#verse details

[deecotan]

yapper x listener in every universe

[technically-human]

Part two of the reverse verse is here! The reverse boys meet the original boys. They're not really getting along as well as I had hoped...

Again, this was a commission for @i-am-as-normal-as-you-are and they asked for angst/funny vibes... I think it's mostly just angst though. Oh, well...

Part one

[canisalbus]

What if I told you that RoobrickMarine went and wrote an entire novella starring my 16th century dog couple? It's very canon-adjacent, well researched and thoughtfully put together, has inspired me a ton during these past months and it's now publicly available at AO3. I highly recommend it.

✦ Separation ✦

[skiplo-wave]

Once again Sony doing what Disney can’t and they don’t make big deal about it either

[welcometogrouchland]

♫ I do what I want/Crying in the bleachers and I said it was fun/I don't need anything from anyone ♫

(ID in Alt) you guys ever think about your own posts and get upset?? Anyway Damian Wayne I love you I'm so sorry your life is like that

[lunacias]

(Silence. CARPENTER tries to rally HAYWARD's spirits. She's afraid she's going to lose him.)

"All three of us - we can all go on living, Hayward. Just like you said."

[new-hyperfixation-every-month]

(THE SILT VERSES FINALE SPOILERS)

sorry kid theres no way youre making it into those verses 😬

also made a paige page!!

(text is not my own, taken from the finale of @thesiltverses )

[haydieks]

Somehow, I always missed this funny note Hobie's portal gives Gwen when she activates the watch. x)

Also, when her dad smiles, the word that we see behind him twice is "genuine". I like that a lot.

[pigdemonart]

Can you imagine Bowser sing a love song to Luigi :) ? With the piano and all :D

Incredible timing, because I was in the middle of doodling this:

It’s true love because they are both big cringe failures.

[theroamingtrashcan]

Hey spiderverse fan and drummer nerd here to inform you that the attention to detail given to Gwen’s drumming is amazing. I noticed that she distinctly does not use matched grip on her sticks (where you hold both sticks the same way) but rather uses traditional grip (where one stick is held in an almost upside down looking way). This could mean several things, from my knowledge matched grip is the most commonly used grip by self taught artists, so chances are someone taught her how to drum. So my guess is she has classical training, or the person who taught her has classical training. What I’m really trying to say is the likely hood that Gwen was in her school’s band is very high, even better considering the use of traditional grip specifically there’s a good chance she was in the marching band, which as a former drummer in a marching band, is really cool.

[shiveagit]

just your friendly neighborhood teetlez...and April and Mayhem

[valtsv]

do you ever think of me and my two hands, and wonder why they never soothed your fevers? and wonder why they never tied your shoes? and wonder why they never held you gently?

in other news i'm still in hell with these two

[bridoesotherjunk]

One thing that I have only seen a couple of people point out-- Miguel is straight up WRONG about Pavitr's dimension. What is happening in Pavitr's dimension is NOT the same as what happened to the universe where Miguel replaced his variant--- it's what the ORIGINAL Peter Parker from Miles's universe said would happen.

A BLACK HOLE Opened up under Mumbattan. Chris Pine's version of Peter Parker says that during his fight with Green Goblin and Kingpin and Prowler. He warns them that if they use the collider it could open up a black hole underneath Brooklyn. THAT is what's happening to Pavitr. But Miguel is, like most of the audience for most of the movie, underestimating the Spot. He's too focused on Miles. He and the other Spideys aren't paying attention to the Spot and the damage he's doing. EVEN AS HE IS DOING IT. Spot is a massive threat and they're STILL underestimating him. It's a big thing and it's crazy to think about it.

[pycth]

I fixate on one-liners too much, but can you really blame me when they hit like this?

