so-accidentally caused my skirt to ride up in the back. I heard familiar, converse-wearing footsteps behind me, but once again I pretended not to notice.

"(Y/N) you know you can't reach up there yourself, let me help," he said, firmly pressing his body against my backside as he stretched his arms up to assist me. I felt his hips flush against my ass and his arms moved to firmly plant themselves at my waist.

"I don't remember giving you permission to touch me, Spence," I said, not bothering to hide the grin on my face due to our position.

"Please, love, I can't help it. You smell so delicious today I don't know what's gotten into me."

He began leaving a trail of kisses from my lips down to my neck and I couldn’t help but finally give in to his requests.

“You better make it quick before the others board the jet,” I said, trying to stifle a moan.

“All I need is 5 minutes. Two if you keep those heels on.”

“Deal. But you’re not coming until I say so.”

“Anything you want, love. I just need you.”

I quickly pulled him into the bathroom of the jet, where he definitely proved that he really did need only two minutes.

“By the way, are we part of the mile high club if the plane didn’t technically leave the ground?”

[phoenixyfriend]

HELP I have a silly plot concept and IDK what to do with it Just holding it like. an potato

Basically I saw a "not like other girls" type of thing and it included a ref to the "because I am not like most people (I am a literally not human/I was raised by an assassin program/I am now a dude)" variant where the gimmick is that the reason they're not like other girls actually is really, really rare.

Aaaaaand now I'm thinking of what the best AU would be for Ahsoka to be Genuinely Not Like Other Girls and I've done "I'm not like other Jedi; I'm a soldier" time travel stuff where she is Kind Of Unnerving to pre-war Jedi so many times that it would be more fun to do it the other way.

Which is! Modern AU! Ahsoka is either:

1) A Red Room style assassin who escaped the program and is now Trying To Blend Into A Normal High School while being raised by Obi-Wan (dad mode) and Anakin (college student doing his best to older brother) and keeps having Confusion when her new school friends take her out for ice cream or shopping or something. (This is present in a lot of media but the immediate example in my mind is Season Three of Stranger Things with Eleven and Max going to the mall)

OR

2) Still an alien, but in a less cohesive galaxy, who crash-landed in Anakin and Obi-Wan's backyard and has a Special Watch that can make her look human and they just keep introducing her to people as their Cousin From Abroad, and hoping people are too polite to ask why she's poking the apples like they're going to bite her.

In either case, they may also try to excuse Ahsoka's lack of familiarity with the wider world as Grew Up In A Cult type shit.

Trying to remember who's actually her age that could go to school with her and I am blanking on basically everyone except Korkie? I think maybe Barriss could be a senior while Ahsoka's a freshman. Attempts to Big Sister at Ahsoka and it only sometimes works, tutors when Anakin is busy or bad at the subject, etc. Whoever Ahsoka's friend is, they're walking down the street together and someone tries to mug them and the friend is like oh! Must protect the innocent new friend who grew up really sheltered in a cult and doesn't know the ways of the world! And then she kicks the ass of the person trying to mug them and Very Carefully Does Not Kill.

New friend has stars in their eyes.

In the Assassin version, Plo Koon is her therapist/handler for transitioning into normal life. Government-assigned psychologist that she goes to see at least twice a week. He hands her plushies to hold during sessions, and A Plushie ends up being one of the first things she actually asks Anakin or Obi-Wan to buy for her that isn't purely practical (green owl).