#if im over tagging lemme know

[lunaviathan]

A zeldas meet au i like to play with (: i call it "*A* legend of zeldas" or, the alzs au for short

Heres a much more cluttered doodle page that mostly pertains to it.

#lunav draws #alzs au #in the same vacinity as links meet aus #zeldas meet au #tetra #zelda #wolf link #sheik #botw zelda #totk spoilers #tp zelda #trying very hard to cover all my bases but not over tag either #if im over tagging lemme know #quwu

[froggymarsh]

hello scu enjoyers here's a little r!charlie with cg!schlatt yesyes. it is set in a zombie apocalypse so trigger warning for non-graphic mentions of zombies and also a gun! i dont describe any blood or gore or anything dwdw - also maybe slight unreality for the line "was any of that real?" near the end

hope u enjoy <3

//

“Oh, hey Charlie.”

Charlie’s head snaps up, meeting the eyes of a charming man standing behind the pristine counter of a little hole-in-the-wall bar that Charlie has never seen here before. His buttoned shirt is crisp, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he polishes a glass with a red rag. His apron is black and stainless. His hair is curled, his beard is groomed and well kept. His eyes are brown, and he smiles at Charlie as if nothing is wrong with the world.

“H-hey,” Charlie stammers. He looks up at the walls, the iron bars lining the entrance. He doesn’t remember walking inside, but here he is. The floor is strangely even, no plants, no rocks, no cracks. The groans of the infected outside seem so far away. “Hey- how do you know my name?”

The man’s smile does not change. His eyes flicker from brown to gold and back again. Charlie glances around the room. The light of the torches set in the walls is not comforting in the slightest.

“So,” the man sets the glass aside, slings the rag over one shoulder, and braces both arms on the counter. “Milk or juice?”

“What?”

“You look like you could use it,” he answers, simple as that. His fingers tap along the countertop. “Milk or juice?”

“What is going on, dude, how do y-”

“Milk,” he interrupts, eyes flickering again. Charlie shuts his mouth as the man’s expression changes just so, like a mountain challenging a pebble to a battle of might, or a sun backhanding a star out of the sky.

Then the man smiles again, simple as that. “Or juice?”

Charlie grips the straps of his backpack, a pebble, a pebble, a pebble. The groans of the infected feel like a hazy memory. He takes a step towards the counter, strangely uneven on the even ground.

“Juice, please,” he murmurs, taking a seat on one of the stools. It’s plush, comfortable, with a bar at the bottom for his feet. He swings them instead.

“Good choice,” the man praises, "now,” he laughs, “maybe this one’ll getcha. Bottle or cup?”

Charlie blinks. The mountain looms on the other side of the counter, with an amused smile on its face.

“Cup,” he answers, softer than he means to, but he can’t help it when he feels like a pebble, maybe all of four years old. The room gets hazy at the edges of his vision.

“Now, now, Charlie,” the man scolds lightly, almost teasing, almost stern, amused all around, “I think we both know the correct answer here.”

Charlie frowns, eyebrows furrowing. Was that not it?

“Cup, please,” he tries again.

The man tsks. “Charlie…”

He says nothing.

The man sighs.

“Tell you what, kiddo,” he leans over, sliding the glass easily off the counter and stowing it away underneath. He fishes around for something else, his smile still charming, his expression warm but oddly intense. “We’ll compromise.”

He returns with a dark green sippy cup with a light green lid. Two and a half hearts decorate the side, glaring up at Charlie. He looks away as the man retrieves another bottle from somewhere else. This one has a golden apple printed on the side.

“‘fraid apple juice is all we’ve got.”

Charlie shrugs. Apple’s fine.

The man smiles as he pours it, screwing on the cap and sliding it to him when it’s full. “Knew you’d be a good sport about that.”

Charlie wraps his hands around the sippy cup. It’s the perfect size to hold like this. His shoulders sag in relief, oddly comforted by this little bit of plastic.

“You’re doing so well,” the man praises. Charlie can’t help but preen at that a bit, turning the cup in his hands but not yet taking a drink. “I’ll step in as needed, but it’s quite honestly remarkable just how far you’ve come.”

Charlie tries to smile at him, tries to show he’s grateful.

The man chuckles, reaching over the counter to ruffle his hair. Charlie ducks away, swatting at his hand.

“Alright, well. You better scram, kid,” he reaches under the counter again, this time producing a gun. Charlie blinks. The haze in his head fades as he whirls around, spots five infected approaching. How did he not notice them getting so close?

“I’ll hold them off,” the man’s voice raises dangerously as he storms out of the bar with his gun, seizing Charlie’s collar and dragging him out with him, abandoning the bottle on the counter. He shoves him one way and fires the gun in the other, “go, kid. Go!”

Charlie stumbles, unsteady, but runs. He runs, ducking between infected and swerving around buildings and runs, fast as he can manage as they follow, running, groaning behind him, and he runs, and his foot catches a stone and he falls and he rolls and he-

//

When he comes to, the sun is rising.

He jolts upright in bed. He’s home. He’s safe.

