#once again thanks for writing to me!!

[gentlebeard]

If I could hold you for a minute, Darling, I’d go through it again

For @edsbacktattoo & @stedesearring 💕 Show: Our Flag Means Death - Season 1 & 2 Music: Francesca by Hozier YouTube

[lost-in-fandoms]

This is inspired by my own post. Don't even look at me.

It's a long shot, and Daniel is perfectly aware of it as he rides the elevator up to Max's room, but he refuses to think too hard about it, afraid he will reconsider the sanity of it and turn back.

You see, they used to have this...thing, back in the day. It didn't happen often enough to give a name to it, but when Daniel got pole or won a race, Max would find him and get on his knees for him.

It had started in 2016, Max fresh faced and wide eyed, pulling him into the bathroom of the club they were in. Not in Monaco, not even Max was bold enough for that, but in Malaysia. It had been hot and wet, and Daniel had tangled his fingers in Max's sweaty hair, pulling hard enough to make tears spring in his blue eyes, before coming down his throat.

Their thing had always been one way only. Max had been the one getting on his knees, and Daniel had never offered to get him back. It had been a relief, when Max had started winning more than him, he didn't want to owe blowjobs that often. Not that Max would have hold him to that if Daniel didn't want to, but it would have been a matter of pride, and justice, or whatever.

Daniel has spent a lot of time in the last couple of years thinking about it. Not much about the act itself, even if he has gotten off to the memories of Max's mouth more times than he can count, but about the whole concept of it. He had started wondering if it had been Max's first (debatable, kid had been too sure of himself, but again Max always was), if Max had wanted more (probably, he had seen the looks he would get on his face sometimes), why Max had never tried to talk to him about it. Why Daniel, arguably the more mature of the two, hadn't done it. If Max still thought about it too. If he thought about it as much as Daniel did.

The last time they had done this it had been Monza, in 2021. Max had shoved in his motorhome, flushed and furious, and had sucked Daniel off with such a passionate drive it had felt like maybe he was trying to get Daniel's soul too. Or like maybe he was trying to suck Daniel's P1 out of him through his dick. It had been one of the best blowjobs of his life, had left him dazed and panting on the couch while Max had bit out a congratulations and stormed out again, his shoulders just marginally less stiff.

And now Daniel is in front of Max's door, with a P5 that feels like a P1, feeling like he's going to be taking a step right out of a plane.

He hears shuffling when he finally knocks, and it's only when he hears Max open the door that the uncertainty hits him in full force. He has not thought this through at all. Or well, he has, just not further than this. How do you ask someone "hey it's been almost three years but I would like to cash in a blowjob"??

Max looks...soft. He has a pair of sweats on, one of his white tshirts, hair freshly washed and unstyled. The blank expression and small polite smile he's sporting when he opens the door, as if he was expecting to have to send someone away, immediately morph into a blinding smile when he spots Daniel. It's always been so easy, at least for Daniel, to make Max smile like that.

"Daniel!" he says, eyes crinkling, moving to the side to let Daniel in without having to be asked.

"Hello, Max."

His room is fairly tidy, his luggage open in a corner with a few team shirts spilling out just as it had always been, but the blankets on the bed are all askew, a comfy little nest around Max's open laptop.

"Am I interrupting something?" Daniel asks, motioning towards it. He never knows when Max is working, watching something, or playing with his friends, but he hopes it's nothing important. If it's something important and Max sends him away, Daniel knows he will never find the guts to do this ever again.

"No," Max starts, then turns, smiling more, "well, yes. I was watching Lando's onboards. But they are not important now."

It hits him unexpectedly hard, the casual acknowledgement that Daniel's presence is more important than whatever Max was already planning for his evening. It's nothing new, but it's been a while since Daniel has felt it, the way Max loves him so simply. Since he has felt deserving of it.

Something must show on his face, because Max's smile turns soft as he sits down on the couch near the window, patting the space next to him for Daniel to join him.

"Why are you here?" From anyone else, it would sound rude, but Daniel has been used to Max's bluntness since day one, misses it sometimes these days, now that he's a little more careful with it, so he knows Max only means exactly what he's asking.

Daniel also knows this could be the moment to bring it up, his request, but it feels wrong to just barge in on Max's evening, get an orgasm and leave. Back then he would have done it, but they're both different people now.

"I wanted to see you, Maxy," he says, aiming for joke and hitting fond instead. It's not a lie, but the way Max goes all pink and pleased feels too dangerous for his heart, so Daniel redirects. "P2, yeah?"

