#ask-maxie-boy

[junebuggeryy]

that feel when u just want your glorified clock to tell popsicle jokes and suddenly Oops! Its A Person Now! Love u egor, please adapt to the horrors of life with grace (you wont)

#OH YKNOW....................................... #egor cherenkov #xeno cherenkov #artsy whispers #hehehehehehehe. hohohoohohohohohohohohoho. hahahahaha. hehe. hoho. ha. #ask-maxie-boy

[cyberdragoninfinity]

hi yeah i have a little more i want to add on to the Duel Links AI Characters thing. This kinda blurs the line between Headcanon and Theory tho

A really weird thing that is either brilliant subtext or me just reading in to things too hard is the progression of the AI Duelists. Not like, the release of duel worlds and stuff, or powercreep, or anything like that. I mean theres two real, defined types of AIs in Duel Links.

If you look at a lot of the DM characters... theyre fairly flat. Like yeah I know thats also true of Téa/Anzu and Mai and stuff in the show, but it applies to pretty much the entire starting roster. The most odd yet obvious example of this is, oddly enough, Yami Yugi. My mans got Nothing. Hardly shows up in events, any place he would its usually Yugi(DM) instead, and he had very few gate interactions.

Now, think about that from a lore perspective. Yami Yugi is the whole fuckin' point of this. This is the AI Kaiba set out and tried to make, wanted to fill the gay ass void in his heart see again, and he's so... bland. Uninteresting. Why?

Turns out, its because of that very reason. He was the First, of course hes gonna be worse than the others. As time went on, Kaiba got better at making the AIs. And at first, it really was him making the AIs. Let me explain.

Again, looking at the earlier characters again, something becomes obvious. These characters are bland because theyre almost... missing something. If you look at everything they say, everything they do, something clicks. Its all stuff Kaiba either heard about secondhand, or was physically present for. He made the best approximation he could, on his own, but theyre just that: approximations. Easy best example is the first ever event character, Yami Bakura. A fascinating character in Duel Links lore, simply because he's the first Self Aware AI. A big question that comes out of this is Why, and the answer I believe is rlly cool: hes not Yami Bakura. Not even close. Like yeah obviously hes an AI clone, but thats not even what I mean. Kaiba knows so little about Bakura that he couldnt even make a complete personality. He just put a kinda mischevious personality in a Bakura Costume, gave it an interest in occult and Tabletop RPG games, and told it to do its best.

But this is Seto Fucking Kaiba. He doesnt settle for that. So, he got to work on a new, better system. A System that lets him use [insert bullshit explanation here, I like "uses the collective memories of players"] to truly copy people down to their very souls. And the first few times, it goes well. It really is an exact replica... and maybe, maybe thats an issue.

Pegasus J. Crawford has been dead for years at that point, but his impact on the game and large presence make it almost obvious in hindsight. If it were anyone but Seto Kaiba, this might have been the cue to say "hey maybe this is a little fucked up and I need more control over who gets added."

However, Seto 'As the owner of a major corporation I have to do that everyday' Kaiba dont roll like that, so he just leaves the Soul Printer on to do whatever the fuck it wants, and... yeah. After that point, every other AI, along with the duel worlds, is a result of the soul printer. Maybe he should have at least limited the scope to this dimension and the egyptian afterlife tho.

Theres also an argument that its not that the soul printer wasnt ready, its that he needed a playerbase to steal the brain power off of to run said soul printer, so he whipped up the first few to get started.

...sorry i forgot just how much brain rot this game caused me and ur earlier posts got me going again ;-;

OOOHOHOHOHOO THIS IS SUPERRR SUPER GOOD STUFF and I definitely think this is picking at what's really under the hood here. Transcend Game was all about Kaiba using people's (many of which being CHILDREN'S) brainwaves to create images and experiences, so it really would not be out of his ballpark to get the system running and just leave it to do its thing while he goes off and obsesses over shit like Why Isn't The Atem AI Right. It's Not Perfect. Why Isn't It Perfect.

and now you've got the AIs themselves producing 'brainwaves' and feeding memories into the system, and that's popping More AIs into the world in turn (i.e. Yuto's and Yuya's memories being the catalyst for Shay showing up, etc.) and they're...uh. starting to get self aware!!!! SO THAT'S FUN. It's like an ouroboros feedback loop of fake memories creating fake memories creating copies of what was once someone's memories.