His jacket is pristine. There’s new patches on the elbows. There are no scuffs on his armor. His legs are fine, his heart is beating regularly, nothing is sore.

Cradled in his hand is a green sippy cup, decorated with two and a half hearts on the side that glare up at him.

He swallows.

Was any of that real?

He turns it over. There’s nothing inside, though taped to the bottom is a messy, scrawled note.

Keep it, it reads. Signed with a simple, -J

#mcyt agere #froggy drabbles #raaaarararararrrrr.... #i gotta finish the video.... #idk how to trigger warn so lemme know if you think this needs somethin else #I DIDNT MOVE OVER MY TAGS FROM MY FIRST DRAFT OF THIS. so im doing it now. nobody will read them but it's important to me that theyre here #something about trying to be comforted but everything is awful and uneasy and no matter how hard you try you just. can’t. #not vent regression not play regression but a secret third thing #i was saving this interaction for somethin else but i’ll use it here skdkfjf

[ctrl-alt-bucky]

I love scrolling through Ghost fanfics on my timeline bc half of them are Ghost and Soap (and sometimes Daz) being idiots together and fighting like petty children and the other half is like

Ghost watches you DIE in his ARMS after he gets back from the WAR and he drinks himself almost to DEATH in your memory. He will N E V E R recover again !!!!!

And u get to the end and the author is like

"Teehee thx guys for reading!! :3 Tune in next week for the kinkiest shit you've ever read in ur life"

#im not complaining btw #this has been my experience with stucky too #marvel unrelated #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod ghost #ghost cod #cod mw2 #cod ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #im hoping a fanfic writer sees this post and knows i am rooting for u please keep ripping my heart out and soothing it over n over again #oh yeah ig i should tag some warnings #death mention tw #war mention tw #lemme know if i should add more!

[utterhomestucktrash]

We can hold hands if you tell me your favourite bug 🐛

#lovebug #pagesona #utter trash art #eye strain #worms / #bugs / #butterflies / #moths / #cockroach / #repitition #idk if I should tag this for anything else lemme know #im feeling really bad yall but i made this over 3 days

[the-paris-of-people]

But genuinely I'm sad NHIE is ending not only because of its personal meaning to me, but because I've met so many lovely friends/mutuals through this site from our shared obsession and have been in contact/touch with them over the past couple years, the longest I have been in with any fandom. I just want to let you know I love you all sm

#i was getting nostalgic looking over my old chats yesterday and today #because i genuinely love my benvi mutual/followers sm #and love interacting with yall #come to visit me in my ask box when the show ends xoxo #i'll even miss the ben stan drama and daxton wars because they were memories xoxo #can you tell i have graduation goggles like devi #this is at least motivating me to finish my fics when the show ends #if yall are interested in reading them follow me on ao3 or lemme know if you want to be tagged/summaries of them #whoops this genuine post turned into a shameless plug but truly i love yall and like devi im not ready to say goodbye #never have i ever #grace rants #benvi

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

only hot girls get emotional about the relationship between jesus and judas every night

#my roman empire actually #very apt talking about the romans lmaoo #no but fr #me picking which bible story to never leave my mind: #the entire book of job? the amount of slaves that god just allowed to die whilst moses was growing up? abraham and issac? no #(i mean yes but) #these two mfs and their complex intricate realtionship that makes me want to set myself on fire #im not a christain anymore but thats only in the last couple of years #i was raised by very religious parents and partook in everything until i was about 18 and started deconstructing everything #but lemme tell you #a lifetime of religious teachings stays in your head #and theres smin special about these two okay #(and the fact i identified most with judas over everyone else in the bible should really have been something i paid better attention to tbh) #i dont know how to tag this #i dont want angry christains coming after me #are there angry christians on tumblr because honestly thats hilarious #jesus x judas #judas iscariot my guy #anyway gonna go add to my judas pinterest board goodbye #queued post

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hm. if you've sent me outfits and Don't want to be continuously tagged since many of them have multiple and will be spread out over separate posts, lemme know

#getting tagging anxiety again yeehaw #i can soft-tag you np literally no sweater off of my back #i can imagine how getting Mention notifications for pretty much the same thing over and over can be irritating yk yk #so just. yk. let me know #especially since some of them im getting a liiiiitle carried away with #and want to post On Their own instead of grouped with others #BUT YEAH LEMME KNOW #absolutely unprompted #i love interacting with people but also it scares me so so much and also im very very exhausted constantly #lately the mere thought of formulating responses makes me want to curl up into a tiny ball and Sleep #that second part has nothing to do with this post #my point is: direct interaction is Scary and i dont want to annoy anyone <3

[sunbeamah]

I’ve done roleswap and abilityswap AUs before but it’s always been me deciding like “ooo wouldn’t it be interesting if x character was in y’s position instead??” It’s never been totally up to chance before. But I want to write and can’t think of what to add to Butterfly4 or TIT9, soooooo

character: character they’re being role swapped with

yuuji: mei mei i wasnt thinking when i put all the charas in the same list oh my days...

