#what the freak legion

[xxplastic-cubexx]

obligatory beach divorce doodling

bonus rough cover redraw of x-men #41 (1995) But Beach Divorce below cut

[kickedin17]

Okay hear me out (other people have basically already said this but hold on this is my post)

We're getting very clear messages that indicate something might be... wrong with Clancy. During the US leg via the FPE letters we heard a lot about how Clancy was inspiring the masses, and now it kind of seems to be the opposite. Torch explicitly saying we destroyed them so we didn't become them.

Plus Tyler now wearing black shirts, with imagery that seems to relate to Blurryface songs. The occasions last tour where his "Clancy" shirt was black text instead of red. The Blurryface account tweeting again this tour. The bishops taking over the Judge that one time, trying to hijack a moment that celebrates the clique (irl banditos). Paladin Strait, which apparently is not supposed to sound like an ending, which concludes with Clancy being named explicitly by Nico, and which shows a version of Tyler in the mv literally sitting above it all & seemingly mirroring people's movements from other shots.

I see your "Clancy becomes a bishop" theories (I love bishop!clancy to be clear I think it's awesome) but I think that might be too esoteric to end up being the explicit canon (I could also be wrong and it will be, but functionally the rest of the point here is the same). The thing is, Clancy is pretty simply intended to be a version of Tyler that extracts and represents certain traits, just like Blurryface. We know Blurryface to be insecurity. Clancy has never been said explicitly afaik but I think it's clear he represents Tyler's drive to create things that inspire people (despite crushing obstacles like mental illness - Dema and the bishops, and especially with the help and inspiration of others - Torchbearers and the banditos (us)). Which we know can be incredible, but can also become self-destructive. We were introduced to Clancy at first cryptically through his personal writings, and only explicitly after a long time (and after being told he'd "died" by the characters that represent Tyler's mental health struggles, which, depressed creatives iykyk) because I think owning your creativity and ability to inspire others is a much more arduous journey than being controlled by your insecurity. But Clancy was never intended to be a different type of character despite all that. He is a version of Tyler.

And just like Blurryface he gets his own namesake album. A lot of people have pointed out how the Clancy and Blurryface tracklists can actually be read to mirror each other. As the lore progressed Blurryface became Nico (and the other 8 bishops) battling against Clancy, but they're all abstractions from Tyler's mind. Both literally, in the sense that he is literally the one coming up with the story, but we're also reminded of this on both Bandito and Overcompensate with the "created this world" bridge. I believe this is also what we're seeing represented in those shots in the Paladin Strait mv. There's also the fact that the Clancy era is extremely extremely red - this in lore represents Clancy's process of reclamation as well as his (violent) uprising, but in tøp's wider context it is kinda just The Blurryface Color along with black.

Blurryface turns 10 immediately after the Clancy tour ends. We know the Clancy tour to be the reflection of "someone's life flashing before their eyes" and that this album was supposedly meant to wrap up the Dema storyline. I do not think this means Clancy dies. Because he is Tyler, and he cannot die, because for that to happen I think Tyler would have to never write or make anything again. And we also know this to be a cycle. I think what's happening is what's always been kind of obvious, and inevitable. I think Clancy is going to become Blurryface. I think he's already been Blurryface this entire time. They're the same person at different parts of the cycle, and I think we're going back to the start of it.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Big question -

WTF MARVEL/FEIGE???WTF??????

And will the righteous ire of the Stephen Strange fandom be enough to change the ridiculous course that you have him on?

WTF Marvel/Feige??????

First, you gave his sequel to the antagonist while reducing Stephen to being lovesick rather than the strong freaking TITULAR character of his own supposed movie.

Then you completely reverse his character development from What If...? Season 1, turning him into exactly what MoM Reed Richards told 616 Stephen that he was.

It appears the only correct treatment & love and FREAKING ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF STEPHEN AS THE TRUE HERO THAT SUFFERED 1,500+ YEARS MISERY IN ORDER TO RESTORE THE 616 UNIVERSE IS GOING TO COME FROM...

FAN FICTION WRITERS

[assassinhomecreedstuck]

i cant believe ive played world of warcraft for 20 years

[nutton-of-tata]

No One Escapes Frank - Dwight Fairfield/Frank Morrison (The Legion) smut fanfic

Dwight is the last one alive. He's bleeding out on the ground and has already accepted he's going to be sacrificed. The killer picks him up, but then drops him a few feet from the hatch. If Dwight wants to escape The Legion member Frank Morrison, he needs to work for it.

Click here to read it on AO3!

[foreverambrosia]

Watched the Laxus focused episode and just admired Laxus the whole episode. He's the coolest 🌸

[thunderheadfred]

giving people like me free unfettered access to Notion was a mistake

[aromanticasterisms]

okay. okay.

[bayetea]

when nico pulled up to camp jupiter with hazel

nico: this is my sister. please accept her into the legion and take care of her

jason: oh another pluto kid. wow. hi hazel

hazel: (freaked out because jason is the whitest man she's ever seen) um. hello

octavian: what is wrong with her

nico: nothing she's Normal

reyna: (aurum and argentum start growling) why are you lying

nico: I'm not lying she's normal. tell them hazel

hazel: (accidentally summons 70 precious gems out of the ground) sorry. don't touch those please

nico: see. normal

[thethronezone]

Primarchs at the birth of their child

Mortation keeps trying to tell the midwives how to do their job. He's not doing it to be a dick but he really comes of that way. He's wearing those plastic shoe covers.

Fulgrim has the balloons, he's got the confetti cannon ready, he's documenting the whole thing. Probably has an artist in the room, making a commemorative painting.

Angron is pacing around the room and glaring at the midwives, freaking them out. Has to be escorted out so they can do their jobs in peace. Still pacing outside the room.

Magnus is so fascinated by the process that he almost forgets to comfort the mother of his child. Spouts a bunch of random fact about pregnancies, childbirth and the human body to distract them from the pain.

Konrad is freaking the midwives out but they are too scared to ask him to leave. He's not even trying to be scary for once, he's just super focused on the delivery and can't look away. He hasn't blinked even once in twenty minutes. One of the midwives are crying.

Lorgar won't stop yapping. Oh what a glorious moment! Praise God! Another member for his flock to guide! Asks if he can save the umbilical cord and the afterbirth. For religious purposes. Lorgar, you fucking freak, no.

Perturabo keeps complaining the whole time. Why is it taking so long? Are the midwives sure they know what they are doing? The room is not big enough. Grumbles when the midwives throw him out.

Horus brought the entire Luna Wolves legion with him, they are all waiting in the hallway right outside the delivery room. He's filming the whole thing, providing commentary like it's a sport event.

Alpharius is there. Omegon is also there, disguised as a doctor. In fact, every midwife just might be an Alpha Legionnaire. They are all pretending everything is normal.

Sanguinius is acting like he's the one giving birth. He's crying so much. He's just- he's just so darn happy. The midwives don't have the heart to tell him to calm down. Is getting weirdly hungry?

Vulkan is yet another one that has to be escorted out of the delivery room. He was just too damn cheerful and kept interrupting the midwives by telling them how happy he was and that he's so excited to be a father. Like bro, they get it, but stop shaking their hands.

Jaghatai is right there, holding the hand of the mother to his soon-to-be born child. His leg is also vibrating at the speed of sound. He's so damn hyped but keeps calm so he won't be thrown out.

Dorn is unhappy because the birth is not taking place at the hyper secure, secret bunker he built for just this moment. He's barricading the room for "security reasons". Was asked to leave but straight up just said "no" and they couldn't do anything about it.

Leman is another Primarch that brought his entire legion with him. He was also promptly shoved out of the delivery room cause he kept getting in the way of the midwives. Stands outside the door, whining, wanting to be let back in.

Lion just stands in the corner, unmoving, barely saying anything except every now and then when he tells the midwives to work faster. Is internally freaking out about the whole thing.

Roboute falls asleep in a chair, covered by the baby blanket, and only wakes up when the delivery is well under way and almost done. Please forgive him, he ain't gotten a good night's sleep in years.

Corvus is also freaking out, though compared to Lion, is much more vocal about it. He's already convinced he's going to be an awful dad and that the child will hate him. Corvus, please, chill.