All cuz SOMEBODY wanted to be king of a virtual reality even though he has more money than god and better things he could be doing 🙄

#THIS IS SUCH COOL STUFF THANK YOU FOR SHARING. I LOVE SEEING PEOPLE'S DL LORE TAKES #CUZ AGAIN. THERE ISNT REALLY ONE CONSISTENT ARCHIVE OF ALL THE LORE and it's a shame. this shit rules #asks #ask-maxie-boy #ygo posting #duel links madness

[mandarinmoons]

Did you know that his dancing sinks up with any song you put on? ☝️🤓

#you sent this because i use the spiderman meme a lot huh #my maxie boy x #ket's asks

[morvantmortuary]

morvant mortuary x the boy au -

the House

(prologue)

Even as you walked in to an empty house, alone, it still somehow felt like you were intruding.

If you felt a prickle down the back of your neck, or a sudden chill, you only attributed it to the stillness of the House compared to the summer breeze outside.

It was almost too still. Like the House had breath to hold.

Like - in an insane way - it was hoping you liked it as much as you were secretly wishing to.

You didn’t hear the front door close behind you — the damning click of the lock was oddly soft, given how heavy the dark wood looked. 

As ominous as the House looked on the outside, it was huge on the inside. If it hadn’t been for the vaguely dusty (but miraculously not moth-eaten), thick, woven floor rugs, you felt like your footsteps would have echoed through the room.

For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you were thankful they couldn’t.

You walked towards one of the floor to ceiling windows, hidden behind rich outer curtains — a deep wine-colored satin, of all things — with a once-cream cotton underneath, there to muffle the light (and afternoon heat) but not douse it entirely.  

Curiously, they weren’t as dusty as you expected, especially not near the edges. You could imagine the people who lived here once, pulling them aside to sneak looks at the drive, at the clients coming up the path. It wouldn’t be to spy on any neighbors; the nearest residents were the ones buried in the cemetery at the edge of the property. The nearest living ones were back towards the edge of town, as if people were terrified of building their houses any closer to this one.

Well. At least it meant the services you held here would be uninterrupted by outside noise. You’d hoped the more cheerful Cajun wakes would add some lightness to the place, but even that seemed like a tall order in such a huge room.

You pulled the curtains wide apart at last, letting what little dwindling afternoon sun there was into the House for the first time in how many years.

What you assumed was the clientele parlor was a somber kind of beautiful, all antique furniture in dark wood clustered comfortingly around a massive fireplace - which surprised you, given how far south you were. But if the House was really as old as the listing said, it could’ve been built at a time where winters were still cold enough to be bitter down here. You imagined you wouldn’t need it, especially nowadays, with every summer the warmest on record. But maybe you could do something kind of Pinterest-y with it. Arrange a spray of flowers in place of flames, or a collection of glass orbs. Maybe even candles, just to be tongue-in-cheek.

Your gaze wandered higher towards the shadowy ceiling, up the once tasteful, now chipped off-white paint on the chimney - someone’s attempt to brighten architecture that couldn’t help but loom  - and felt like it tripped over the dark wood frame hung over the dusty, similarly mute-painted mantle. 

Instinctively, you stepped backwards when you realized that what was in the frame was looking right back at you.

It was a moderately sized portrait, a carefully arranged photograph in place of the oils of the old days. Not huge, but still dominating the space. You were kind of surprised it hadn’t caught your eye as soon as you’d walked in. You turned, looking over your shoulder at the front door and back again to chart the distance — and sure enough, yes, it was a straight line from the front door’s line of sight to this. Maybe it was the lighting? You searched the room, locating two subtle floor lamps next to the couch and the loveseat, but that wouldn’t have put the light in the right place for that.

You looked back to the portrait again, and this time noticed the two cobweb-covered, small-ish candelabras at either end of the mantle, the candles in them melted so low they might as well have not been there at all. Ah. Okay, so they weren’t going for anything subtle, here. You supposed, with the rest of the curtains open and the power actually on, it wouldn’t seem as recessed into shadow as it did now. With the candelabras lit, it would’ve commanded the room.

Four figures looked down on you from their honored place — you realized someone likely hung the portrait that high just so visitors could feel looked down on by the homeowners, and know instinctually where they stood. 

Comforting, you thought derisively, given how many people would’ve come in here on the worst day of their lives. It spoke volumes towards the sensibilities of its subjects, that’s for damn sure. 