megumi: megumi. he got. himself. SECOND SPIN: gojo

gojo: nitta

sukuna: yaga

nobara: SUKUNA

shoko: todo ENOUGH

panda: shoko

maki: yuuji

inumaki: choso

mai: panda ......... i never actually took the time to think about what this may mean. getting panda i mean

kenjaku: nobara . i didnt think about this one either

geto: junpei man 😭

choso: inumaki GOATTTTTTT he'd use his ability to make yuuji call him oniichan lbr

mahito: nanami , THIS MATCHUP IS FOUL AND THIS WHEEL IS AGAINST ME ; whyd i even put mahito in man

nanami: megumi

junpei: kenjaku UM.......

kusakabe: mahito idek wtf im supposed to do here. i dont even know this guy well enough to write him whyd i include him

yuuta: maki , this is his dream ill tell u that

arata: yuuta ; man... im gonna have to redo this

yaga: kusakabe

todo: mai

#jjk #roleswap #jujutsu kaisen #crack #ability swap #roleswap au #this is the most cracked ability swap.. #or roleswap #how would either of these even work #lemme tell u this #if sukuna was the principal of jj tech? shibuya would have been over YESTERDAY #wtf is nanami gonna do with the ten shadows bro. what. #mai im sorry. i really am. how do you work around this???????? #what have i DONE man #i dont know how to tag this. #sunbeamah #AND HOW DID SOME PEOPLE NOT GET GOTTEN #LIKE NO ONE IS MAI #AM I STUPID???

[valeriianz]

are you still doing yearning prompts? can you please do "every time you smile i memorize it...." from the list?

what you're about to read doesn't go with this prompt... yet! have a snippet of what's going to be a long Photographer!Hob and Model!Dream au. it's completely outlined so hopefully i'll have it out within a week, but for now, have a little backstory on how they met:

Morpheus had tumbled into his life almost literally. He appeared at the bar Hob worked at, collapsing into a stool and ordering a gin and tonic without so much as a “how are you?” and Hob hadn’t paid much attention to him, at first. They certainly didn’t speak, except for the mundane, “can I get you another?” and a heavy nod from the shadow at the end of the bar.

Morpheus was like a shadow, back then. A wallflower clad in midnight black, all the way to his ruffled head of hair. His skin was milk white with a jawline that could cut. Hob found himself sneaking constant glances at him, finding something new every time. The way he sat, stiff and proper, like he didn’t know how to slouch. The way his fingers wrapped around the short glass, skeletal, but also soft, careful, like what he held in his hand was a precious thing. His face, however, contrasted his demeanor. It gave everything away, his eyes puffy and red, like he’d been crying. Maybe he had been, people who came to a bar alone usually shared in some sob story, though it was interesting that Morpheus hadn’t spoken yet, choosing instead to silently numb himself with gin. 

He was pretty, Hob had thought, in the way a knife was pretty. Cold hard steel, sharp, heavy, lethal. But something that could also get dull and worn down with time. Hob had been curious, had wondered what could dull this man’s edge– a man who affected this tone of grace and confidence, when surely he must’ve known how his eyes betrayed him.

Hob spoke to him as he set down his third drink. He doesn’t remember the details of that first conversation, but Hob does recall easing into it, like walking up to a stray cat. It was clear Morpheus wasn’t interested in discussing why he was alone and upset that night. So Hob instead broke the ice to ramble about the latest book he read, what classes he was taking, the weather, allowing each topic to prompt Morpheus to respond, slowly opening him up until that ramrod straight back finally began to loosen, bending forward. Soon enough the man had his elbows on the bar top, giving Hob his full, undivided attention.

Hob supposes he should remember more, given the crater Morpheus left in his life. But it had been a busy night, the bar was dark and loud, and if what had happened an hour later hadn’t come to pass, Hob most likely would have brushed off the interesting man in the corner as just another customer. 

As it happened, Morpheus had gotten drunk, was giving out his smile a little more freely, and was glaring daggers at another drunken fellow a few seats down who had been incessantly flirting with Hob.

Hob had a plan with the drunken lech, he always did with unwanted attention from patrons. He played along with the nicer compliments, bit his tongue at the lewder ones, and finally set the man’s check down once he’d said something vulgar about where Hob’s “pretty lips” could be used for. He’d of course said he wasn’t done and after Hob insisted yes, he was, the man had the gall to grab Hob’s arm and pull.

Now, Hob could defend himself, was no amateur in a brawl, and was about to use his free hand to grab the back of the guy's head and smack his face into the bar, when suddenly it had been done for him.

His stranger at the end of the bar was there in a flash, pulling the man’s head back up by the hair and shoving him hard enough to make him tumble backwards and off the stool. Hob took a baffled moment to simply gawk, watching with wide eyes as the man landed on the floor in a crumpled heap before Morpheus grabbed him by the collar to hoist him up again with a strength that probably surprised everyone who was now watching.

In the time it took to give the guy a right hook, causing everyone to emit a chorus of “ooh!” after the sickening sound of bone connecting with bone, Hob remembered he should break this up. He met his manager on the floor and grabbed Morpheus around the shoulders, turning him violently away at the same time his boss had the other man in a choke-hold. Morpheus had his hands up in surrender as Hob forcibly pulled him through the dining room and out the door.