Ferrus is trying to distract himself from the fact he's about to be a father by focusing on the tools and the scientific aspect of it all. He is also freaking out but refuses to show it.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

From the same Storm mini-series 🥹

THE FAM 🥺

[solselah]

Off rip I see you carry the energy of duality super heavy , You could be Bi sexual specifically or in general apart of The LGBTQIA+ community! people are shocked about what you’re attracted to if you choose to express that , it’s always a shock factor towards it.

(which you never understand) I can see people are generally shocked when they come across your energy being that you truly just give

“you were made for me” vibes

&

“Match made in heaven energy”

it's shocking to come across an energy like yours! (Mini 18+ warning ) For my Ladies, people love love your boobs its something about your chest area!! There can also be a tattoo that you have in the middle of your chest that's a staple and ultimately shocking once revealed. you can be real freaky pile 1 & those you were intimate with are still shocked to this day about how freaky you are. You just don’t give that energy from the outside looking in. For a handful of you your ex is super shocked that you literally fell of the face of the planet , it’s like they had so much access when you were together but currently they are incredibly “shocked” that you are a bit difficult to contact , They definitely feel surprised / confused that you aren’t friends anymore. They at least thought you both would be cordial! You chose to fully separate which on your part was best & healthy for YOU.

You either seen them recently or will & they are/ Were SHOCKED to see you ! Like you look GOOOOD pile 1 you really ARE that BITCH , THAT GIRL , THAT MAN !!!

I purely channeled for this pile so you definitely have an

“Off the record”

vibe to you that shocks people.

Channeled song :

PERFECT - Dave East ft Chris Brown

444

You are so loyal and it can kind of be in insult if someone ever said to you in your face that they thought you wouldn’t value loyalty in life. you are the ride or die friend & in retrospect your so protected in friendships definitely more than you think. For this pile you could truly be a “loner” , people are pretty shocked that you don’t have a whole legion of friends!

People are also shocked to know you have the ability to not freak out if that makes sense , you can stay calm in the most intense situations and circumstances! You can literally just vibe out & that alone was birthed from all the hurdles and lessons you endured. You learned & mastered the art of not giving af and people find this not only shocking but attractive it’s like a gift you don’t usually see in everyone. People are pretty shocked to find out that you have hella skeletons in your closet but you hide it so well & with you it doesn’t present in a toxic manner.. you know your dark side . You don’t just scream all your fuck ups out loud. If asked , potentially but on a General level yea its a NO!

I feel heavy Scorpio energy as well for this pile 🦂

I see a visual of a Strip club and a pole and I loveeee it ! So you may be heavily into the night life in your city , or you entertain professionally in your city but people are shocked to see you outside of certain environments! Unfortunately in this world people judge strictly off looks and it seems you’ve been a victim of that at some point pretty heavily & your 360 is SHOCKING to people who knew & resonated with the “old you”. People are shocked that you really put your mind to this and started to hustle for your own ! You got some individuals who are shocked that you are humble with your money , it’s like you could be shitting on bitches but you’re super humble about it. Thats shocking to those who felt like the old you would be “obnoxious” about your success! This pile gets MONEY And idk why people are in YALLs pockets, but that’s so shocking to people It’s scary. People want the formula babes … it’s shocking but it’s the pure interest for me.

You could really pop your shit if you wanted to , And you’re super independent!! definitely keep beating the odds that arise against you while effortlesly shocking these h*** ;)

Random Side bar : The way you ride , you always shock whoever has the pleasure 🍆😗

Y’all are such lovers im talking hopeless romantic and that’s shocking to the outside world like you don’t come off as that “type” whatever that means ! Maybe you just aren’t as mushy with those around you but when it comes to that one person or the person (s) you choose to trust your… a dream! It’s Mesmerizing and shocking to those involved . This pile could be undeniably intuitive and that’s a shock value to pretty much everyone you meet , you may not sense when your intuitive nature kicks in but it’s like watching something unfold exactly how you want , it’s so satisfying.

People are shocked that you turn hate or challenges into powerful trophy’s ! You are a true Transmutator you can pretty much bend a lot of things to your will , lol this can truly go a lot of ways but I can see you TRY to keep this asset as positive as possible

I can see people are usually shocked when you tell them the hobbies you're into , I can clearly hear "streaming "or "gaming" !

I also pick up on loving cosplay and it’s shocking when you like magically transform ! It’s pretty cool :) 🧚

Hope you enjoyed ;) 💗

[eff-plays]

Ok fine you guys twisted my arm (I say to a completely empty room) here's why I think Mass Effect 2 worked and Veilguard tried to copy it and failed.

First up is the complexity of the goal/plot. In ME2, the end goal was simple: Stop the Collectors from harvesting humans. Blast off through the Omega 4 Relay and probably die. Take down as many Collectors as possible before you die. Basically, shoot stuff until it explodes. It made sense that half of the squadmates were just "legendary badass", "legendary badass (green skin version)" and "legendary badass (huge tits version)." You need to kill dudes, so you pick people who are good at killing. There are a few who are better at tech or science, but they use tech and science to, you guessed it, kill dudes. Then you have a few who join due to aligning goals (Legion) or loyalty to Shepard (Tali, Garrus) or humanity/Cerberus (Jacob, Miranda), or they're literally getting paid to be there (Kasumi and Zaeed). But all of them have reasons to stick around, of various importance.

The specificity of the main plot is also relevant here, because everybody in the galaxy is like "oh humans are getting kidnapped? sucks to suck dude rip in piss ://" so it makes sense to recruit whoever you can get. You need help for an issue that (according to everyone who would otherwise help) only concerns you. So you're like "hey are you good at killing? and do you mind dying?" and most of those freaks go "yeah lmao whatever." They're self-selecting, because the cause is so specific and explicitly suicidal.

The suicidal thing also helps explain the loyalty missions, btw. They're not presented as "hey can you umm help? or I'm gonna be distwacted 👉👈" but as "hey man, these people are willing to die on your command, you should probably help them with their unfinished business at the very least." And yeah, the mechanic of "if you don't help they'll fucking perish" remains the same, but the framing is different. In ME2, you're basically helping a bunch of professionals to do this final thing before they die for your cause. It's both a sign of respect and of consideration for them as people, and strengthens your bond with them and their loyalty to you. The way it's framed means that you don't have to do this in order for them to do their job, but doing it helps strengthen their belief in you.

And because the stakes are relatively low (as far as everyone knows), of course the squadmates will respect and appreciate a Shepard who takes care of them more. Of course it builds loyalty. This person isn't just using you as a meat shield for their pet crusade, they're genuinely trying to do what's right and don't want you to die for nothing.

In Veilguard, you're literally told multiple times that you have to do their dumbfuck busywork or else they're gonna throw in the towel. Hey man can you do this thing? Or else I'm not saving the world :3c The stakes being SO HIGH while their issues are SO NOTHING makes most of them look really immature and incompetent, which clashes against the whole "gang of experts" thing. You're telling me this couldn't wait? I have to go into Lucanis' mind and figure out his traumas or else he won't ... hold a knife good? And that will doom the world because he's the only guy who can hold a knife? Okay???

ME2 presents everybody as professionals and experts in their field, but at the end of the day, they're just there to kill stuff. Remove one, and another will be found. The mission is (as far as everyone in power knows) not galaxy-threatening yet, so finding new guys to help would be easy. That's why Shep taking the time to solve their final issues means something and why it earns their loyalty. It shows that Shep cares about them as people.

Veilguard presents these people as experts in their fields, too. They're considered irreplacable in this conflict. And the conflict is saving the whole entire fucking world. And YET, that has to take a backseat to them figuring out what happened to a work colleague or Lucanis' grandma, because none of these experts can take a fucking chill pill to SAVE THE WORLD.

ME2 offers "low" stakes for the conflict and high stakes for the characters, so when it focuses on the characters' stories, it makes sense. You get the impression that it's character drama with a common goal that brings them all together. Veilguard offers high stakes for the plot and low stakes for the characters, but still focuses on the characters, so you get the sense that we're fucking around playing therapist while the world is on fire in the background, and it's presented as totally logical, because these guys can't save the world without a clear mind!! Despite being ... experts in their fields.

That's why, to me, Rook feels like a therapist while Shep feels like a leader.