And yet, if you squinted, you could still see the faintest outline around the frame where a larger one had hung there before, with another faint outline around that, like rings on a tree — and another faded blank spot just down and to the right, as if a matching portrait had been removed entirely. Clearly, this was a family used to having portraits of themselves front and center over the generations, even if they couldn’t or wouldn’t admit they maybe weren’t as grand as they used to be.

The people staring back at you were eerily lovely, in a distant, haughty way. There were two adults; the most commanding was a man in what looked like a very well-tailored suit, seated in the center of the frame in a chair of dark, glossy wood — clearly considering himself a patriarch. His hair was a deep casket-wood brown, carefully slicked back and styled meticulously, with the ghost of a smile around his thin lips. His eyes were piercing, brown almost to the point of looking weirdly burgundy, in the low light. The way he seemed to be leaning slightly forward in the ornate chair, as if peering at the viewer, made something churn in your stomach. You couldn’t explain it, but he just… unsettled you. You would’ve hated to meet him in person, even the curve of his mouth seemed subtly cruel.

The woman standing to his right was beautiful, but coldly perfect in a way that reminded you of marble. Her eyes were an intense shade of green, but dark, reminiscent of the floor of a sunless forest. Her hair, long and shining and black, hung around her pale shoulders, almost a premature widow’s veil. Her mouth, with lips like a doll’s, was set into a careful neutral line… but it still made you think that with the slightest twitch of a muscle, it could twist with raw emotion. Her white dress was immaculate and gorgeously wrapped around her slender frame, too sterile and perfect to seem… maternal.

Because there were children, here. Teenagers, really. They couldn’t have been older than fifteen (you weren’t sure, kids under college age but above elementary all kind of blended together for you nowadays). They stood together to the left of their father, for these were very much their parents, you realized. A boy and a girl, spookily similar to one another from their faces to their posture (perfect, practiced), but still an amalgam of the two adults: he had the shape of the woman’s eyes and a likeness in his mouth, but she had inherited their father’s stare to balance out the green eyes and distinctive nose of their mother. 

The girl, a younger mirror of her mother in matching white, was giving the camera a venomous look that spoke inescapably of familiarity. You could almost hear the photographer saying something she didn’t like right as they took the photo. If her father unsettled you, she unsettled you still more: there was a rage you recognized in her even in this singular, still moment, something familiar about the indignity endured while growing up thinking you were a teenage girl. You could only imagine encountering her in person, and were silently thankful you never would — not as she was captured in this instant, at least.

The boy, in a similarly expensive suit that echoed the older man’s, simply stood on her other side, keeping her between himself and their father’s chair. His eyes - or what you could see of them, almost hiding behind a long-ish flop of sleek brown bangs (definitely a reflection of the time) and round glasses — were the same deep color as his father’s, bordering almost on red. But there was something… softer, to them. A sadness, rather than anger or malice. He kept his face as placid as his mother’s, and you almost wondered if it was something he practiced, with just how still he seemed compared to his sister. 

Where her hands were clasped in front of her skirt, you saw his at his sides. The longer you looked, the more you could see that the skin of both their knuckles was bone white. Even standing there must have been a struggle for them, somehow.

Your gaze lingered on the four of them longer than you could quite explain. The photograph was so vivid, it felt like they were standing in the room with you, and looking away would almost be… rude.

Well, rude to the wife and husband, maybe. In the case of the girl, it was like averting your eyes from a big cat tensed to pounce.

And from the boy, like you were looking away from someone… trapped, almost. Unable to meet their eyes because you were just as unable to help.

A feeling - a feathery light something, just on the edge of substance - crept down the back of your neck.

Like there were eyes on you, as well.

Shivering, you whipped around to scan the vast room, but saw only older photographs on the walls staring back at you, or important-looking busts of stone (or well-crafted plaster imitation) gazing back from shelves full of large leather(-looking?) bound books and other living room conversation pieces.

There was no one looking back at you now. 

Or at least, no one you could see.

You looked down at the blueprint scan again before pulling your well-creased print copy of the listing out of your pocket, scanning it quickly even though you must’ve read the damn thing a thousand times by now. You didn’t know why; it wasn’t like you didn’t have it saved in triplicate on your phone and your laptop. But it had become a weird sort of talisman for you: a reminder that serendipity was real. That opportunity could land right in your lap, if you were brave enough to seize it and keep it.