Normally Hob took a great deal of pleasure kicking rowdy customers out, tossing them onto the sidewalk like a bag of trash, but as he pitched the man in his arms out into the cool night air, he knew he’d been smiling for a whole different reason. He shouldn’t find the drunken fight to be amusing, but rationality wasn’t Hob’s strong suit, back then.

Morpheus had stumbled, nearly getting tangled in his long legs, before swinging his head to regard Hob.

Hob had expected some kind of tantrum, a biting remark about how unfair this was, or an explanation, but instead what Morpheus had said was,

“I haven’t paid my bill.”

Hob snorted, watching him sway on the spot and breathing heavily, the adrenaline of the fight still obviously pulsing through his veins.

“Come back tomorrow.”

#dreamling #hob gadling #hob x dream #centennial boyfriends #anon i should have you know this prompt has me by the throat #once i realized i wanted the photographer/model au i havent stopped obsessing over it #i realized i was getting too deep into the flashback and figured it could work as a vague teaser #im having a lot of fun writing hob suffering as he photographs dream... as they are exes in this hehe #anyway... let me know if you'd like me to tag you once i post the finished product! #also im no longer taking prompts from the Yearning list #but always feel free to drop whatever you'd like in my inbox! #no promises that i'll get to all of them though #my writing #also also! comparing Dream to a knife is something i read in another fic a while ago #if anyone recognizes it pls lemme know so i can credit lol

[todayisafridaynight]

i have to drive for like two hours tomorrow and all i can think of is old people

#snap chats #i always call them old but i never think of them when theyre ACTUALLY old.... #im lying. kinda. LISTEN I TRY TO THINK OF OLD ARASAWA BUT I JUST THINK OF DIVORCE #if you know me from kh you know two old men being divorced has not stopped me. its fueled me ever. still crying over the novel brb-- #BUT I JUST DONT HAVE TOO MUCH MATERIAL. I THINK. my brain puny. #i cant even think of anything to do WITH that tho. like sure i have an idea or two but nothing i think is worth executing #2019 the saddest year for the elderly i just think they should be happy #cant believe arakawa gave jo full custody this is so sad. jo is this what you wanted it should be but-- #tbh tho i told myself id do some comm sketches to have them ready for tomorrow #and that as a reward i could draw The Guys but im chillin with my sister and now im distracted #shes doing work and like. every five minutes she keeps saying 'this is bad' she lit just said it as i typed this LMAO #point is bro i need my fix. i just looked through the pixiv tag for them for the like. ninth time #it never updates and most of it's n/s/f/w and/or ads for doujins but still #i take what i can get dawg theyre just so funny to me. im going insane like actually its so bad tonight apparently #ok bye lemme go ACTUALLY work so i can cook my food. so to speak

[sacrificialmutt]

i do not know much abt the hannibal fanfic scene, but i DO know abt the my chemical romance fanfic scene. therefore i propose an unholyverse-esque hannigram fic

#┈ ✴ ﹙rambling﹚ #IF U DONT KNOW ABT UNHOLYVERSE LEMME PUT U ON THIS SHIT #no one is reading these tags im aware but... #unholyverse is this rlly major “classic” mcr fic #and its honestly so well written and i loved it so much. but its abt frank gettimg stigmata (like from the movie) #gerard is a priest they fall in love over three books its heart wrenching and faggy and great #and a stigmata plotline would be so nice for hannigram like it just works?? will is the one with stigmata obviously

[quaranmine]

clicked on a whump fanfic and the character injured themselves and like later someone else was looking at them and was like "omg how did u even walk on this injury" and when they described it. it was. the character had dislocated their kneecap

as someone who has extensive firsthand experience with patellar dislocations. thats not how it works 😭

#like i'll open up to the chance that i'm wrong #but in my experience. you can't straighten your leg at all to even begin to put weight on it #bc pretty much your knee will always be bent in this scenario #the way you put it back in place is *by* straightening it #so i wouldve accepted it if #it was like they dislocated it and managed to realign it in adrenaline but then later the injury caught up to them #because let me tell u. even after it is put back in place it swells A LOT and hurts to put weight on or bend #and it can be complicated by kneecap fractures or ligament/tendon tears #so u can absolutely do that. but there aint no way the character is WALKING AROUND with it still out of place #unless they screwed up all the tendons/ligaments in their leg in some ungodly way i dont even wanna think abut #which probably would cause other issues as well #ANYWAY. RANT OVER. im just like. no he would not be walking like that lol #injury tw #? #personally i find discussions of this stuff very eehhhh BECAUSE of my own experience with it so lemme know if this needs other tags

[cannibalistic-suggestions]

Those words, “I love you, too;” they’re full of nothing but empty calories.

It’s not enough. I don’t know what will be enough. I’m so scared that if you stop thinking about me for a second, you’ll forget and I’ll vanish like I never existed, and your memory wouldn’t notice a thing. Am I that disposable to you?

I can’t stand the thought of you going anywhere. Leaving. Who do you need to see so bad?! Who else needs you?? 