The feelings that run through me whenever even the slightest pinch of a character’s canonical appearance is mentioned—

If y’all notice that bit of iridescence in his eyes, that’s color(s) associated with Freelancers in my canon ✨

Then I had a thought that since his eyes were brown, a natural hue, and my version on empowereds eye colors depend on their abilities unless you’re humanborn in which you have a bit of both (almost like heterochromia) 👀

Ergo making my version of Sam a humanborn Freelancer which I think really adds more to the struggles he’s been through and, if I really wanna get deep with it, even relating to Lovely in a way which would make having his hand in helping with the process of their turning a lot more meaningful because he can relate to the loss of an incredible ability you 1. didn’t know you had and 2. spent so long trying to manage it only to have it taken from you just like that. He sees a little of himself in them—and y’know Sam Collins is the kind of man that wants to give others the chance to have what he couldn’t.

[overtake]

I’m sorry we need about 5k more words of mechanic Daniel driver max pls and ty!!!

Part One

I’m actually so shocked (but pleasantly surprised and honored!) by people enjoying this verse because I almost deleted it without posting. I don’t have 5k more, but I can offer 1.2k!

I still lowkey hate this - and you can definitely tell I have no vision for where this story would go, hence why it’s just harping on the same 3 details we already knew - but it’s all yours and I hope you have a good time reading it anyway :)

Five minutes into pretending to examine an engine instead of obsess over what Max said, Daniel breaks.

“Did you mention me to Max?” he asks Cyril, trying to come across casual.

Cyril looks at him disbelievingly. “Max Verstappen is in our garage and you think I talked about you at all?”

Daniel lifts a hand to his chest and feigns being shot. “People love me, you know. Guys are all over this.”

Cyril heaves out a long-suffering sigh. “Get to work, Daniel.”

Daniel’s lucky, given his condition, that everything is relatively routine today. He does three oil changes, and he could kiss those people’s feet for it.

He’s mentally preparing himself to slide under a car, wincing at much more congested he’ll be once he emerges again, when Max suddenly appears in the corner of the garage.

“Hello,” he says. He does a cute little half-wave to get Daniel’s attention.

“Hey,” Daniel says, straightening and rubbing his grimy hands on his thighs. “Cyril’s working on your car, so he’ll have any updates you need.”

“It’s not my car, just a rental,” Max dismisses. “No, I just have …” He cuts himself off, turns a sweet pink on the apples of his cheeks. “You sounded sick earlier and looked really pale. I brought you soup.”

He lifts a takeaway bag from the cafe down the street, which usually specializes in ten dollar lattes and sandwiches with names so cutesy, you have to practice five times to order without shame.

Daniel smiles at the idea of Max Verstappen, world champion, saying one of those horrible names for Daniel’s benefit. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you. Let me pay you back.”

Max shakes his head. “It’s my thanks for fixing the car.”

Daniel raises his eyebrows. “So what soup did you get Cyril, who’s actually doing that?”

Max scrunches his nose in disgust. “You cannot expect me to say the name Noodle Nest Paradise more than one time.”

“How many times did you laugh trying to get that out?”

Max shudders. “I pretended to speak really bad English and just pointed at the menu.”

“So you could’ve ordered multiple,” Daniel points out. Max very blatantly pretends not to hear. He focuses instead on pulling a little bag from the order and holding it up proudly, smiling a crinkly-eyed smile.

“I got you crackers!”

Eating soup with Max Verstappen is an out of body experience.

Daniel’s been eating his soup over the coffee table in the office because it felt wrong to make Max sit at the grimy, wobbly table in the closet-sized corner of the garage where Daniel and Cyril usually change and scarf down meals. This, however, means they’re stuck together on the loveseat. Max’s expensive skinny jeans knock knees with Daniel’s greasy coveralls when they get too into the conversation.

Daniel knows he’s being a terrible conversationalist, especially at first. His normal easy charisma is buried somewhere in the pile of tissues he’s burning through. He’s basically just answering Max’s rapid-fire questions about his life, his job, his family, his non-existent partner (“do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend or anything?” Max had asked, and looked remarkably pleased by Daniel’s answer of no).