It's enough to set Max off, talking about corners and turns and steering and this car. Not my car, Daniel notes. He's not surprised by the difference, but he wonders if Max means to make it so obvious, how he feels about this year's car. Or maybe Daniel is just really versed in Max-speak.

He also notices the tension around his eyes a couple of times, when Max mentions the team, and if it was another night he maybe would have asked; it never took much for Max to tell Daniel things, especially when he was unhappy about something. But today he got P5, and something about the blush growing on Max's cheeks as he gets more and more animated, making his eyes looks even more blue, firmly sets him back on jumping off the plane and send it plans.

He waits for Max to slow down a little, then nudges his calf with his foot, enjoying the way Max immediately reacts by jabbing a finger into Daniel's side, tension disappearing from his face.

"P5 is not P2, but it's still pretty good, right?"

Max's smile is his best one yet, all bright and proud as he nods, reaching for Daniel again to squeeze his shoulder.

"Of course, you have been very good today, Daniel! I am glad you are again feeling the car right."

Always so sweet and earnest. If he hadn't already teared up a little before press, face hidden in Blake's shoulder, Daniel would have probably done it now. As it is, he just smiles back, lets Max talk through his lap, quietly pleased by the knowledge that Max had obviously watched his onboard already, before Lando's. Maybe, if he dares to hope it, even before George's.

It's probably that, feeling like he's still important to Max, what gives him the confidence to throw things into motion.

"Feels like a P1, mate."

For a split second, he doesn't know what to expect. Will Max understand what he means? Maybe Max has not been thinking about their past times together, maybe saying P1 will mean nothing to him, maybe he will just go on another rant on how different P1 is of course from P5. Or maybe he will understand Daniel, and he will just slide off the couch and onto his knees, and Daniel won't have to say anything else.

Max, obviously, because he's Max, does neither thing.

His expression changes, something focused and pinched, as he tilts his head a little and stares at Daniel, lips slightly pursed.

"You want to feel like P1?" he asks. To someone else it would sound like a perfectly normal question, but Daniel knows that Max has understood, because somehow Max always gets him, even now. He also knows that he will not get out of this without talking about it at least a little. They're both different people, he has to remind himself. He's not the only one who's changed.

He nods, because he's not one to go back on his steps when he's already decided to send it, but he doesn't say anything else.

Max still looks deep in thought.

"We..." he starts, then immediately changes trajectory, "I can. If that is what you want."

As if Daniel might have walked all the way over without wanting this, without wanting Max. He nods again, watches as Max shifts a little, eyes flicking down to Daniel's lap, then to his own hands. His ears are red.

"Why now?" he blurts out, fingers twisting together. "You have of course got P5 before, but you have never come to me."

For a second, Daniel feels breathless with the knowledge that this whole time, Max would have been willing. This whole time, he could have asked and Max would have said yes, even after all these years, even after his championships, even after 2022.

"It didn't feel the same," he answers, before adding in a whisper, a belated confession, "I missed you."

He sees the way Max's shoulders jolt, his head snapping up again, eyes wide and surprised. Daniel doesn't get it, they have said it before, but he doesn't get time to dwell on it before Max is smiling again, grabbing a pillow and gracelessly following it on the floor.

Suddenly, just from seeing Max on his knees, Daniel is half hard. No wanking memory could hold a light to the real thing, to Max, broad and solid and real.

He lets Max get his hands on his legs, spreading them gently and shuffling forward, fingers sliding up to his thighs. It's hard to swallow now, the air in the room suddenly heavy with anticipation.

"I have missed you," Max rasps, kneading at Daniel's legs, not even reaching for his waistband yet. "I have missed doing this for you."

Daniel closes his eyes, lets his head fall back, but he regrets it immediately when he realizes it means not looking at Max anymore. Max, who's now looking up at him, pupils blown and lips red. For a moment, Daniel wishes things were different, wishes this thing was one where they kissed too, where he got to drag Max in his lap and get to touch him, feel all the way he's different now.

"Up," is all Max says, breaking his dangerous train of thought, and Daniel just obeys, lifting his hips and letting Max take down his pants, leaving them pooled at his ankles.

He's sure he's imagining the sigh Max lets out, the way his fingers are trembling a little when they reach just barely inside his underwear, grazing the top of his thigh.

And then Max leans forward and licks over one of Daniel's tattoos.

The sound Daniel lets out is a mix of a yelp and a moan. He can feel the little shit smiling against his skin, right before he does it again, adding a bite at the end, followed by an apology kiss, and this too is different from how they used to do it, quick and dirty, straight to the prize. Daniel is not going to complain.