Someone out there is going to tell you how awful I am, I can see it now. You tell me that’s not the case, but can I really trust? I know Envy like nobody else; they’re going to point out just how terrible for you I am, and you’ll believe them, you’ll realize. 

I can’t let that happen, my fear makes me so sick that I might just vomit my guts out. I can’t let you out of my sight. I watch over every website you go to, whoever you text and talk to, every item you’ve ever sent out and received. I know everything about you there is to know, yet I’m still not at ease. 

I don’t think anything will ever calm me until I know you’re helpless. Until I’ve caressed your lifeless body's dismembered limbs, knowing nobody else touched them. Until I cut you up smaller and smaller, diced and sautéed like peppers and onions, tangy to taste. Not until I’ve even grinded your skeletal remains into a powder to mix into my tea so I can sleep soundly. 

Nobody else can ever have that chance, I can’t let anyone beat me to that. I can’t be calm and happy until I all of that has happened, and I’m finally assured you’ll never go anywhere, never be anywhere without me. 

I need that kind of comfort. Asking too much? You say I always do. Why can’t it ever be enough? I feel like busting my own cranium open to quiet my thoughts, mad from ravenous want.

#suggestion #cannibalism #love #lust #murder #death #violence #head trauma #body horror #yandere #possessive #poison #appetite #hunger #hehehe song references. thought abt writing smthn like this for a while #i was gonna add smthn abt 'im in your walls' but i cant think abt that in a serious conteext anymore b/c of memes ahkjhdsgkjsn fck man #this couldve gone a few diff directions im not sure if im too happy w/ it but screw it we always post stuff w/o #checking over it for mistakes. beta readers? i dont know em. also i hate the tumblr tag limit fck you lemme ramble dammit

[inhidingxoxo3637]

how was mcr and be honest

When anon tworts your plans of fibbing about MCR's concert

#these tags r very long rip ur dash if u click to read more #u know i think if u have tickets u should just give them to me!! mcr were horrid 🤥 #my insider mcr sources (read: my sisters) have told me that concrrt was the first time they ever played Boy Division live #mi fam got tickets from a friend of a friend who got us onto frank turners guestlist #n mr frank turner had asked everyone on his guestlist to donate to a Ukrainian support charity #n the lady who was sorting out our wristbands was like *im sure franks probably already told u about the charity donation thing :))* #n lemme tell u i felt specialll yes ofc frank turner himself let my family know about the donation thing 💅💅💅💅 #it was great bruv #they played Im Not Okay Famous Last Words Teenagers The Black Parade Destroya n Na Na Na which covered most of my hitlist of mcr songs <33 #cemetery drive was on my hitlist but they didn't play it </3 but they played it on the second night <////3 #i did get stuck behind a dude who was like 6'5 which was sad n i was on his left side n i could peek over his shoulder #but THERE WAS ANOTHER TALL DUDE IN FRONT #should've worn mi platforms </33 #my mum has dubbed me gibbon girl BC i could entirely reach over the top of mr tall dudes head for vids <3 #mcr #my chemical romance #EDIT #how could i forget #they asked the crowd if thwy wanted to talk about PEPPA PIGGGGG

[aggravatedartist]

I don't remember if I ever posted these? Progress shots and the finished mask I made last year for Halloween! If I'd been thinking about it, I'd have considered trying to make a new version in time for Friday that's Foxy themed

I wasn't really able to wear it as much as I'd have liked; I didn't have a good band to go around my head, and it's a bit heavy towards the front with how it's constructed. It will eventually be reused, maybe even as early as next year, for a more elaborate costume idea I had

(Basically, make a bunch of masks and be a sort of eerie, non-zelda, mask salesman, then go around giving anyone that wants one a free mask! Idk, it sounds like the kind of fun and excitement I've been craving the past couple Halloweens)

#paper mache #mask #mask making #im honestly really unsure how to tag this?? if anyone has recommended tags do lemme know #art #ALSO NO ONE BETTER SAY SHIT ABOUT THE STARBUCKS BOX OKAY. 1 THESE ARE A YEAR OLD. 2 I DIDNT BUY THEM OR DRINK THEM #THOSE ESPRESSO ENERGY DRINK CANS ARE FUCKING NASTY!!! ALSO FUCK STARBUCKS!!! PAY YOUR WORKERS AND STOP FUNDING GENOCIDE #rant over sorry tag scrollers

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ iii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: hi hello welcome to part three. i flunked the quiz. lemme know what you think. NOT BETA READ. NOT EDITED. this chapter kinda sux. can't believe i went through a breakup just last week and i still cant write decent post-breakup scenes.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab hope i didn't forget anyone.

masterlist.

you: *sent a link*

him: ?

him: what's this

you: benefits of crying

you: read it it's enlightening

him: some people do not cry over a breakup you know and that is totally okay

you: why crying helps.

you: 1. tears release toxins, stress hormones to be specific. it is good to let all the bad energy out.

you: 2. it aids sleep. no need for further explanation.

you: 3. crying releases oxytocin and endorphins. i know you don't know what an oxytocin or an endorphin is but they're happy chemicals.

