#era: clap

[chweck-in]

171110 Trip to Vermoon || Mini Fan Meet

[ishikawayukis]

I just want to cherish what it is we have now

[boxboxlewis]

Daniel finds out about Max’s divorce from a Google alert.

“FORMER F1 CHAMPION NEWLY SINGLE, SEEN HITTING THE BARS IN MONACO.” Journalistic excellence from the Daily Mail, as always. But when actual newspapers start reporting on it, Daniel decides to reach out. He texts Max a cat meme. Subtext: sorry about your failed relationship, also I know you like cats. Max texts back Are you trying to cheer me up, and then 😂. It’s unclear if he’s 😂 at the cat or the notion of Daniel attempting to comfort. While Daniel is trying to figure this out a third text comes in. Stop reading stupid shit by dumb assholes who don’t know anything.

Nah it’s all good, I can’t read, Daniel replies. He hesitates, and then adds I am like. Sorry about stuff with kelly or whatever though.

Max thumbs-up reacts the message, and doesn’t reply.

Daniel figures Max’ll probably just start dating another exquisitely beautiful, exquisitely groomed woman with a disconcerting resemblance to his own mother. They’re ten a penny in Monaco, where Max still for some reason lives. 

He’s not prepared for the next tranche of articles his Google Alert brings him. “MAX VERSTAPPEN SEEN LEAVING GAY BAR.” “VERSTAPPEN REFUSES TO ADDRESS RUMOURS.” “VETTEL COMES TO VERSTAPPEN’S DEFENCE: ‘HE HAS A RIGHT TO A PRIVATE LIFE.’” Like… people go to gay bars sometimes, even if they’re straight. But do straight people let Seb Vettel defend their honour in the media?

Daniel opens his text thread with Max and types Hey, are you. You know. 

He deletes it, obviously. He’s got a lot going on in his own life. Brand ambassadorships out the ass, his film production company, his vineyard. He sends Max another dumb meme and calls it good. Max is just doing Max stuff. It’s some belated F1 champion rumspringa, probably, because when he was an actual teenager he was psychotically focussed on racing. He’ll settle down soon enough.

Daniel really isn’t expecting him to announce live on Dutch television that he has a boyfriend. The clip is in Dutch, obviously, but someone has added English captions, and Daniel watches over and over again. RIP his YouTube algorithm. It’s some daytime talk show, the kind of thing Max hates, the kind of thing he’d never do unless someone was twisting his arm about it. The host asks all sickly sweet if there’s a special someone in Max’s life. Max says, “Well yes of course there is my boyfriend.” The “of course” in Dutch sounds like naturally. Naturally, naturally. “And my family I am very close to, as well.” The camera dwells with voyeuristic glee on the talkshow host’s face as she tries and fails to pick her expression up from the floor. “Your boyfriend?” she manages. Max nods, impatient. Daniel rewinds the clip. Your boyfriend? Your boyfriend? Your boyfriend?

Daniel decides to visit Monaco. Not because of Max. It’s summer and the swing of the season is funnelling him that way, that’s all, towards the parties and the glittering people dancing on yachts, getting high, bright and beautiful, living that good life. He doesn’t have an apartment there anymore, but Max does, because Max never left: still has his custom penthouse with its views of the harbour. Unless—it’s a weird thought—unless Kelly kept it in the divorce. But when he texts Max to invite himself to stay, Max doesn’t mention anything about a new address. 

Max also doesn’t sound, like, super enthused, but that’s just how he is. It’s his natural Dutchness, most likely. Fine you can come then. You are lucky I don’t have plans is probably just the Dutch way of saying “Yeah sounds great, looking forward to reconnecting.” You are very annoying is probably how people from the Netherlands express affection. Daniel texts back Love you too my brother 🤘🤘

He gets his hair touched up before he goes, a little bit of tattooing at the roots in the front. He does a spray tan, and gets his face dermaplaned (not in that order). You can’t go to Monaco and not look good, that's all.

It always feels kind of weird, flying into Nice in a non-F1 context, first class instead of private, but Daniel fits, still: gets asked for his autograph at the airport, and then on the concourse, and when he stops to put petrol in his rental car (a sweet little Porsche, nice). He tosses his keys to the valet at Max’s building and the valet goggles. That’s right, baby: twelve-time Grand Prix winner Daniel Ricciardo is in town. Daniel winks and the valet turns gratifyingly mauve.

Max, when Daniel pushes into his apartment, is less enthusiastic. “Daniel. I really do not know why you’ve come.”