Max takes his time, kissing and licking his way up his tattoos, until his nose hits the side of Daniel's clothed dick, now well on its way to fully hard.

"Hello," Max whispers, like a nerd, flashing a cheeky smile up at Daniel, who's tempted to swat at him until Max opens his mouth and wraps his lips around the head of his cock, underwear and all.

Daniel barely has time to squeak out a curse, hips bucking up in surprise, before Max steps back, smile gone. When he looks up again, he looks so intensely hungry Daniel struggles to swallow, and for his next revelation of the day, he understands that the gangly and overenthusiastic teenager who had drooled all over his dick in a club in Malaysia must have gained quite a lot of experience since then.

He refuses to analyze how that makes him feel, at least for now.

Max doesn't waste any more time, luckily, since Daniel is now hot and straining, making quick work of Daniel's boxers and of putting his mouth on him. For a second, with Max's lips around his tip, Daniel gets thrown back in time, and maybe things are not so different after all. Then Max takes a breath and sinks all the way down.

"What the...shit!" Daniel swears, scrambling for something to hold onto and finding Max's shoulders, as his brain goes completely blank, fuzzy with static and pleasure.

Yes, Max has definitely gotten more experience, because what the fuck is this. He's still enthusiastic, moaning and drooling around Daniel, tongue swirling as if his dick is some sort of delicacy, but the technique is different now. It's like he graduated in cock sucking or something, like he's trying to prove he's not only a racing champion, but a sex champion, or maybe like he's trying to kill Daniel. Or all three together.

Daniel knows he's being loud, moans and swears tumbling from his lips without hope of being restrained, but it seems to only spur Max on, as he fucking deepthroats him again with no sign of gagging. What the fuck.

"Max, Maxy, babe," Daniel tugs at Max's hair, struggling to string enough words together to let him know that, embarrassingly, he's already close, but all that does is make Max moan, the vibration of it feeling like sparks up Daniel's back.

Luckily, Max seems to still get the message though, because he lets up a little, gently suckling at Daniel's tip, pressing a kiss to it before pulling back completely to look up at Daniel.

He's like a vision, cheeks red and eyes bright, mouth spit slicked and a bit swollen, hair falling on his forehead, and Daniel's desire to kiss him comes back in full force. Again, almost as if he was reading it on Daniel's face, Max stops that particular train of though.

"Can I swallow?" Max asks, voice rough, as if it is a totally normal question and not a way to make Daniel feel like he's going to die on the spot.

"Do you want to?" Somehow, Daniel's voice is worse than Max's, all breathy and fucked up, and he can see Max being pleased about it. Menace.

"I always want to."

Max always used to, even back then, but Daniel had never questioned if it was because he thought that was how it was supposed to be or because he wanted to. Having the answer now is devastating. He groans, letting his head fall back and nodding weakly, hoping Max will just have mercy on him and finally kill him, but it doesn't seem good enough for the other, who reaches up to grab Daniel's chin, gently but firmly pulling his head back down.

"Yes?"

Daniel is acutely aware he had never explicitly asked for consent before, and neither had Max.

Things are different now.

"Yes."

It doesn't take long after that, Max throwing himself back into it like a man starved, and Daniel falling apart under him, unable to control his hands, his hips or the volume of his voice. He swears Max moans when Daniel finally comes down his throat, shaking and twitching as Max sucks him through it. He's still dazed and out of it while Max helps him back into his clothes, fondly patting his dick before tucking it in, and he can only watch as Max hauls himself to his feet again, wincing slightly, and dropping back on the couch next to Daniel.

"Good?" Max asks, because he's a nerd and a little shit.

Daniel limply hits him with his eyes still closed, feeling himself smile in response to Max's laugh.

This is different too, he distantly thinks. Usually it was Max coming to him, and he would always leave immediately after, never hanging out for Daniel's comedown. Now, when he finally opens his eyes, Max is curled up next to him, still looking flushed and happy. Still obviously hard.

Things are different now, Daniel reminds himself, checking with himself for a second as he reaches forward to tap on Max's knee.

"Want help with that?"

[devilander]

I'm a new to your blog, so maybe you have already written something for this... Soooo angsty Homelander ask. How about a classic fuck or die situation?

Hello, thank you for sending this!

It's hard to imagine Homelander in such a situation; anybody that wants him killed wouldn't waste their time torturing him, but...