Anyway, this is the formal end of the post but I wrote more on the specific character motivations of the Veilguard and why they don't work/feel trite to me and how that adds to Rook feeling like they're a therapist but it didn't fit with the rest of the post so under cut.

Another thing is that, while sometimes the problems of the Veilguard are technically higher stakes than the problems of the ME2 squad, there is a sense of "Hey do you actually need me for this?" And that I think is in part to the lacking motivations of the Veilguard. It's so unclear why some of them stick around that it becomes difficult to justify why they wouldn't just leave to fix their own issues.

(For example, Garrus asks us to help kill a guy. The guy isn't dangerous, he's not out there killing people or in possession of a superweapon ready to destroy a city. He's just an asshole and Garrus wants revenge. He could, technically, leave and just kill the guy himself. He knows where the guy is, so what's holding him back? Well, the job is. And Shepard is. Garrus wants Shep's help, because he doesn't trust himself to finish it on his own. He needs somebody to rely on, but he also knows that he can't just leave without Shep's permission, and that Shep needs him, too. Everything is on Shep's schedule, and there's no real time limit. His revenge can wait until Shep is ready to offer their help.

Neve is hunting an old rival who is a blood mage threatening to enslave her favorite city in all da world. It's pretty damn high stakes. But in my playthrough, Neve wasn't counting on Rook's help at all. In fact, she explicitly mentioned several times that she didn't. Yet, she still sat around and waited for their help. She didn't leave to deal with this on her own, didn't even consider it. But why not? What about Rook or this cause is keeping her there, especially since there's canonically time before the next big move and the issue is so high-stakes and pressing? People will die if she doesn't do something, yet she's sitting on her ass waiting for Rook, whose help she isn't counting on, to step up? What???)

Neve is introduced as being hired by Varric to find Solas, which she does. In the tutorial mission. She sticks around after Varric dies because ... she's in too deep now, I guess. She has to help save the world, you see. Even though all she wants is to go back to Minrathous and protect the people there. She wants your help to. Figure out some stuff. The famous big city detective needs the help of a person who's introduced as somebody who "thinks in straight lines" and whose nickname is probably a play on "rookie." She is not getting paid for this. She's doing this out of the kindness of her heart, even though most of her time on screen is spent dreaming of her favorite city in da world. She's not an expert in anything that has to do with the current plot, so she's in-fiction not really vital to keep around. Her role as a mage is made entirely pointless by the existence of Bellara and Emmrich. Supposedly her area of expertise is in blood magic ... despite hating it and not actually practicing it, on account of it being bad and evil. So she's an expert in killing blood mages, then?

Well, no. That's Lucanis. He's the resident mage killer ... who we find in an underwater prison, guarded by blood mages. I get there is a reason for why he was defeated, but the optics aren't great, ya know? We don't really free him as much as we lightly distract his guards, so he can bust out of the prison fully clothed and armored. He's suuper eager for revenge, but he's also been forcefully possessed. But that's okay, because we need his expertise for um. Killing mages. Which is what the Evanuris are. So this random possessed human guy will know better than anybody else how to kill the Evanuris. Sure. He decides to stick around on account of ... the Crows always finishing a contract. Who is paying him? Who is paying the Crows? His gam-gam ordered him to stay, she's basically offering us his services for freeing him. Guy is an indentured servant but acts like it's his choice, like it's an honor thing and not his grandma putting him in the toilet. And when it's time for him to show/offer his expertise in the field, he says "How am I supposed to fight a cloud?" which is fair enough, sure. But have you not fought mages before? Do you not have any reference for them doing weird shit at all? Do you not know how to disrupt rituals, break barriers? In the end, all he can practically do is hold the special knife and attempt to stick the pointy end into his target. Which my rogue Rook or Davrin or Taash chould've done. But gam-gam says to sit so he sits! It's not a very compelling motivation for this epic expert mage killer to just kinda. Stick around out of obligation. It could've been interesting, if he chafed against it or had to be won over, but he's just fine with it. It's treated as natural that this dude, who isn't even slightly an actual expert and is just a glorified knife holder and who isn't practically useful in any sense of the word, is still in the group. It's treated as natural that Rook has to go out of their way to help him clear his mind so he can hold the knife better next time, instead of just finding another guy to hold the knife. Maybe the spirit in him makes him stronger and more capable of fighting mages? No, the spirit is what made him miss in the first place, actually! So you have to help him figure it out or he'll miss again. DON'T ask somebody else to hold the knife though. It HAS TO BE Lucanis. Because he's the mage killer expert. Who missed. And can't handle mages.

Then we have Taash, who we need to kill the blighted dragons. They're the only dragon hunter around and have an encyclopedic knowledge of said dragons. Unfortunately the blighted state of the dragons that are actually necessary to kill are behaving in unexpected and different ways from normal dragons. They're literally manipulated by the Evanuris to be harder to kill. Making Taash's expertise moot. I didn't even have them in my party when I took on two dragons at once, and in fact the only dragons that Taash is presented as capable of killing are ones that they want us to kill. So this expert we recruit mostly introduces more dragons for us to kill that aren't actually threatening us in any way. The main time Taash has to show off their knowledge is when we use the dragon trap ... which was fashioned by Wardens. Who are all trained specifically to fight Archdemons. Who are dragons. That are blighted. Do you uh. Do you see my problem here. Taash also sticks around the Veilguard for inexplicable reasons. Mostly it seems they don't want to go home to their mother, which is fine, but this is a whole-ass adult, supposedly. They could go back to hunting dragons for the Lords, because they're written as too self-absorbed to really care about stepping up to the fight just for the sake of it. So despite them not really being useful in any way to the overall plot, we still have to help them figure out their gender identity, or else they won't be able to ... fight the blighted dragons. Which they couldn't fight. On account of the blight. Cool cool cool.

Then we have Emmrich, who is a professor and has shit to do. He is also presented as a Fade expert, while Bellara is somehow not, despite doing most of the Fade-related and artifact-related magic on-screen. Emmrich joins the Veilguard on account of um. Well we asked nicely, and he's a good guy, so he has to help save the world. Despite the fact that he's terrified of dying. Which he's far more likely to do after leaving his job. And the thing is, yeah, "the world might end so we need to stop that!" is a valid motivation, but if we accept it as the motivation of a central character whose plot we must find compelling, then why is it that it's only a few guys trying to save the world? This conflict is prestented as bigger than all the previous games combined, bigger than (the) Inquisition, which had literally entire armies and different branches and infrastructure for it's "smaller" conflict, and people were still volunteering and joining in droves, but here we're 8 guys? Are we meant to believe Emmrich's willingness to join the Veilguard is somehow unique to him, and that nobody else in the world would volunteer to join? When Harding exists, on the same team?

Speaking of, Harding is a character who can really get away with "I wanna save the world", because her joining the Inquisition is literally how she got into the plot in the first place. She's a joiner. She joins heroic causes. So her having this sort of bare-bones but noble motivation works. Same with Davrin. Bellara seems to join out of both curiosity and guilt, which are interesting enough reasons and come through visibly in her subplot and characterization, but more importantly, she doesn't have anything holding her back that might take priority until she finds out her brother is alive. Her sticking around also makes some sense because she's ya know. An elf mage Fade expert. Or sorry an elf artifacts expert.

I'm not saying "somebody's gotta do it!" or "it's the right thing to do!" aren't valid motivations, they clearly are, but there's gotta be more to it, especially when it comes to characters who have something to lose like Emmrich. My guy is terrified of death but he's such a good dude that he jumps into this life-threatening conflict without a second thought? But then gets so "distracted" by his wacky scientist former colleague that he needs our help figuring it out? Huh???

Um. I didn't have a conclussy for this part of the post so. bye

[stzrgirl4norris]

My Kink Is Karma

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: After a turbulent break up, Max left you all alone, dealing with the pain from his poisonous words. He was thriving, having the time of his life, and you were determined to see his downfall.

Word count: 9k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (don't do that), degradation, Mean!Max, Mean! Reader, they are both toxic to each other, revenge sex, hate sex. All the good stuff

I'm on my Max kick later, specially since the last race. Hope you guys can enjoy my freak with me!!

Three months, twenty eight days since he left.