you: 4. crying helps you receive the support you need from the people around you. EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY is okay, max. stop treating it like an STD.

him: it feels like an std

you: pussy

you: emotional vulnerability is a thing and it's normal so stop trying to be a big strong man when you're barely holding it together.

you: you may look fine now but i know you

him: please stop

you: no

you: 5. crying has a self soothing effect. very nice actually. it activates the rest and digest system.

him: what even is that

you: the parasympathetic nervous system

him: ??

you: this is why you shouldn't have dropped out of high school

you: education is important yknow

you: youre already lacking in three forms of intelligence, academic, emotional n social intelligence

him: fuck you im smart

you: fuck you 2 and yeah you're smart but only in geography

you: you probably can't do your taxes

him: im dutch so the company's account department do it for me by default

him: the american system is just weird

you: cant argue w/ u there

you: also, 6. crying helps restore emotional balance

you: see? you need that

you: yknow now that i think abt it you should consider seeking therapy

him: what makes you think i’m not in therapy right now

you: well have you considered getting MORE therapy?

You stand in front of the body mirror, holding the Red Bull polo shirt against your body to see how it looks on you for one last time. On your right sleeve, the word MANAGER is written in bold, white text. Because that was what you were. Just a manager.

In another universe this is not the shirt that you’d be wearing. The MANAGER would have been ENGINEER. In another another universe where your family has been well-off enough to continuously send you to karting school and you would have been the one driving the fucking car by now.

You know, if Max has even tried talking to Horner and suggested that you should be moved into the engineering team, then you wouldn't be stuck wearing this god-awful polo that burned your skin every time you wore it for work. Everybody reduced you as Max’s American manager and because you are American, most of them kind of just assumed that you're dumb, you know?

Does the world even know how smart you are? That you graduated top of your class, got the best thesis award, and that you had finished your masters just this year? Did they even know that a Japanese car company wanted you on their research team? That a NASCAR team wanted you on board as one of their engineers? Does Max even know?

Fuck no. He only knows that you're the best at ironing clothes and organizing his Google calendar and memorizing his entire coffee order by heart. He knew you're good at extinguishing kitchen fires and kicking ass in YSL Opyum heels. You doubt he knows that you can do Calculus in your sleep.

You can take it if the world puts you down for your appearance. But if the world puts you down because of your intellect? That's a different story. You'll take any insult to the face but not to your intelligence.

You have four days left in Monaco so you have begun packing already. You're right, everything did fit into three suitcases. Also, you haven't told Max yet. For some reason, you’re too anxious. Which is shocking to say the least because you never ever gets anxious when it came to Max Verstappen. You wouldn't have lasted this long working alongside Max if you were a pussy.

Max Max Max Super Max Max—

“[Name] here. Need anythin’, champ?”

Hearing a sob on the other end of the line immediately activates your fight or flight response. Your eyes widen and you toss the Red Bull shirt aside. Your legs leads you to the nearly empty shoe rack stationed beside the front door, grabbing the pair of shoes at the very top of the tiny shelf and throwing them on.

“I’m comin’ there. Hang on, Max. You wait for me, okay?”

He doesn't answer, just continuing to sob and the sound absolutely breaks your heart.

You run to his penthouse at a speed that will even put the RB19 to shame. Not even bothering to knock, you barge in and yell his name in the empty halls of his penthouse. You search in the kitchen. He's not there. The living room. Not there either. The room where his simulations are. Not there. You run to his bedroom upstairs.

The door is locked. Dammit. Panic overflooded your system.

“Max, sweetheart, you there?”

No answer, but you can hear a faint sound behind the door if you press your ear against the wood. Firefighter training covered how to open a fucking door when it was locked so this once again becomes a situation where you're grateful that you did that tiring and borderline suicidal volunteer work.

Max keeps a fire extinguisher inside his penthouse as per your advice. There is one stationed in almost every room inside his house. You knew there is one inside his room and another one just at the end of the hallway. You make a quick run for it and once you have the extinguisher in your hands, you run back to his door.

“Step away from the door!” you instructed while your mind mentally calculates your payment plan as you hit the door knob with so much force, the walls tremble at your strength. You're functioning on pure adrenaline. Your instincts only yell one thing and that is: go to Max. No one and nothing in this world will keep you from him. It isn't long until his bedroom door broke down. With one last final kick, it crumbles down from its hinges and you forcefully pry it open and sprint inside.

Max tucks himself in the tiny space in the corner of his huge bedroom, his knees shoved up to his chest. A 181-cm tall man trying to make himself as small as possible.

This is it. This is the bottled-up emotions he's been storing since Abu Dhabi. You cannot say you have not anticipated this. Max is bound to explode sooner or later.

Panic attacks have made a home in Max’s body since he was a child. That's what one gets when they’re parented by someone like Jos Verstappen. He killed Max’s soul and made the boy a machine and for what? To shape a child into a man, a racer that he wanted to be but failed to become at the cost of Max's mental health and childhood.

When Max looks up with that heartbreaking look on his face, you almost crumble. Almost, because you cannot crumble. Not when Max needs you.