If they (the ones who orchestrated it) had leverage, with his s/o's life on the line, then it'd be quite possible—and interesting. It could be a demand for him to fuck his s/o publicly, degrading them as he fucks them...

Or! And more likely, it's Butcher's work and he wants to watch. He wants to savor the advantage he has on Homelander; he would know Homelander's s/o would be fearful, ashamed, humiliated... And perhaps it's more than just Butcher, maybe he convinced, or, likelier, threatened all members of The Boys to watch. Adding to both their pain.

And they, oh how insecure they are. Scared that Homelander wouldn't allow himself to be manipulated by Butcher, that he would rather let them die instead of breaking and bending.

Yet, he does—he loves them, just hadn't said it in words yet. He was preparing for it; how it'd be in such a romantic place, flower petals on the floor, sunset, beautiful enough to stun them, but in his view, nothing compared to the kaleidoscope of love and loving he's ready to give it to you.

The disappointment running through his veins is nothing to compared to the sight of you. The look in your eyes, filled with fear, tears sliding down in their lovely cheeks, lips, meant to be kissed and worshiped, trembling.

He grabs your face—and instantly they know. They'll look at him only. Homelander pulls out his cock, pluging in with care, giving them time to adjust; different from the way they usually fuck, hot and searing, desperate for each other. He'd be gentler, far more gentle than he's even been. It's slow, it's loving. Sweet nothing being whispered in your ear.

"I love you," he says, over and over and over. They say it back, oh so easily they say it back.

When he feels close to coming, he whispers. "I love you more than anyone I've ever loved. For you, everything, anything."

And, as soon as he could, Homelander would pay it back a thousandfold.

[matchingbatbites]

press here

I wrote another one. Thought up this idea and couldn't put it down. For @steddiemicrofic March prompt 'pin'.

388 words | Explicit | CW: physical restraint, use of "make me take it" for those who aren't a fan of that

“So what are those about?”

“What’s what about?” Eddie asks in return from where he’s hunched over, digging through his dresser, trying to find a specific shirt that Steve is 80% sure is in the dirty laundry. They’re supposed to be going to see some new movie, but Steve doesn’t mind stalling if it means he gets to see Eddie shirtless a bit longer.

“The handprints. You’ve told me about your other tattoos, but not about those.”

Steve’s noticed them before, of course he has. The two handprints on Eddie’s back are stark against his pale skin, like someone’s dipped their hands in black ink and pressed them to his shoulder blades. 

They’re enticing. Steve has fantasized about lining his own hands up with them, of using them as a guide to hold Eddie against the wall or pin him down to the bed. Thoughts that have only increased as they’ve continued to dance around each other, neither willing to make the first move.

Eddie stands up straight and turns to look at Steve with a sharp grin. “Those? They’re so pretty boys know where to hold me down while they fuck me.”

Jesus Christ.

Every filthy thought Steve’s ever had about those marks flashes through his mind, and he’s paralyzed with desire as Eddie stalks over to where he’s sitting on the bed. The tension that’s been building between them is increasing rapidly, the atmosphere stifling as Eddie reaches down to take one of Steve’s hands in his own.

“Your hands are pretty big, Stevie. Wanna see if they match up to mine?”

They don’t match up, but only because Steve’s hands are bigger than the inked ones.

He eclipses them completely as he pushes down on them, pinning Eddie to the mattress as he fucks into him from behind. It’s better than anything he dreamed of, especially with Eddie’s eager babble and the sinful arch of his back.

“Fuuuck yes, that’s it. Make me take it, Stevie, so fucking good.”

Steve groans at the encouragement and snaps his hips harder, digs his fingers into Eddie’s skin and thinks about leaving bruises, leaving his own mark on the man. He wants Eddie to feel the ache later, a reminder of just how good Steve is at holding him down. 

And hopefully, he’ll want to experience it again.

[crossthread]

No jokes here. The Navy’s best pilot and the Navy’s best admiral. Between them, eight air-to-air combat kills and five stars. These were men who commanded respect with or without your approval. This was the picture of ruthless competence.

Debriefing (& Other Stories) • part 2 of Easier Done Than Said by @compacflt

[chalkrub]

super fun trade with @charseraph !

[ioniansunsets]

Alright but hear me out (hello btw how are you ?) kayn heartsteel have canonically been kicked out of his previous band ; imagine fem!reader (successful idol herself or civilian) comforting him and trying to help him push through it and get back on his feet to continue his music !