Actually, since you left. No, even worse, since you were kicked out of his stupid cubicle of an apartment. Why is every goddamn apartment in Monaco so small either way? It's like millionaires have a kink for minimalism or something. There were still a couple of his t-shirts hanging around, shoved down the back of a drawer you never opened. You contemplated burning them down, one by one, or selling them on e-bay, you would probably make a lot of money with it. However, the anger was still boiling hot in your bones, opened. You contemplated burning them down, one by one, or selling them on e-bay, you would probably make a lot of money with it. However, the anger was still boiling hot in your bones, picking up anything with his scent on it would cause world war three, and you didn't want that.

Not because you don't hate him, you do, wholeheartedly, but you would rather see the universe handle it, slowly, sadistically, because you always believed in karma, plus, he didn't deserve any type of reaction from you.

However, almost four months is a whole lot of time of waiting for Max Verstappen to get something bad coming his way. Somehow, that blue eyed man is always on top. McLaren had the fastest car and he was still dominating, pole position, podiums, even fucking won a race against all odds. Max Verstappen not only defied your beliefs around love, but your beliefs in general. He tested your faith. Because in this wednesday afternoon, sitting on your plane sit, next to a crying baby and an exhausted mother, you were wondering if the universe gave a flying damn about how much that man hurt you. Gods Are you listening over there? He left me with no direction, no sense of belonging, stole my pride, joy and clothes. I was left empty. So why the fuck is he the one thriving?

That's why you decided to make matters with your own hands. Karma isn't real? No problem. You would create karma and shove it down his throat. Max Verstappen is not going to hell when he dies? Then, you will make sure he lives through hell while you are around. And the plan starts with a suitcase and an economic class ticket to Bahrain.

The city was scalding. The complete opposite of an early spring in Monaco. Too many people, a legion of tourists who were there for the Grand Prix. You looked around, analyzing the environment, but he was everywhere. In t-shirts, flags, posters, dolls. "The flying dutchman", "The Dutch Lion". That was the worst one. A lion? That motherfucker was just as coward as a toddler being confronted by their angry parent.

Hey. Just landed. Where was the place / was supposed to wait for the driver?

Max: Gate seven. He's already there.

You don't answer. He doesn't deserve an answer.

On the other hand, if the plan was going to work perfectly, you needed him to believe you were desperate for him. Because Max has an ego, he craves the attention. It's Machiavellian, but any current pain is worth the final result. What even is a single text message compared to seeing Max Verstappen’s downfall live and in bright colors?

You walked towards gate seven. Sure enough, the man was there, holding a little white plank with your surname written on it. As if it was needed, since to his left, there he was, wearing his stupia red bull cap, white t-shirt and dark blue jeans.

Classic Max. You weren't taken by surprise, at the end of the day, Verstappen was as predictable as playing chess with a child, at least to you. You knew he was going to be there, just to torment you, prove, somehow, that he never left, his scent, manners, soul, were all surrounding you, everyday since that rainy tuesday when all hell broke loose.

As you approached both men with a confidence acquired from whatever cheap wine they offered on the flight, you could swore you saw a glimpse of relief in his arctic blue eyes.

Max was relieved. Seeing you, full shape, materialized in front of him like a dying man's last vision, as beautiful as ever, maybe even more, left him with a feeling of immense relief. Because ever since the break up, he never saw or spoke to you.

He didn't even understand how the hell that was possible, considering Monaco was just a big gated commune. He had no idea, however, that for those three months you barely left your bed, purposefully avoiding him. The funny thing is, Max could've swore on his career that he saw a different type of glimmer surrounding you, because as you gave him a shy kiss on the cheek, shivers went down his neck, all the way though his spine. There was uncertainty in his mind if, at that moment, you were a salvation from heaven or his worst nightmare.

"I didn't actually think you would come?" He couldn't control the excitement in his voice. To you? Pathetic.

"You know Bahrain has always been my favorite circuit." Lies. "Plus, I really wanted to talk." More lies. Oh, weren't you just the best pretty little liar?

'I agree"

Max had no idea of what you planned. With all the innocence of a little boy in love, who fucked up, he believed that you wanted to try again, that you were able to give him another chance. If for three months you were crying underneath the shower steam, he was begging via text messages, voicemails, red roses and handwritten notes to talk to you and sort things out. In his mind, his words were bad, a disaster. "Your career isn't important, you can't keep crying over this shit." Actually, the words were bad, but the context was even worse. To be fair, you were crying over a minor problem, a grain of sand in the midst of long beach, still, that was the result of a build-up that lasted weeks, days having to suffer countless abuse in your job, burnout was imminent. Haven't you been breaking down, releasing every tension from the stress of your career, you could have actually forgiven him. In contrast, the coldness and nonchalant in his voice when saying "your career isn't important" was what actually got to you. "So, I can't cry over my boss raging at me from mistakes he made, but you can cry whenever your stupid little car isn't 0.5 seconds faster than another car? Why? Because being a Formula 1 racer is the only job that matters? Huh, Max?"

That whole argument spiraled to a rabbit hole of pointing fingers and repressed emotions. Deep down, you knew you hated your job, you wanted to leave every time you stepped a foot in that building, but Max didn't need to know that. And he had no right assuming that it wasn't important.

Arriving at his hotel, the boy next to you handled a room key. 405.

"It's right next to mine"

You gave him a look, the one that said "well, obviously." Another predictable move. God, if any other driver paid enough attention to him, you were convinced he wouldn't be called Mad Max at all, because, in reality, Verstappen was as clear as a crystal glass.

The whole way up to the room, Max was a gentleman, carrying bags, hands on your lower back, guiding the way, walking in front. Just like you never stopped being his girlfriend. Maybe, in his mind, you never did.

The room was brightened with yellow lights, contrasting to the cold of the atmosphere between both ex-lovers. Even though you were trying your best to not give anything away, Max wasn't stupid, he could read you with eyes closed, he knew there was an unsettledness in your movements, he just couldn't point exactly why or what is going on.

"Do you want me to leave? Or do you just want to get it out of the way?" Max didn't quite know what he meant with "it", whatever it was, it has been filling his lungs with deep anxiety. And you knew he was suffering. For a man who was used to get anything he wanted, whenever he wanted, being completely lost in the matters of the heart, hurt his pride and gave him tremendous affliction.

"I was hoping we could catch a nice dinner, properly talk with some good food and wine. What do you say?" The words came off of your tongue spontaneously, as if you didn't rehearse them 300 hundred times during that 11 hour flight.

"Sure, yeah, fine. Even better with people around... That way you won't have the courage to kill me." You could hear the tension in his words when he joked, and he could hear the mockery in your chuckle just as well.

"Pick me up at eight?"

The fact that you made no comment around his stupid joke bothered him to his core. Which is the reason he just nodded and left the room without saying anything else. Just as soon as that door closed, you rushed to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet. You couldn't say what the fuck you were feeling, nausea, pain, anxiety, shame, guilt, rage. You should just open the door, go to his room, throw things around, break glasses, throw his suitcase on the hotel pool, tell the press he is leaving red bull and get on a plan, never look back. Having to wait for revenge to be served cold is what drives everyone insane, and no one talks about that.

Countless of hours later, after two long crying sessions, and screaming, and burning pages of your journal, you were ready. Dressed up casually. You wouldn't give him too much, because you knew he was expecting to show up as beautiful as ever, Lady Di in her revenge dress, so the fact that you were just dressed as his Y/N, raw, honest beauty, broke his heart. Because when he opened the door to your room, he was taken by your perfume and your pure self, just like he did for three years every time he came home from a race weekend and you were waiting for him on the couch.

"Come on, Max, you don't need to give this look." You were surprised by how effective flirting was in maskaring hate.

"What look?"

"Like I'm your long lost childhood love you encountered 20 years later." He shook his head, slightly.

"You're something like that."

Something like that. What the fuck did he mean?

"We should go." You said a little bit more desperate than you hoped. Maybe due to the fact that you were dying to leave. "Lead the way."

*

God. Wasn't middle eastern food the key to all your problems? Maybe if the scent of blended spices and dates filled your nostrils before, there would be no reason for any of this.

For the past couple of hours, you were focused on trying to enjoy the delights Sakhir had to offer.

Notice the word trying. Because with Max Verstappen looking like a god sent angel in front of you, no amount of cloves and cinnamon would be able to erase the scent of wanting that was emanating from him.