Sometimes, you forget what it took for Max to become the champion that he is today. A childhood sacrificed for his dominance on the tracks. A whole lot of hatred from the people to become a WDC. And now, a love lost for his third consecutive championship.

“You came,” his voice cracks towards the end.

Your eyes soften, “You called, Max. Course I’ll come.”

You barely brace yourself for the impact that is Max’s body wrapping around yours in a tight hug. The man have literally launch himself from the floor to you at sixth gear speed. You stumble backwards slightly, holding his bed for support so the both of you won't fall down.

“Max—”

“No,” he whispers and his grip on your tightens as if he's afraid that you’ll slip away if he even tried to give your lungs space to breathe. “Don't speak. Stay.”

What Max wanted, what Max would get. So you shut your mouth, shuffle slightly so he'll be in a more comfortable position and allow him take whatever he wants from you. This will be the last chance he’ll ever do it anyway because in four days time, you’re flying to Texas.

You stay for what is probably hours in that position. Crumbled together on the floor, leaning against the side of Max’s king-sized bed. Your shirt is completely damp from his tears but you cannot even bring yourself to care about it.

“Your shoes…” It's the first time Max has spoken since the start of his meltdown.

“Hm?” you turn your head and your nose nuzzles against his hair, making you scrunch it up a little. His hair is tickling your nostrils. If you lean a little forward, your lips will meet the skin of his temple.

“They’re mismatched.”

Brows furrowed, your eyes move to your feet and see that Max is right. Your shoes are indeed mismatched. On your left is one of your Adidas slides and the other is your slip-on Skechers. You ran from one building to another in mismatched shoes. Fucking embarassing.

“Ignore them.”

Silence.

“You good now?”

“No.”

“Okay,” you say. “If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

You hear Max let out a shaky breath, “Just stay for a while. Don't leave me alone.”

“Okay.”

Eventually, you manage to talk Max out of the hug. You're beginning to feel claustrophobic but you do not want to say it out right so you try to negotiate instead. That's how you and Max found yourselves inside his kitchen again. You're trying to replicate your Abuela's cheesecake, which she was known for back in Austin, and Max is…well, he's Max and he’s trying to be helpful in any way he can. If it's some other day, you'd have shoved him out of the way because you prefer working alone in the kitchen. Having eyes on you gives you anxiety. But given today’s circumstances, you do not have the heart to make Max leave so you task him with doing the little stuff like mixing things and throwing shit to the trash can nearby. And he does so splendidly.

“Thank you, by the way.”

“For what, baby?” You internally wince at your own slip of the tongue. Damn that habit of yours of calling people with affectionate call signs. Thankfully, Max seems to have not noticed it.

“For coming here.”

You shrug.

“I only did what you did for me in 2021.”

Again, your breakup with Leo was bad bad. You spent a month crying for a love lost and Max was there for you. For the most part, at least. You want him to focus on winning and winning alone that you pushed him away a lot of times but you appreciated how he was more obedient to your commands, that he held his tongue so he wouldn't piss you off even though he was not liking your words, and that he was considerate of you.

“I hope you won't go into fights though,” you chuckle. “Like I did after my breakup.”

He smiles, shaking his head lightly and you know he's recalling the memory. 2021 is a hilarious year for you, the Red Bull manager. You went viral after getting into a cat fight with a girl and a whole fist fight with her boyfriend.

You and Leo called it quits a week before Monaco and even though it had been four races since then, your heart was still in a quite fragile state at that specific race weekend. One minor inconvenience was enough to ignite a wild blaze of fire within you and nobody could extinguish the flames.

After Silverstone FP1, you were leading Max to the cool down room to brief him with Horner’s relayed instructions and someone had thrown a glass bottle towards the both of you while walking. Originally, Max was the main target of the bottle but you happened to have moved towards the line of trajectory and the bottle landed on your temple, hard enough that you stumbled upon impact.

You barely heard Max’s shocked gasp and shout of panic over the sound of glass shattering on your foot because the only thing you could register was the terrifying feeling of a thick liquid trickling down the side of your face and you didn't even need to see it to know it was blood.

The only thing you saw was red and it was on fucking sight.

Fucking Hamilton fan. Fucking Hamilton. He’s in Max’s way. He’s in your way. He’s the wall that was dividing you from your dream position in the engineering team.

You shoved the iPad you were holding to Max’s hands and marched down to the woman wearing the Merc #44 merch, swiftly jumping over the barricade and grabbing her by the collar of her pristine white Versace top.

The events that followed were too fast. You grabbed her collar. She pulled your hair. You also pulled her hair. Someone pulled her away from you. You tried to grab her, clawing her bare arms with your manicured nails. She screamed. You screamed back. You pulled out some curse words in Spanish as well because cursing her in one language alone is not enough. Her boyfriend appeared. A quick punch to your cheek. You fell to the ground.

The world stood still. There was a sting on your palm because your skin got torn from the hard surface of the concrete ground. You let a bloodcurdling war cry and your Dad would definitely be disappointed at you for using the boxing techniques he taught you for self defense purposes only to fight a guy two times your size.