✖ Pre Heartsteel!Kayn Being Kicked Out ✖

✖ Word Count: 1.3k

✖ Tags: Established R/S, Idol!Reader

✖ A/N: You were a performer too and met him at a gig before either of you got famous! You two live together in this one, you’re a solo idol that practices at home so you can spend your days with him. These are headcanons! Whee!

----

-  It wrecked him. You two got together while he was in his old band, so it was an important memory to you both. As a solo artist, you understood the intricacies of being in the public eye but still, being kicked out? That was rough…something you personally could never experience. You did your best to comfort him.

- The first few days was the worst. Kayn was the perfect definition of bi-polar. Either his Rhaast ego was full blown, wild, and uninhibited. Man straight up was about to do crimes and was only stopped by you begging him not to make things worse for himself. (You caught him with a bag full of spray paint about to go wreck his old studio.) Or he was the trained Idol, Kayn. Rhaast entirely held back, the perfect definition of an average idol, obedient and reserved. Joining you in your dance and vocal practices in your home studio.

- Don’t even talk about the things he tweeted during that era, you had to run into his room and tell him to delete them minutes after posting. It was a bad time. If you were to ask Kayn now about those old tweets? He was on the very fence of, cocky pride on how he was a “badass” that “didn’t follow rules back then” or just overwhelming embarrassment for being young and dumb.

- There was a lot of work to be done over those first few days, you got the help of your own PR guys to try and get Kayn’s media presence looking better. You yourself doing your best to give him advice on performing, it wasn’t even that he was a bad artist, it was just…he had some strong ideals and just didn’t work well with his old band. It took months honestly but as always, drama died down and Kayn slowly got to live his life again.

- The saddest part of all this drama was that because you were an idol too it was hard to bring him out to comfort him. Paparazzi were hounding you both, media wanting to know what went down with Kayn and if you were seen beside him…gods who knew what the media would say about your career. You two barely left your house because you just couldn’t.

- So, all you could do was your best. Dragging him to game with you on the PC, buying new consoles to try new games with him (murdering things in game really helped him unsurprisingly), watching movies together at home (feel good films that actually make him cry), getting him to do weird shit like painting your shared room (you have a messy signature of his by the door), crocheting weird little animals (he made Rhaast!), hells you managed to get him to read a book (banned in various nations). It was…different. But it helped keep his mind off doing anything that would ruin his career more while satisfying his need to just be a creative.

- On one of those uneventful days, Kayn ordered a nice little delivery package and excitedly ran into your room. Holding the plastic bag up proud. “ Y/N. I’m going to change my image. Entirely. Can you help me. Like…Right. Fucking. Now.” You stare at him in confusion until he walked up to your table, and pulled 7 boxes of bleach and dye, dumping them on your table. “ I’m going to go hot pink.” You laugh, but oblige anyway. If it would cheer him up then you would spend the day helping him out.

- There was a lot of angry snuggling on boring evenings. Kayn would lie in bed in your arms ranting about his ideals, how he was meant for bigger, greater things, things no one else in the industry or his old band could comprehend. And you would hug him tight, supporting him as he complained, listening, agreeing where you can, giving him bigger and better ideals of grandeur. The both of you knew it wasn’t anything serious, but it really did help lighten his mood. “ I’ll really set the stage on fire next time just watch me.” “ I’ll bring the gasoline then.” “ For real! I will fucking bring fireworks and shit too. It’ll be sick as hell! Never seen before! I’ll wreck the stage!!!! Livestream that shit!!!” Such evenings would end with the both of you laughing. It was nice to see him happier again in those small moments. Sometimes you could even see a sneak of a soft smile creeping onto his face, his appreciation for you playing along and not stopping him.

- It took about a week before you felt it was right to get him to pick his guitar back up. Convincing him that the best way to get over the bad memories was to form new ones, the two of you sitting down to write a song. He really went HARD with the lyrics, it was a damn god rap at that but it was honestly a diss track at his old band and shall stay hidden in the files of your computer forever. You do secretly listen to it sometimes, it was raw as fuck, personally it helped YOU when you were angry and frustrated. Not that you would admit to him. It would only stroke his ego more.