Max was paying extra attention to you. Every time you looked excited about whatever you were tasting, he could catch a proper breath. However, one look into your eyes later and he has filled with thousands of questions in his head.

"So, what is the strategy for this weekend?"

"Do you actually want to talk about my racing strategies for the weekend?" Yes. You did. How were you supposed to ruin his life if you had no clue what was going on with the only thing that mattered to him. "You said you wanted to talk, Y/ N."

"We are talking." He raised his eyebrow. You sighed, stomach twisting in ten thousand knots.

"Fine..."

Before you could select which carefully constructed phrase you compartmentalized for this very moment, Max, with his usual quickness, took the upfront.

"Please, come back to me."

It's not that you weren't expecting that he would say something like this, you just weren't expecting how much your internal organs would fire up as a response. In that particular moment, you could swore you forgot all of the lines of the plan you spent one month obsessing over. He broke your character, for just a slight of a second, a fraction.

"You really hurt me." For the first time in this whole entire trip, you were being honest.

"I know. I am truly deeply sorry. I fucked up."

You just stared. Contemplating if you were going to let him talk a little more. The dark twisted part of your brain was enjoying seeing him act as pathetic as you once did for him. That same side of your brain was already collecting ideas. Screw that one month evil plan, Max was giving everything you need to do even more damage than you anticipated.

"Let me show you how much I regret it. Let me make it up to you." The phrase was constructed as if he was asking for permission, but both of you knew, deep down, that he wasn't backing up any soon.

"These past few months were hell to me, Max."

The words were true, but there was no emotion in your voice to actually reflect the pain you went through. Max had no idea. He would never guess.

It seemed to him that you were giving something, but a weird feeling in his gut was sparking a doubt that you were hiding something.

"I will fix this up."

His legs under the table were shaking like the first time he stepped out of a Formula 1 car. Max was speaking as he was walking barefoot on shattered glass. There is no way for you to fix this up. Only me. You wanted to answer. You couldn't.

"Are you excited for the race?"

The deviation of the subject showed Max you were uncomfortable, which is why he decided that was enough of pushing. He didn't know there was a strategy underneath your tongue.

"Are you?" He fired back, letting himself taste a bit of the wine that you chose. It was bitter, dry, unlike the sweet rosés you'd usually go for.

"Thrilled." Your lips curled into a smirk stained with maroon liquid. Something shifted in the tone of your words. It was malicious, Max could sense it, but he was a man after all, guile and sexiness go hand-in-hand, specially coming from a girl holding a glass of wine.

ready to head back, whenever you want to go."

"Are we not going to order dessert?"

Nope. He wanted to leave. Matter of fact, as soon as possible. He wanted to take you to his room, or your room, whichever one is closest to the elevator door, and peel off every lying secret you were hiding behind your sore, tired eyes.

"Do you want dessert?"

You looked at his eyes, then his lips, then his neck, back at his eyes. Licked your lips, the bitterness of the wine reminding you of pure sex.

"Maybe not from here."

You knew you had control over him by the way he looked at you, like a puppy begging for food. Max didn't even try to hide how much he was longing to just touch you in any way, shape, or form. God, men were so easy.

A few formalities and street lights later, you were back to the golden architecture of the place you were staying. It wasn't your first time in the country, but it was your first time in this hotel, hadn't it been the circumstances of your visit, you could have actually enjoyed the experience.

The elevator door shut, fourth floor was a short ride. Helped to ease the tension. Not too much, but just enough.

"I can't find the key to my room."

Max knew it was inside your purse, you knew it too, obviously. There was just no reason to bother looking it up.

"Hm. Thankfully, I got you." He held the white car between his fingers, flashing them with a teenage boy smile.

"My hero,"

For the first time during this night, you felt the tension leaving with the winds of Sakhir. Sex was not on your plan, in fact, quite the opposite.

However, you forgot there was no such thing as a plan when it came to Max Verstappen. Specially not when it came to desire and love. Plus, a girl is allowed to enjoy herself, it's not like you were going to get soft on him now, right?

The closing door blocked all the noise. Suddenly, the room was carried with heavy air, lost faith, gained hope, misery, all at once. If you listened closely, you were able to hear Max's heart beating irregular beats. It felt to him like he was about to have a stroke, a heart attack, a breakdown, or all of the above. You were danger, your presence was too powerful. He needed to get control back, or he would just spiral.

But you would not let him. Not right now.

Just as quick as you left him that night, you were pulling him by his neck. Lips connected like they were never meant to leave each other in the first place. Looking for each other's air because the room was getting smaller and smaller. This was the point of the night in which you didn't need to perform. You were not doing it for the plot, the revenge, you were doing it because you desperately craved him.

Max had only a few times seen you this way. It was unusual, but he wasn't complaining. He didn't quite like the fact that if you asked him to kneel down and bark, he'd do it, however. And he was afraid you'd notice it and just torture him the whole night. The boy was just a little too late.

"You said you wanted to make it up to me." Max didn't know how you managed to get a full sentence out in the middle of what was going on, if he opened his mouth all that would leave his throat were pathetic sighs and moans. "Then prove it."

You pushed him away, slightly. Max's chest underneath his navy blue t-shirt didn't hide his erratic breathing.

"I am proving it to you."

He leaned in, but was met with another slight push. This time, mixed between his confusion, was frustration. Just as much as you wanted him, he wanted you. No, he needed you. Needed to be close to you as if there was a war going on outside and that was the only way to keep both of you safe.

"No." No? What the hell no meant? "Kneel."

Your command was firm, imperative. You were no stranger to take charge in the bedroom with Max, but it usually lasted around five minutes, a way to spice things up or push him to the edge until he finally broke. In a way, it was fake-control, because you knew it was just a matter of time until you were at his mercy. But not this time.

"What?" He heard you well, the question was put there simply as a way of making you change your mind.

"You heard me, Verstappen. Kneel and beg for me."

Max didn't have a chance to respond or brush it off with a scoffed laugh, your hands were already on his shoulders, applying force to bring him down. It wasn't gravity the one who put Max Verstappen to his knees, it was the magnetic force of your words and the torment of his desires for you.

"Schatje, come on."

"Hm. That all you got?"

The truth is, Max was running out of protests. You knew it took him a lot to put his pride to the side.

He wanted you back, but there was no way he was going to beg for it. Max Verstappen doesn't beg, for anyone. Actually, he never needed to, he always got what he wanted. But his resources were coming to an end, because your posture and the way you were demanding the room, left him with no choice.

With the gentlest touch, like you were made out of the rarest crystal, Max's hand came to the back of your calves, slowly making their way to the back of your knees. He stopped there, didn't dare going further up. His hands were big enough to almost wrap around it completely, and he applied pressure. It was a simple gesture, but goddamn it you missed his fingers touching you, you didn't care where.

You looked down, right hand travelling to his hair, fingers intertwining between some strands, making a mess. He always looked beautiful with messy hair.

"Please." A kiss on your right knee. "Please, forgive me." A kiss on the left knee. "I will do anything for you."

The hand that was on his hair made its way to his cheek. Your thumb brushing the soft skin underneath his eyes. Max was flushing, the blood was rushing everywhere through his veins, heart pounding, maybe after this he should cancel his weekend, because there is no way he would make it out alive.

Then, all of the sudden, your gentle rub became a slap. Not a rough slap, in fact, only a couple of taps, to call out his attention. And, damn, maybe a hard slap would be less humiliating than this. And it didn't help when you had a devilish grin in your lips.

"Come on, pretty boy, just a little bit more. You're almost there. Look at me."

He was. Like a puppy. Like a dog starving. His pupils were so dilated you couldn't tell his eyes were pale blue. You were hell. That wasn't you. Looked like you, wore your clothes, the same old vanilla perfume, but if his whole life Max saw you as his sweet girl, this time he was seeing you as a mythical creature, completely transformed into something else.

"I fucked up. I can't live without you. Please, Y/N, I am about to go insane. I fucking love you, just come back to me, please. I can't make it without you." His chin rested somewhere on top of your legs.

You smiled. Humiliating Max sexually was not a part of the plan, but it was so satisfactory you could go straight back home with fulfillment in your bones.