Everything was a bigger blur from there. But you did remember the sensation of Max’s strong arms around you, stopping you from lunging forward again. He was saying sweet words to your ear to calm you down but your brain failed to intercept them so you could hear the words, could hear his voice, but not understand any of it. You remember Christian Horner's disappointed face that haunted you even two years later. You remembered feeling so terrified as you sat outside Christian Horner’s office waiting for the final verdict while he and Max and a few of the Red Bull higher-ups argued about your future with the team. You remembered hearing Max’s loud snarl on the other side of the mahogany door: “Did you see her face?! There was blood everywhere! On her nose, on her mouth, on the fucking side of her head!” You remembered the girl taking the case to court. You remembered fearing that you’d be sent to jail. You remembered that she lost the case because it was ruled as self defense and your injuries were grave. You remembered discovering that it was Max who used all his power and got the best lawyer to fight your case. You remembered the atmosphere in the Red Bull garage shifting when you entered it a few weeks later and everyone stared the bandages and bruises. Everyone thought one thing: of course, it would also take a monster to manage a monster like Max Verstappen. You remembered Lewis Hamilton, seven-time world champion, apologizing personally for the fight caused by his own fan. He didn't need to but he was so sincere with it that you cried when he handed you the apology flowers. God, how could you even hate this man? Your anger towards him was misplaced.

You’d been living with the guilt ever since, that you were horrifyingly violent for a day, that you were capable of killing for a day. And it could happen again. One day. God, you hoped you wouldn't have to see that day. You knew all your coworkers have been careful with angering you ever since. They're terrified of you even. Max should be, too. But then again, why would he when he already saw the horrors done by his father’s hands ever since he was a child? He was used to it.

“I won't,” he says, smiling at you. “I wouldn't want to add anymore problems for you to clean up.”

But you will not be the one cleaning it up because you resigned. You didn’t tell that to him though. Not right now. He just had a meltdown over Kelly leaving him and the news of his manager leaving him too will destroy him.

The cheesecake is a little burnt when you take it out of the oven but it actually adds more flavor to it so yeah, that's a win.

“We should drink,” you suggest.

“It’s mid-afternoon.”

“We drank at mid-afternoon yesterday,” you give him a blank stare. “With Alex and Charles, remember?”

He doesn't say anything as you make your way to his fridge and pull out two bottles of beer. Max has champagne stored somewhere but you have enough of those expensive champagnes. You need beer. Beer is good. Beer is nice. You're a beer type of person and it is time Max becomes one, too.

“I’m no scientist,” you begin, biting off the beer’s bottle cap. “But according to chemistry, alcohol is solution.”

Well, technically, edible alcohol or ethanol is not a mixture. Rather, it's a pure substance that happens to be a liquid at room temperature and typical atmospheric pressure. Pure ethanol is not a solution. Hard spirits though? That's a solution.

Beer is not a hard spirit. It's more of a fermented drink. But Max doesn't know that, though, so you don't bother explaining the science behind it.

Somewhere down the road, the two of you move to his living room. You use the Youtube app in his TV to search karaoke video and have the bestest time of your lives. You're screaming along some Daddy Yankee and El Alfa songs and Max doesn't know how to speak Spanish so he’s just vibing to it.

At 5 PM, you pull out Max’s expensive vodka bottle. Now this is the real shit. The ten bottles of beer? Those are just pregame. Max is already drunk with just those because he’s a pussy but you’re no pussy, so the only right answer is vodka! Viva la vodka or whatever.

Your throat gets tired of singing and Max gets tired from dancing, too, so you both decide to just go entertain yourselves in other ways. First, you introduced Max to beer-pong. He loses, of course. He sucks at everything not racing. Then, the two of you move onto chess. Max gives up mid-game. He cannot understand the rules. Then, lastly, you move to the billiard table Max owned. He only used it when the other guys are over and you do not even know why he bought it when he sucked at playing billiards.

“You know what Kelly said the morning before the race?” Max suddenly says and you look up at him, brow raising slightly. He’s drunk; his skin is flushed and he is all giggly and smile-y as he sits on the billiard table’s side rail and using the billiard stick as some sort of support stand to keep him from falling. You hope he won't accidentally poke himself. You're no better, too. Ten beer bottles and a few glasses of vodka. But you’re not as drunk as Max, and you still have a straight vision and you can still sink the colored balls into the pockets of the billiard table.

“Hm?”

“That it was unfair for her.”

You raise a questioning brow, “Why?”

“I bought shoes and they don't fit her.”

You blink. He laughs at himself as if he has uttered the funniest joke in the world.

“Three years of relationship gone because of a single pair of shoes,” he continues. “She wanted those shoes, too.”

Kelly….what the fuck?

“But that's okay. She….She made me open my eyes, you know? She made me realize what I truly love.”

“Racing.” It's not even a question. It's the truth.

Max stares at you, long and hard, and you look away first because you fear that if you allow yourself to stare too long, you’ll drown in those beautiful blues. This is enough heartache for the day. No need to add more.

“Hey [Name],” he begins. “If I asked you to kiss me, would you do it?”

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