- He only admitted it once. Once when you two were soaking in a hot bath together. Only Once did he tell you how much your support meant to him. Nice smells and colors from a bath bomb floating around you two. It was a slow morning, a few weeks after getting kicked out, right before he joined Heartsteel. You sat there, back against his chest as he rests his head on your shoulder. Relaxing in the tub. It was peaceful silence before he spoke up. “ Y/N…I’m going to join a new band.” You actually had to pause and turn to stare at him. Shocked. Asking him if he was sure, if he was ready, if he was comfortable to be performing with people again. You held his face, asking once more if this is what he wanted to do in his career, if he was going to give up on going solo like you. His hand rose to hold yours against his face as he spoke. “ Yeah, I talked to them a lot the past week and…they genuinely accept me and all my crazy ideas. They love Rhaast for who he is and I think I can work with this. I’m sure about this.” He laughs, putting your arm down as his hands wrap around you in a tight hug. Kayn moving his face down to your neck as he gives you a soft kiss, gentle, barely there as he whispers, not looking at you. “ I have to thank you for this by the way. For letting me Be Rhaast. For telling me time and time again to just be the Rockstar that I was meant to be. That my unique brand of rock was fine. I’ll remember this forever. Every time you see Rhaast on stage it’ll be thanks to you. Remember that.” And that was it. He never really showed his vulnerability about his old band ever again. The next day he joined Heartsteel, and it was great for him. Your own heart feeling warm and fuzzy seeing him laugh and have fun with new bandmates. And when you stand in the audience, seeing Rhaast rap some sick bars, you can’t help but smile. He was Your Rockstar.

[sylenth-l]

Finally following up- behold!!!! I like him having cosmodrome colors. Also note that bungie eventually used this design for the europa exos

+ Oh also from the same place as the rasputin model- White Osiris Jumpscare lmao

======

Thank you, that's super interesting!!! I've found the post itself, dated by 21st August, 2014. There's a lot of curious stuff there actually for those who like to dig into the concept art and backstage stuff. I'll bait you to go check it out yourself by saying it also features an early version of Shaxx w/o his helmet 😶

(You can see the file names which reveal the characters in the post by hovering over the images on PC or by tapping and holding until a menu appears on mobile, btw)

[lazylittledragon]

since i'm apparently returning to 17 year old me's interests i might as well start a full rewrite of my passion project from 4 years ago

[vicsy]

maxiel, divorce

somewhat inspired by the latest vlog Daniel posted

When Lando asked, it was nothing but a dumb joke.

"So, who's gonna get Martjin in the divorce?"

Daniel laughed it off, then, and lobbed a padel ball at him. Lando flipped him off, squawking, I'm on your fucking team, mate. On the other side of the court, Martjin patted Max on the back, giving Daniel a faux dirty look. Max said something to him, probably in Dutch, probably devising a convoluted strategy that had no way of actually working. Their net game sucked major balls.

"Alrighty, whoever loses this game admits that Baku was his fault!" Daniel said, awfully cheerful for someone who's been baking in the sun for an hour and a half, but he got that open, full body laugh out of Max.

The win followed by the skin of their teeth, at the cost of Lando's scraped knee and twenty minutes of continuous complaining. Max sulked all the way back to the villa. Daniel pinched the skin over his ribs when it was just the two of them in the spacious room overlooking the sea.

"Aw, you're still such a sore loser," Daniel cooed and it earned him a jab in the midsection, courtesy of Max's custom padel racket. "You wound me, Maximus!"

"And you know what you are?" next thing, Daniel was flat on his back, landing on the bed with the most undignified sound. Max climbed on top, straddling his hips. He jabbed a finger into Daniel's chest. "Je bent mijn alles."

"That's too long just to call me an asshole," Daniel pointed out, a smartass in his own right. He was mostly interested in getting Max out of that horrendous Red Bull polo so he could lick a stripe down from the hollow of Max's throat and press his tongue to Max's puffy nipples.

"I said that you are worse than a sore loser, Daniel."

"Hm. Think someone's using my language skills against me," Daniel pretended to ponder this idea, running his palms up and down Max's thighs. He looked so beautiful in the low lamplight; softer in a way that made Daniel think of home. Gezelligheid. "Say it again?"

Max did, giggling with exasperation, and Daniel repeated after him, horribly butchering the whole phrase over and over again, until Max got sick of it and kissed the mispronounced syllables off his lips. Talking was overrated anyway.

Next time, it's Daniel who says it, no trace of humor coloring his voice.

"Sure, whatever, I'll fucking leave," he shrugs Martjin's hand off his shoulder and dusts the look of pity off his thousand dollar getup. "Guess Max is getting you in the divorce after all, yeah?"

Daniel didn't have the habit to half-ass anything. In the disastrous fallout, he went full scorched-earth and Max answered him tenfold. They took everybody down with them. Standing in the crowded club in Saint-Tropez three months into the aftermath, Martjin lodged in between like the final barricade on the battlefield, Daniel lets his pride choke him.