"Good enough."

You backed out and walked straight to the door. In a sudden movement, Max got up, his legs felt like jelly, his head was spinning. There was no time for him to catch up, you had already left. He heard something like a see you tomorrow, but wasn't completely sure. In that particular moment he was out. Interpreting his feelings wasn't always easy, and right now it sure as hell was the hardest thing for him to do, considering there was a mix of everything inside his guts.

It took all of your strength to not go back, just to get a glimpse of how Max Verstappen looked completely desolated, alone in his hotel room, frustrated, confused. Exactly like you were that afternoon, three months ago. If you suffered, he was going to suffer the exact same thing, but ten times more.

*

"Max, you good? Looks like you're about to throw up."

Sitting in a round table, his salad was untouched, his cup still filled with water. The voices were mushy, he couldn't tell which driver elaborated that question. Truth is, he wasn't paying attention to anything else, too busy looking around, searching for any glimpse of you. Anything to demonstrate that you were still there, because you could probably be back home by now, laughing while sitting on your sofa, seeing his misery on live television.

He was brought back to the real world with Charles' voice commanding his attention, because finally, for the first time during that stupid lunch, someone said something that actually mattered.

"Mate, what is Y/N doing here? I thought you two broke up."

"Where is she?" His voice sounded so desperate, so pathetic, Lando couldn't help but chuckle.

"Just saw her talking to Honer when I passed the Red Bull garage. Could've swore I was seeing things, but it was actually her. Are you two back together?"

Midst sentence Max was already gone, rushing through the crowd as fast as he could before it was too late. He looked desperate, like he was looking for water in a desert island.

The meters to the garage seemed like the distance to the moon. His eyes were filled by the sigh of Horner, talking to someone else, not relevant, nor for him, because the someone else wasn't you. The conversation seemed important, and it would be rude to interrupt, but Max couldn't care less.

"Christian, where is Y/N?"

Horner turned around to look at his driver, bright fake smile. A little annoyed that he interrupted, but there was no way he was going to show Verstappen any annoyance.

"Well, hello to you too, Max. I was meaning to ask, what is she doing here? Thought you left her."

"Where the fuck is she?" Max asked again, this time his tone showed little to no patience.

Horner narrowed his eyes, if anyone else in this world talked to him like this, God would feel sorry for them. But again, the golden boy could do anything he pleased.

"If I'm not mistaken, she was looking for you. My guess is that she is waiting on your driver room."

The boy left. No thank you, no sorry, just simply vanished like dust.

The fragile door was opened with violence. This time, Max was quicker, not giving you a chance to play your game.

Eventually, after two days of deep contemplation, torture and screaming into his pillow, Max decided that he had enough of your games. Now, both of you were going to play things his way. Or so he thought.

"Why the fuck are you here? What the fuck do you want?"

You were sitting, legs crossed. His presence was dominating, but you didn't break character.

"What happened to good mornings? No one taught you proper manners?"

"Cut the fucking bullshit, Y/N. Why are you doing this?"

You got up, making your way towards him. Not too close and Max thanked God for that, because one more step and he would just break down again, crumble into crushed pieces of a boy. However, standing from a safe distance, his mind was taken by frustration, he wanted answers just as well as he wanted to rip your clothes off and make you pay for the little stunt you pulled two nights ago.

"I want to see you suffer."

You knew he would eventually caught up. It's Max, he is smart. And if anyone would understand the reasonings behind your feelings, it would be him.

So there was no reason to hide your true intentions anymore.

Max nodded, hands on his waist. He expressed some sort of laugh as a substitute for just yelling and screaming. He had done that already.

"How's that going for you?"

"Not nearly as close as the amount of suffering I am hoping for." Max was taken back by the cruelness and coldness in your words. "I want you to regret leaving me 'til the day you are buried six feet under ground. If you suffered ten times of what I did for those past months, still, wouldn't be enough.”

"I don't know how to break this to you, sweetheart. But making me kneel and beg, although I appreciate the effort, it was cute, isn't really close to the pain of getting dumped. You'll have to work harder than that."

Your lips curled into a wide spread smile.

"I know."

Up and close to his eyes, between your delicate fingers, a medium sized black piece of something he had an idea of, but didn't want to believe it was real.

"What is this?"

"You should get going, Maxie, quali is about to begin."

"You removed a piece from my fucking car?! Are you fucking insane?! This is psychotic, Jesus fucking Christ!" His eyes widened, his hands went through his hair in a desperate act. "How the fuck did you even manage to do that?!"

"A lady never tells."

Max thanked the universe when he heard a knock on the door, because God only knows what his next move was going to be, hadn't he been interrupted by GP at that second.

"Buddy, we have 10 minutes, you better come." He looked at the clueless man standing at the door, then back at you, who put on your best innocent smile, hands behind your back like you just didn't do the most devilish, disgraceful thing he has ever seen.

"Yeah, okay, give me two seconds.

As GP closed the door, Max took a step closer to you. He contemplated letting people know, snitching on you, but he held his anger and shoved the burning flames to the back of his throat. He wasn't going to play your game. If you were bad, Max Verstappen was worse.

Max's next move wasn't what you were expecting at all. With the gentleness of a first kiss, he brought his lips to your forehead, like he always did before stepping to his car, however, this time, taking a little bit longer, savouring the feeling of your skin beneath him.

"See you later, Schatje."

You were confused. Angry, even, by his reaction.

And then, when he finally left, you felt it. The shame, the guilt. You knew you went too far, but you were too blind by hatred, and too hungry for seeing him break.

On the other hand, Max walked into his car with the confidence and determination he hadn't felt in a while. It was Red Bull. This was a secure place, there were a innumerous amount of people there watching his fucking car. There was no chance that you, clueless girl, could just walk up there and steal a piece of whatever that thing was. God, you didn't even know how a Formula 1 car worked, how the hell were you supposed to remove an important piece? Max thought, hoped, wished, that you just took something he could manage to work without, and it was what gave him a little bit of relief stepping into the car.

Nonetheless, as quick as the relief came, it was washed away by a thought so much darker, what if you had help?

"Hey, Paul." Max called out for the man to his left.

"The car is good, yeah?"

"You tell me, mate." Paul joked around, not quite understanding the driver's question.

"No, I mean, the car is intact, right? Nothing missing?"

Paul arched an eyebrow.

"Of course, Max, it's all good."

The driver nodded and soon enough left with his car.

Qualifying started. You watched nervously through the screen in the garage. Maybe you crossed the line. On the other hand, you knew Max wasn't stupid, he made sure you knew with that ridiculous kiss. No other man could drive you insane. Two days later you were reading him like your favorite book, now, you couldn't tell a word inside his brain, except for, of course, how badly he was cursing you.

And boy... He was. Every time he made a turn and the car trembled he found a new name to curse you inside his mind. Thank God the FlA couldn't hear thoughts, at least twenty thousand fines were proffered only in the first five minutes.

The car was shit, unsteady. It was honestly scaring Max how unpredictable it was. Never in his entire career he felt so uneasy with a vehicle, not even in his rookie years.

"There is something really wrong with the car."

Max added in a frustrated radio message before firing back to his garage.

The crew was there, waiting for him. He stepped out of the car and let the engineers take a look.

You managed to catch a glimpse of him, even though his face was hiding behind the helmet, you knew he was contorted in desperation. You couldn't believe it. For better or for worse, your plan fucking worked.

The engineers cleared the way and Max tried again, completely incredulous on how you managed to ruin his entire race weekend. There was no way your relationship was going to make it after this. Max didn't even know if he was going to make it after this, he might just shove the car into a wall and die inside of it just to prove a point, watch you suffer with guilt until the end of your life.

By the last lap he was third.

Q2 was a bit better than Q1, that until someone crashed their car. Perfect, not only were you ruining his day, but the universe also decided to collaborate with your evil plan. Maybe you got Max's rivals to be a part of it. Maybe the whole entire team and crew were by your side.

By Q3 Max started to actually considering driving his car to the wall. The breaks weren't working. He couldn't break, at all. You fucking destroyed his breaks. You toyed with his car like it was a lego piece. At the end of that session, taking seventh place, Max stormed out of the car and threw his gloves on the floor. He just wanted to get everything off, his clothes, his helmet, his shoes. He wanted to go back home, to his cats, to his pillow, cry for hours.