Daniel’s about 87% sure he’s being hit on right now. It’s a nice confidence booster given how much of a mess he looks, but it’s not like it matters. Max is Max, and Max is F1, and Max doesn’t live here.

He likes Max, though, the longer they talk. He likes his eagerness, his down-to-earth nature, his total lack of interest in discussing racing. Max delights in all Daniel’s behaviours that usually make people roll their eyes and wait for him to be done, whereas Max leans into Daniel’s dumb songs or drawn out jokes. He likes the long lashes that frame Max’s bright, happy eyes, and soft double chin he gets when he ducks his head into his laugh.

Daniel’s not sure how much time passes before Cyril comes in, but he knows his voice has faded to practically nothing, and he’s having to constantly turn to avoid coughing on Max.

Cyril’s timing is rather unfortunate, entering just as Daniel breaks into a particularly rough wheeze. Max is patting his back gently, which Cyril will definitely have words about later. Presently, however, he seems too concerned about Daniel’s wellbeing to lecture him about appropriate contact with famous customers.

“Daniel. Go home,” he orders, voice kind but firm. His tone leaves no room for argument, not that Daniel really wants to fight him on it. He’s enjoying this, but his brain and body feel as if they’re wading through a pool of thick custard.

“Are you okay to drive?” Max checks. His eyebrows are knitted in sweet concern, like Daniel actually might keel over and die in the ten-minute ride home.

“All good,” Daniel promises. He stands, then promptly has to collapse back onto the couch when black spots dot his vision.

“I’m driving you,” Cyril says firmly.

“I just stood up too fast.” Sure, he’s a little woozier than expected, but he could do this drive blindfolded and half-dead.

“I’ll drive you,” Max says. “I mean, Cyril has work to do, but I’m just sitting here.”

“How do I know you won’t kidnap me or steal my car?” Daniel rasps.

“He’s not worth kidnapping, and selling his car probably couldn’t cover an oil change for the kinds of cars you drive,” Cyril informs Max. He ignores Daniel’s protests, then pushes Daniel back down to the couch when he half-rises from it.

“Stay. I will get your keys and bag.”

The second Daniel’s brain understands that he’s off-duty, that it’s no longer expected to carry him through the day, it mostly blacks out, and everything is a blur from there.

He’s pretty confident Cyril steals his phone to call his mum, which is vaguely embarrassing but perhaps necessary given his current state. He knows Cyril gives Max directions to Daniel’s parents’ place instead of his own. He feels Max’s hands help him into the passenger seat, and he definitely mutters some fever-addled sentences on the drive. That’s about all he remembers until he wakes up in his childhood bed, shivering and sweating while his mum runs a hand through his hair and forces medicine down his throat, before he falls back asleep again.

When he finally comes to enough to make his way downstairs, he finds his parents seated at the kitchen table. His mum jumps up, forces him into a chair and fusses over him while simultaneously lecturing him about going to work sick. His dad just sits there, eyebrows half-raised, until Daniel is settled with food and water.

“So. You had an exciting day at work.”

He slides a piece of scrap paper across the table. There, under some advertisement for gardening services, is a scrawled message in red pen:

It was lovely to meet you (again). I hope the terribly named soup made you feel better! :)

- Max

Under his name, Max has scrawled a phone number.

Daniel runs his finger over the lines, feeling the imprint of each number that Max etched into the paper. It’s neatly written, far more cautious and intentional than the rest of the words, as if to ensure that no digit could be misread or smudged.

Daniel pauses, processes the full note, and double backs to the word ‘again.’

“Yeah,” Daniel croaks through the stabbing pains in his throat. He stares at the word harder, like it might reveal what the fuck Max means by again. “I guess today was pretty interesting.”

[catwyk]

the prophet and her rootkeeper :[ i think i prefer the original pen sketch, but i rly enjoyed the paintover!! the details drove me a little insane (please look at paige's braids please i worked so hard pl