Daniel ignores him in favour of crouching down, trying to pet Jimmy or Sassy. “Hey, little guy,” he croons. “Or girl. What’s up? Do you remember Uncle Danny? Am I in town to show your daddy a good time? Yeah I am! That’s right. That’s right.” Jimmy or Sassy scowls at him and swipes with one needle-tipped paw. All right, drama queen. Daniel stands back up and grins at Max. “I mean, mostly I wanted to meet your boyfriend,” he says, for some reason. What the fuck, Ricciardo. He keeps grinning, styles it out. “Gotta give him the old shovel speech, right?”

Max is doing the blank-eyed stare Daniel remembers so well from their racing days. It’s wildly disconcerting coming from this Max, who looks. Different, that’s all. He’s thick, still fit and well-muscled but heavy with it now, t-shirt stretched over the layer of hard fat covering his abdomen, face softer. He’s a bear of a man, he could—he could do lots of things, obviously. It’s fine. It’s just that part of Daniel still expects him to be the gawky teenager Daniel loomed over.

Max says, “What do you want to say to my boyfriend about shovels,” and for a bewildering moment Daniel has no idea what he’s talking about. 

“Oh, no, it’s like—it’s a saying, or whatever, when someone starts dating someone. I mean, usually dads say it, I guess, but like—the idea is if he mistreats you I’ll…” Daniel trails off as he realises he’s not actually sure what “shovel speech” means. “Uh, hit him with a shovel? Or I guess potentially, like, use it to bury his corpse. Whiiiich is a joke! Not actually going to bury anyone.” No, weird comment, Daniel’s not actually going to bury anyone t-shirt is raising a lot of questions et cetera. Hastily, he adds “As long as he behaves!” and then stands there mentally kicking himself while Jimmy/Sassy yowls soulfully near his ankles. He's never like this, he never loses control of a conversation like this. It's agonising.

Max stares at him for a long moment, and then cracks up. “Daniel, you are still so weird,” he says. It sounds kind of affectionate. 

“You know it, baby,” Daniel says. “So, where’s the boyf?

Max’s cheeks go a little red, it looks like. Maybe Daniel’s imagining it. “Ricardo is at the gym,” he says.

Daniel has to have misheard that. “Sorry, what’s this dude’s name?”

“Ricardo,” Max says grumpily. “My boyfriend.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” Once again Daniel decides, against his better judgement, to style it out. “Uh, is he Australian, by any chance? And devastatingly charismatic?”

Max sighs, as if Daniel is being really annoying. “He is from Melbourne. And yeah, he is okay I think. Maybe you won’t like him though, because you like always to be the funniest one. Come on, I will show you to your guest room.”

Daniel manages a casual-sounding, “Haha, you got me.” They’re walking through the apartment, now, Max leading the way. For a moment Daniel just watches the sunburned back of his neck.

[b33tlejules]

maybe time's a movie where the actors forgot the plot // and we all decay in tempo // like an audience applauding god

here's my initial sketch just cuz :)

[dreamaze]

YONGHOON ⟡ Twenty-five, twenty-one (orig. Jaurim)

[romanken]

[leikeliscomet]

Really tired of the weaponisation of the ace and/or aro spectrums to defend Ten's treatment of Martha. Apart from the reasons that had nothing to do with him not reciprocating romantic feelings for her, being aspec =/= not understanding sex and romance. Yh, we joke about "not getting the allos" but Ten is 900 years old he knows what Earth understandings of romance and sex are by this point, plus him and Rose playfully flirt throughout s2 so he knows clearly? It's in his character. He dismisses Martha's concern about sharing a bed, sharing jokes about Martha and Frank kissing him and holds Martha's knickers when they get to her flat. This isn't a compulsory sexuality case of Martha forcing Ten into a relationship which is a trash take in itself. Martha knows from Smith and Jones that he doesn't feel the same way and actively avoids trying to make the situation more awkward. Ten on the other hand flip flops from wanting to fly solo and giving her one trip to changing his mind and giving her more. And again, are we gonna hold every other allo companion "responsible" for crushing on the Doctor or is it just Martha? Are you confused by allo characters or is it just Martha?