He doesn't have to possess some exceptional lip reading skills to distinguish Max saying dickhead and coward, gesturing wildly, three top buttons of the white, linen shirt he's wearing unbuttoned, exposing reddish, sunburnt skin. Next to him Lando looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. Good, Daniel prefers him as far as possible, maybe somewhere on the ocean floor.

"Daniel, come on," Martjin pleads. The music blaring in the club drowns out most of what he says. Daniel watches his lips move and hears static in his ears. "I'm not taking sides."

But he does. Daniel really could only blame himself but he'd rather eat his racing shoes than shoulder it all by himself. Max was all in, too. He proved it when he went all out.

There was a gaping hole in Daniel's chest and he couldn't tell if the blood on Max's hands was his or if it belonged to the two of them.

"'Course, mate," Daniel lifts his arms up in mock surrender. Each word on his tongue leaves an acid burn. He grabs Martjin by the elbow and gets into his face, manic idea hanging over his head like a guillotine. "Hey, so. For old times sake, can I ask you something? No biggie."

Martjin makes a face but nods. Daniel gets close to his ear and straight up yells that weird, Dutch phrase Max told him a lifetime ago, in a room of a villa that saw them untainted. It never sat right with him. He's sure the pronunciation is royally fucked up but Martjin's stunned reaction tips off an alarm in Daniel's brain.

"Max told you that?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Daniel sees Lando thrust a gin and tonic into Max's hands only to have the glass pushed back, spilling liquid on the floor. Daniel whole body twitches.

"Does it meant that I'm a sore loser or was Max fucking with me?" he asks, straight to the point.

Martjin glances at Max over his shoulder, then turns back around, mouth pulled into a thin line.

"It means," he says, hesitantly. Daniel isn't even paying attention to him anymore, not really. His eyes are glued to Max just standing out there — too close and too far — his lovely lips parted on something unspoken, shoulders tense like he's squaring off for a fight and the look of distress all over his face. Daniel feels sick with it. He wants out. "In Dutch, uh. What Max said, it means–"

Daniel's patient runs dry.

"Fucking, what?"

"You're my everything."

Send me a ship/character(s) and a one word prompt and I will write a 5 sentence fic about it.

[thefrogdalorian]

Do you ever think about how many times Din was probably misunderstood throughout his life because of his helmet? How much pain he must've been in when people's opinions of him did not match the man beneath the armour... I can't even fathom how many times a small gesture or something he said was misinterpreted because of his appearance...

Imagine him trying really hard to fix it at the start before eventually giving up because it was too hard and just resigning himself to barely speaking, not wanting to be known by others after many bad experiences. I think that explains a part of why we find him so isolated and distant at the beginning of The Mandalorian.

Encountering Grogu really changed Din's life in so many ways... the child not only gave him a purpose other than bringing in the next bounty and running from the past, but Grogu also made him WANT to try and regain that connection with others that he had been missing for so long. Just contrast how little he speaks in the early chapters to how talkative he is to Grogu at the beginning of season 3 as he educates him about Mandalorian culture and history, it's such a monumental shift from who he was at the beginning.

I want to hug him tightly, he deserves the word.

[banancrumbs]

Dream remembered Death’s words in experiencing a bit of human life, so he just decided to stay like a wet cat after getting caught in the rain with Hob

what happened after this art!

[theminecraftbee]

okay now that i'm no longer trying to keep a project secret from certain people i can complain publicly about a thing i've been losing my mind about:

why the fuck is the evo wiki like that.

listen. i know. i know fandom wikis being decent entirely relies on whether there are people who both want to obsessively categorize things enough to fill out the wiki, with the free time to do that kind of obsessive categorization, and the desire to manage it all as a wiki. believe me, i know. but please i'm just trying to do research please, please at least bigb's page was just Entirely Empty so i knew i had useless information and just left. why the fuck did the mafia's page, by contrast, have this:

a sentence that is actively LESS USEFUL THAN IF IT WERE NOT THERE.

and then grian's page - GRIAN'S. GRIAN'S. THE ONE PAGE I THOUGHT MIGHT HAVE A SHOT OF BEING FILLED OUT. JOKE'S ON ME I GUESS.