Yes, the disaster of a bad qualifying hurt, but it was the heartbreak that got to him. Never in a million years he thought the love of his life would be capable of doing something so cruel and evil.

That wasn't normal. A normal thing would be for you to burn his hoodies or slash the tyres of his Porsche. You manipulated his car, possibly messing with his safety. You weren't the love of his life, you were a full blown psychopath. Which is the reason Max thanked that you weren't in his driver's room when he came back.

That being said, he wasn't so blessed when he opened his hotel room and found you sitting on his bed, wearing the same clothes as you were in the afternoon.

"Are you fucking for real? You have some guts coming into my room thinking that I would actually want to see you. I take everything back, I don't want you! I fucking hate you! I want you gone! I want to never look at your face again! You are the most terrible person I have ever met."

He was shouting, yelling, clenching his teeth and jawline. Stomping around like a maniac while the explosive bursts of verbal thunder left his mouth.

"Max, please, let me explain." You didn't raise your voice, you couldn't, you were wrong here.

"Explain what?! Huh?! How you manipulated my car?! Played around with my safety?! Almost killed me?! God, Y/N, I love you and you do this? This isn't normal, this isn't alright, this isn't something you fix with an explanation. There is no fixing this."

His voice became lower, not because he wasn't angry, he still was outrageous, but now the sadness of a heartbreak were too consuming, surpassing every emotion that was battling inside his mind and heart. There were tears in his eyes and they were the bluest you have ever seen. His lips were pink, trembling. His cheeks and nose were red. You felt an agonizing need to hold him.

"Max, you need to breathe." Poor choice of words, you could see it in his entire face as his eyes became shallow. "I didn't alter your car."

Max was about to lash out again, but he didn't believe his ears. As much as he hated you right now, you caught his attention. He didn't slow down, though, his chest was heavy, he was close to breaking down.

"Come again?"

"I didn't take any piece from your car!"

He could see you were crying now and he could swear you seemed honest, like a child trying to prove to their parents that they weren't the one in the wrong.

"Yes, you fucking did, you showed me! Do you seriously think I am going to believe your bullshit right now?"

"No, I didn't, this isn't anything! It's just a stupid piece of plastic!"

In a desperate attempt you held the black piece close to his face.

His vision was blurry, by tears, by confusion and hatred. He caught the piece and analyzed every corner of it. It didn't seem legit, it seemed, like you said, just a piece of plastic.

"What the actual-"

"-I just wanted you to believe I did. I wanted to scare you. I wanted to make you doubt yourself. I would never do anything that would actually put you in danger, Max, I love you. I wanted to prove a point." He couldn't believe it. In fact, he thought he was hallucinating the whole weekend and this was all a twisted nightmare, "Yes, it was selfish, I am wrong, I crossed the line. But I thought you were going to catch up to it. I didn't believe it was going to work, you are you, Max"

Now, add skepticism to the list of emotions inside his gut.

"But the fucking car was shit! The breaks weren't working! I couldn't drive that thing at all!"

"That has nothing to do with me."

Max couldn't tell if he was relieved by the fact that you didn't try to kill and you still loved him, or felt betrayed by how you manipulated his reality to the point he drove like shit just because he believed something was wrong with the car. Or maybe Red Bull just fucking sucks. Both later options were not respectful outcomes to him.

"Please, say something. I am so sorry, Max! I regret it. I should have never done it, I know. I am so sorry. I understand if you never want to see me again and, God, I'll even move from Monaco if that's what you like. I'll disappear, completely."

Your words hit him. He thought about them for a split second. The thought of you leaving his life, to him, was death. Sure, what you did was not okay, he was heartbroken, it would take time to heal. However, the more he thought about it, the more willing he was to try. If you were able to give him a second chance, he should give you the benefit of the doubt. You were taken by passion, by heartache and overwhelming sadness, Max wasn't a stranger to strong bursts of emotions and impulsiveness, which is why, deep down, he understood why you did what you did. Maybe, if he was in your shoes, he would've done worse.

"We are too old for shit like this, Y/N."

You could feel he was a bit more relaxed, which is why you felt an openness to just hold him. You didn't care if he wasn't going to hold you back, you just wanted to show him how much you regret your childish ploy.

"I know, baby, I am so sorry, I love you."

Fair enough, Max didn't hold you back. Instead, he pushed you away, another idea forming in the back of his twisted, unserious mind.

"You're going to work a little bit harder than this, sweetheart, if you want my forgiveness."

In his eyes, you could see there was still anger painted in the black of his pupils, but mixed with the gleam of his almost dried tears, you noticed a different kind of sparkle, one he saw in your eyes two nights ago.

"Do you want me to kneel and beg?"

Max took a step back.

"I want you to kneel, but I think your mouth can do better things than begging."

There was a feeling of delirium happening in the back of your mind, that carefully traveled through your veins as if you had take the most powerful drug available in the market. In just a matter of seconds you were down on your knees, hands playing with the hem of Max's shorts. You looked up, as if asking for permission to take them off. To Max, that was a vision out of the walls of the louvre, you, down, eyes sparkling with sultry glamour, mouth watering.

With an attentive movement, you pulled down his shorts, leaving a trail of kisses on the inside of his thigh, making sure you were scratching every inch of his skin, treating him as if he was the cure to all your worries and troubles. He might as well be.

"Get to it, my love, no teasing."

"Where's the fun in that?" You asked with a tint of playfulness in your voice.

"You're not really in a position to have fun. You either put those pretty lips to use or I will leave you here with nothing."

"Well, since you asked so politely."

You completely removed his boxers, facing his cock. Your mouth watered. You made sure you spread enough saliva around, licking every inch of him, paying extra attention to his sensitive spots you were well familiar with, before taking him with gluttony, tasting every bit he was giving.

Your hands were everywhere, scratching his thighs, caressing his balls, while you moved your head, feeling him in the back of your throat, around your lips.

Max was in pure bliss, his organs were electrified.

He swore you got better since the break up. Or maybe it was the absence that made it much more intimate, filthy, delicious.

"Jesus, Schatje, you're so dirty." He ran his fingers through your hair until he decided to guide your movements with his hands, slowly, making sure the pace was comfortable for both of you. "You look so pretty when you're doing what I want."

He went a bit further and you gagged in response, moaning right after. The vibrations coming from your throat sent Max into a frenzy. You swirled your tongue around his head, looking up through your eyelashes, exactly the way he liked. You loved giving Max blowjobs, it was as pleasurable for you as for him and he could tell, and there was nothing hotter to Max than seeing you get aroused by giving him pleasure.

Each time his cock hit your throat, he could feel he was getting closer.

"Don't stop, keep sucking me off, keep going." You just obeyed, feeling yourself get hotter by the second, you knew your panties were gone by now, yet you still craved more. You needed to taste him more, you needed to take back the time you missed. "Fuck-Y/N, fucking hell. Just like that.

You're so good."

The praise was everything, because you didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve him. Yet, here he was, giving you all of him, all of his time and body, the best parts.

One more deeper thrust and you gagged again, the reaction made you squeeze his thighs. Max shut his eyes tight, groaning and moaning a bit too loud, but he couldn't control himself, not when you were on his knees, taking him so well, doing your job like a freaking pornstar.

"Shit, I'm gonna cum." The liquid was everywhere inside your throat. He made sure he finished before removing his cock from inside your mouth, drops of drool spilling on the floor. "You better swallow every drop or we'll do it all over again."

You did as he asked, you wouldn't dare do it otherwise. You stood up, looking right into his eyes as you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out.

"Good fucking slut."

In a sinful act, Max spat in your tongue, holding your hair tightly in a knot between his palm. The move was so dirty, so filthy, you could come just by relieving the scene alone.

With desperate hands, you started to remove your top and then proceeded to his shirt. Meanwhile, Max was practically ripping out your skirt, abruptly removing every piece of fabric that dared touch your skin.

His kiss was demanding, hard, rough, thrilling.

There was a primal instinct awaken inside you, one that wanted to be with him and serve him for the rest of your life. One that could live in beds with him until you grow old.

Max pushed you to the bed, body towering yours.