[texashippiecowboy]

you guys i have spent the past hour on this it’s the smallest man who ever lived from every angle i can find

I present to you, paris night 1, the smallest man who ever lived

[rubbish78]

Dougie Poynter after performing 'I'm Fine' on 13/06/2023 (x)

[shinelikethunder]

i know that the most convenient shared reference point for splitting SPN into eras is by showrunner, but subjectively, the instinctive way my brain wants to divide it up is into just two shows: six seasons and change of a show powered by whatever the fuck is wrong with kripke and gamble, and then eight or nine seasons of a show powered by whatever the fuck is wrong with dabb and buckleming.

yeah carver was showrunner for some of those and gamble was hanging on by her fingernails in one, but there's... idk, a derailment that happens in s7. where the show's coherence, its plausibility as a continuation that's at least trying to build seamlessly on what came before, kinda falls down and never gets back up again. and this seems driven, not primarily by showrunner agenda (in fact the hallucifer arc is IMO the last shambling remnant of SPN v1), but by dabb/loflin and buckner/ross-leming stepping up as the meat-and-potatoes midseason episode writers + both duos getting bolder (or less tightly edited) about their worst tendencies.

(tbh i'm curious what carver's tenure would've looked like with a different set of writers taking point on the anchor episodes that weren't openers/finales, because haphazard execution of intriguing concepts was like theeee hallmark of s8-11. but all the same. carver and dabb eras and late gamble era feel grouped, to me, by similar implementation issues dragging down distinct overall approaches. aka "whatever the fuck is wrong with dabb and buckleming," which also includes more and more of their personal narrative kinks as the seasons go on.)

anyway none of this has any objective backstop to it that i can point to, beyond "gosh look at where the Writing Crimes Georg duos started getting handed entire mini-arcs." mostly it's just this vibe that s6 and some of s7 were still cooking in s1-5's kitchen? an attachment to the continuity there, which beats out the conceptual tidiness of "kripke era" as a line to draw between "classic" SPN and everything else. or, to be petty and specific, a sense that 7x03 and the dumbshit subplot it instigated were the shark-jump that SPN never even tried to recover from, after which it functionally became a different show that was far more loosely held together than its predecessor.

[pollenallergie]

joseph’s shaved head makes me think of giving billy knight a 2020/2021 quarantine at-home haircut. he’s just sat on a chair you’ve pulled into the bathroom, sitting as still as he possibly can (which isn’t that still, but cut him some slack, he’s fidgety by nature), unintentionally distracting you by looking at you as if you are quite literally a deity (like he’s soooo in love) with those big brown eyes of his while you shave his head, and you’re just like, “…. yeah, okay, i’m gonna need you to shut your beautiful eyes or else this is simply never getting done. i love you so much, angel, but i cannot focus when you look at me like that.” and he just blushes and giggles (we’ve already been over this, that man giggles) like “okay, my love 🥰😊”

[fastcardotmp3]

“Nancy Wheeler, twenty-one years old. Nancy— Wheeler—” a pained sound, clawing from the back of her throat, “Nancy Wheeler, twenty-one, from Hawkins, Indiana. Wrongfully imp–imprisoned. For whistleblowing— illegal acts of— human— experimentation—” » Ronance // Rated M // Hurt/Comfort // 2.2k » Febuwhump #1: Helpless & Solitary Confinement » Febuwhump Masterlist

read on ao3 // preview under the cut

The fog so filled to the brim with hopeless want that she can sometimes hear their voices echoing off of the walls, sometimes hear Steve’s optimism or Jonathan’s caution; sometimes hear her brother’s ferocity or Max Mayfield’s determination. 

Sometimes, most of the time, she hears Robin. 

“You have to be more careful about this, Nance. If they find out how much you have on them–” “They’re going to find out. That’s the point.” “The point is moot if you end up dead along the way!” “The point is that too many people already are!”

She hears Robin. 

“Please come back to bed. It’s colder without you.”  “I’ll be there in just a minute. I had this thought…” “It’s three in the morning.” “I know, just–” “Nancy. C’mere. Come back to me, yeah?” “...Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

She hears Robin.

“You are strong but you are not invincible.” “I’m whatever I need to be to get this done.” “You are not invincible, Nancy Wheeler. Come back to me.”

And it’s echoing and it’s loud and it’s hard, it’s so fucking hard to hear her voice but not feel the warmth of her calloused hands, to not feel her wrap Nancy up in her arms from behind, those dry lips pressing to the spot just behind her ear. 

[snootflake]

Here’s a lil tasty taste of my HUGE illustration for @ineffableeraszine ! I’m so insanely lucky to have been included in this zine, and I’m really proud of my contribution.

Get your preorders in NOW! Only two days left!

[igotthecinema]

Mean (with the claps) -Speak Now Tampa Night 3

[carcarrot]

vacation starts tomorrow

[irrelevant-individual]

I secretly hate him