BECAUSE IT HAS THIS????? I'M LOSING MY MIND. WHY ON EARTH IS THE WIKI LIKE THIS. WHY IS IT THIS BAD. PLEASE I'M JUST TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT EVERYONE'S RELATIONSHIPS WITH JIMMY AND MARTYN WERE PLEASE,

anyway thankfully i had friends who could help me with their own knowledge and who also found the evo recap but in conclusion i have been being driven mad by this for weeks, thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[19871997]

[c0mbatchameleon]

hi anna my love would you mind telling us what the possession au is about 🥺🤲🏼💗

LUNEEE ABSOLUTELY ABSOFRUITLY I CAN.

Ok so the tldr here is James is a demon that possesses reg. This all came from a drunk 3am note in my phone about the “intimacy of literally inhabiting the same body, to become a singular noun; my thoughts are yours now, you don’t even know where you end and I begin, your soul would feel so empty without me here to fill in all the gaps” etc etc. Right ok. Long ramblings below, be warned.

So picture regulus, our resident high-strung control freak who has lived as a puppet on a string at the whims of his family ever since he was a teenager and they began staging him to join / eventually take over their major capitalist conglomerate empire or whatever. Iffy on the details still but there’s a lot of politics involved. Think like the richest of the rich in the world and they want to keep their family on the top—regulus is their vessel to do so.

And the thing is, he goes above and beyond. He gave up on trying to escape the life he’s been (to him) imprisoned in a long time ago, and his (perceived) lack of control and agency has only driven him to climb higher, hungry for even more disgusting amounts of wealth and power, fuck everyone else, he wants to be at the fucking top, and maybe then he’ll be free. He’s terrible and he’s miserable and he’s everything they wanted him to be, he feels like a slave to time and to the life that was carved out for him, and it manifests in him exerting extreme amounts of control over the one thing he can have some semblance of control over, which is his own body.

(slight tw for disordered / obsessive eating / body habits?)

Picture him scheduling his days down to the minute. He wakes up at 5:30am everyday after getting the exact amount of sleep to complete five rem cycles, he has a strict workout regimen every day perfectly planned out for the week, meals all the same mapped out down to the calorie. You’d think he’s in the army. His skincare routine puts patrick bateman to shame. He jerks off once a week cuz he thinks it has health benefits or keeps him sharp or something (if you’ve watched The End of the Fucking World I’m pretty sure this is where my brain subconsciously picked this from) and it’s mechanical and he’s dead in the eyes and he knows it will take him exactly 5 minutes and 8 seconds to come.

And then. Suddenly. He’s having weird dreams about some man he doesn’t know and they’re making him feel things when he has specifically trained his body to NOT feel things and what’s happening to him? And then dreams become daydreams. And then he’s losing time. HES LOSING TIME. Which is literally his worst nightmare. It’s making him fuckinf spiral, his routines are being thrown off, the small semblance of control is slipping, so he’s already at his wits fucking end when a goddamn voice in his head starts talking to him. Like that’ll do it.

But then the voice, the man, the figure from his dreams, James, is telling him to relax. Telling him you’re so wound up. I can feel it, you know? How tired you are. It’s okay baby, let me take the reins for the day. You just have to sit back up in that head of yours—of ours—and let it all turn to static for a bit. Don’t worry. I’ll give you your body back tonight. Don’t you trust me? Wouldn’t it feel good to just.. let go for a bit?

And eventually regulus discovers that it DOES feel good. He fucking loves it. He gives up control willingly for the first time, he lets James do it all for him, to move him around like a puppet in the most literal sense but it’s different from his family, from everyone else. It’s freeing.

and it’s like this weird corruption-anticorruption thing because yes james is influencing him and planting thoughts in his head and literally taking over his body at points but it’s all to make him do…kinda good things? “Fuck the company, don’t show up today, let’s go to the coast like you used to as a kid,” “don’t pick up the phone, I know you’ve never declined your mother’s call before, but just try. Don’t you feel powerful?” Until eventually reg is sabotaging the company, his family, he’s basically suicide-bombing the stock market, he’s giving all his money away, etc etc. he’s more free than he’s ever felt in his life and to the outside world he looks absolutely insane and, shit, maybe he is, but it feels fucking amazing.

I just love the thought of James’ more mundane influence on him too. He’s craving hot Cheetos for the first time in his life and absolutely appalled and confused and James is like “shit my bad I was thinking abt them.” James has him smoke weed for the first time (the scene I have planned for this……) and he has to take over to roll the joint for him. Why the fuck is reg enjoying abba music? But also—why the fuck is a demon enjoying abba music?

I’ve rambled way too much so I’ll reign it in there. Lots of details subject to change, but this is basically all I’m thinking abt these days.

[r4pira]

The power

it suits you (I can taste it on you)

inspired by THIS amazing fic by @hazeism