Your hands desperately tried to grab his neck, his back, bring him closer, if it was any possible. You felt his hand sliding slowly between your thighs, until he reached your folds. He made sure to spread the wetness around, making a mess on your inner thighs and hip bones.

"Max, please." You pleated, voice cracking, there was no way you could form coherent sentences, your mind was hazy, no other thought inside your head except Max Verstappen and his hands.

"Look at you." His voice was dark, husky. "So wet just from sucking me off. Do you want more?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah? Then ask for it, use your words."

That man had you in the palm of his hands. If he asked you to go to war for him, at that moment, in your situation, you would.

"Please, Max, please." Your vocals were stuck down your throat, you were struggling to speak, the sensations of his hands rubbing your clit ever so slightly you could barely say they were in there was just too overwhelming.

"Pathetic, try again." He placed a kiss on your collarbone, then on the curve of your neck. His lips were wet and hot, a little bit swollen from the roughness of your kisses.

"Max, fuck me, please, stuff me, use me, do Whatever you want."

Max stopped every touch. Looked deep inside your eyes with a smirk on his lips that you just wanted to slap it off, or kiss it off, whichever one your reflexes allowed.

He scrunched his nose and giggle, it was a way of mocking you, you knew that. You knew you sounded pathetic, you didn't care. The humiliation was not crossing your mind, nothing to worry about, it wasn't worth it. He was. Max was worth it.

"Stupid little thing, trying to pull stunts on me, then begging me to use you like you were some sort of cheap whore."

You moaned in response, lifting your hips to meet his. In a firm movement, Max held your hips down with his right leg, applying pressure on your lower belly, making it unable for you to move.

"Stop lifting your hips like a goddamn whore, you're going to take whatever I decide to give you."

He wasn't treating you kindly, you knew there was still resentment somewhere inside him. Sure, there was. Max knew it too. At that moment he was using you, taking his frustration out. But it wasn't like you haven't done the same, only your way of torturing him was a bit less fun than his.

You felt yourself sinking into Max's cock, involuntarily you sunk your nails on his back, trying to fight back the scorching sensation filling you up, making you whole. Max's rhythm was slow, painfully slow, which was unlike him, he never fucked you like this, always fast, slamming, pounding. This was even more overwhelming than his usual desperation and roughness, because it wasn't hurting but it felt like you simply couldn't take it, the lack of pace was driving you insane.

Max knew it, it was taking every single tear of strength left in his tired body to keep it slow, because you felt too good, too perfect wrapped around him. He missed your feeling, he missed your whimpers and cries.

"You feel so good, Schatje, like you were made only for my cock. Nothing more. Too useless to anything else, couldn't even figure out how to take a piece out of my car." He laughed, replaying the scene back in his memory. "Stupid little thing."

You cried out because you felt that he, without thinking, went a little bit harder when remembering what happened. If you wanted him to give you what you needed, you would have to push him only a little bit. You lost the war, you know you did, but there were still some battles left.

"Come on, Max. Slow on tracks, slow in bed. You used to be better than this. What are you trying to do? Fuck me to sleep?"

He looked down on you, with contempt. How dare you talk to him this way? But it was a good try, he was close to snapping, making you regret the whole week, going too hard until you couldn't remember why you were on this earth for.

You were scared of his eyes, how dark they were, but your stomach flipped with the thrill of waiting for his next move.

"Oh, she can talk!" His voice was drenched in disdain. "Let's fix this."

Not even stopping, Max parted your lips only to shove the lace fabric of your panties into your mouth. Fucking bastard. You protested, but now even you had to admit the sounds coming from you were a joke.

"Much better."

Then, in a sudden, fierce movement, he flipped you. Stomach down the mattress, face pressed against the egyptian sheets, a luxury that only Bahrain could provide. Max's left hand was pressing your head further down as he started to pick up the pace, slamming hard and faster. He was, in fact, using you as a personal fucktoy, but you didn't mind it, the feeling was too good.

You felt euphoric, your blood was buzzing. You tried to hold the sheets, grab something, but there was no way for you to control your body. The sounds coming from your mouth were involuntary, so were the one's coming from Max.

It was too much for him, he knew he wouldn't last longer. He never used you like this before, it made him feel like a god. No amount of championship wins would come close to the feeling of being buried deep down inside you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck- Look at what you made me do, fucking slut." You could feel the tears coming down. Good tears. The hot kind. "Are you going to cry on me now?"

You saw one of his hands coming to your mouth, removing the fabric and tossing far away to the other side of the room.

"Yes, Max, oh God, fuck."

He groaned, the wet noises were feeling the room.

The familiar sensation of fire pooling low in your abdomen started to show up. If he asked you to hold on, God forgive you, there was no way in hell.

You heard him moan a mixture of curse words and your name, but your senses were coming blurry, as if you were about to pass out.

"Max, 'm gonna cum."

"Gonna cum inside you, baby."

He pressed down, letting his weight fall on top of you, that's when you felt the tightness around your organs being released. The sounds coming from you were too much for Max to hold on any longer, not even seconds later he was breaking down. It was animalistic, filthy, pornographic, even.

He never took it out, he stayed inside of you for minutes after he was done. You were too sensitive to take any movement. That experience was whatever religious people were trying to reach with their existence. Who needed faith when you had Max Verstappen as a lover?

You barely noticed that his weight left the top of your naked body, only flipping back around when you saw him coming from the bathroom with a towel. He sat down next to you, breathing slowly, gently rubbing the fabric between your thighs.

"Are you okay?" You nodded, thinking you blacked out for a second. "Do you want a glass of water?"

"I just want you to lay down here."

He did as you asked, letting you wrap yourself around him. You could tell there were no bad feelings around, everything vanished into thin air.

It was just you and Max, same as ever.

"Do you forgive me, Max?"

He placed a long lasting kiss in your right temple.

"Is it bad if I said you should pull stuff like this more often just so that we could repeat this?"

You giggled, fingers tracing drawings on his stomach.

"I think we can figure another game that won't risk our relationship burning to ashes if something goes wrong."

"Fair enough." You felt him adjust his body. "And, yes, I do forgive you."

You needed the reassurance, Max knew that. He knew you. You were a melody from his favorite childhood song, one that he listened to it and it never left his mind.

There was no letting you go. It would always be complex and easy at the same time. But any complication was worth it if it meant you would never leave his side.

[devine-fem]

Can we please talk about this more?

Calm down omg…

His face 😭

Look at how sad he is… I only headcanon that he couldn’t hear his heartbeat because why else would he freak/not be able to find him in general. It still probably scares him that even though a heartbeat is constant, a lot of things could get in the way of Jon hearing a heartbeat either way Legion Jon was a whole different breed, Legion Jon would do anything for Damian.

But don’t worry, he talked to him.

LOOK AT HIS FAAACE!! Why were they in their divorce era?? 😭😭 He probably feels so stupid for being all dramatic over Damian now. Also, when Dami calls him Jonathan >>>😭😭 It’s so incredibly special to me, I don’t know what it is.

[canine-economy]

does anyone still freak with the legion in 2025. because I've been losing on their side for six years (iykyk what it was like to be a legion fan when they first released) and I have not moved on so here's some little hcs and how I currently envision/draw them all this time later :] they're like the only thing I can sit and draw these days.

&& longer-form talk abt my design choices under the cut!

julie's comic design is so perfect to me that I was sold as soon as it released. not much to change there. funnily enough, i could never picture her as a blonde until it released, even though we knew from her tome cosmetic well before the comics came out. i think frank's comic design has a strong vibe going for it but I wanted to blend it with some skeet ulrich in scream and pay homage to my original interpretations. I just like the lighter hair on him. joey's comic design is also perfect to me! I'm just so used to the beard and face paint from his fog/model design that I gave him a bit of a shadow to call back to it. susie's canon blue eyes make a return (I used to draw her w dark eyes!). color contacts will not reach her in the Entity's realm mark my words.

i'm aware everyone in the Fog was retroactively confirmed to be 18+ but there's something really miserable and important to me abt the legion being eternally trapped in their teenage friend group with their teenage angst and having that be warped and manipulated forever and ever. that crap already feels like the whole world when you're that age, and now you're a murderer in spider hell. rough! i keep them teens in my iteration but with zero intent of being weird abt it. so like. don't be weird abt the legion around me. they're like my strange kids.