Your eyes combed the print, and sure enough, you’d been right. Nowhere in the ad copy did it mention the house came furnished. Yet as you looked around, everything was perfectly staged. 

Some of that could be the real estate agency, sure. But these were… nice things. Like, really nice. “Antique” in the good way, worth something substantial. Way outside of the budget you had been planning after you’d finished the cost of renovations, that was for damn sure.

What had happened that these people just… left everything here, untouched? 

Had they chosen to not take anything, unwilling to bring any memories of this place wherever they went?

Or had they been chased out?

And if so… by what?

“…Bright side,” you muttered, trying not to spook yourself. “Keep looking on the bright side.”

You finally turned your back on the portrait to take in the rest of the room. Whoever cared for the House before must have done so with great attention to detail — you knelt next to the couch, examining the way that the carved wooden legs had seemed to resist the dust and rot that had crept into the edges of the room, despite the work of hired cleaners. The whole set looked salvageable; it would be a huge Get if you were able to keep them for your own clientele. It looked much more professional than having to dumpster dive and source semi-matching pieces from flea markets and internet ads.

As you stood up and looked around the parlor, you tried to picture yourself having consultations grouped around the little coffee table. Maybe with a vase of lilies in the center? Unless lilies were too expected. But at least some kind of flower, something so maybe the House didn’t feel quite as gloomy as the occasion that it was built for. Perhaps changing the curtains to something lighter still…

Your planning was interrupted by scratching from a room over.

Turning to follow the sound, you found yourself squinting at the border of the afternoon sunlight, where the room fell back into shadow.

There was a set of dark double doors discretely set into the carved wood paneling on the other side of the room, just far enough back that you’d missed them coming in the front door. Your first thought, upon seeing them, was relief that they already seemed to be ADA-compliant for wheelchair users. One more thing off your To-Do list.

Your second thought was wondering just what could be behind them.

Standing there, you stalled briefly, wondering if you should call in Bev from the porch for backup. But she’d been hard enough to get to the House itself, and getting her inside seemed to be an impossible errand. 

Whatever stray critter had made a nest in there, you’d have to face alone.

You swallowed, reaching into your bag for your maglite - the big-ass, heavy flashlight that had been a gift from your well-meaning but slightly paranoid folks upon moving out on your own. Along with being bright enough to be seen from space (or so it felt to you) with a strobe mode for getting attention during emergencies, it was also hefty, made of cold metal where it wasn’t thick, slip-proof ergonomic rubber. 

Meaning if your uninvited visitor had some troubling foam around their mouth, it was a decent way to… forcibly re-negotiate your personal bubble, if need be.

Your free hand rested on the curved doorknob, and for a panicked second, you wondered if there was any chance a gator had found a way up through rotten floorboards. The swamp was a stone’s throw from here, after all, and those suckers could get goddamn huge. You could just see the news story now, the local color piece that would get passed around the Internet as a quaint oddity in the right circles: ‘Abandoned Louisiana Funeral Home Infested by 20-Foot Gator, One Person Chomped at Scene.’

“It’s a possum,” you said firmly to yourself. “It’s just going to be a little old possum with a cute little face, that can’t get rabies because they’re the only marsupial in North America. You’ll just be an adult and call animal control. It’ll be fine.”

Talking sense to yourself would have worked if whatever was on the other side didn’t start scrabbling even faster, as if frantic at the mere sound of your voice.

You let go of the doorknob immediately, backing away even though it sounded like it was coming from the far side of the room. Briefly, you debated just calling animal control now and letting them open the door for you. Just in case.

But that wouldn’t be a very good way to ingratiate yourself with a town as small as this — you couldn’t see yourself being considered a reliable funeral director if you were also the person who called emergency services for, like, some baby raccoons. Or rats. Or baby rats.

(…To your credit, this sounded bigger than either of those things, but still.)

No, you were just going to have to be brave about this.

“Okay,” you called softly, talking to god knew what. You weren’t expecting them to talk back, but it still seemed only fair to give them some sort of warning. “I’m coming in now.”

You turned the knob slowly, giving the both of you some precious extra seconds to brace yourselves…

Before finally flinging open the righthand door.

The room was pitch black, and you swiped your flashlight quickly around, looking for the source of the noise before it could lunge or shriek or skitter away —

But only silence and stillness awaited you.

You frowned and stepped cautiously further inside, your footfall clicking slightly on the hardwood floor. You’d heard something. You knew you had.

But the only thing you could see were rows and rows of chairs, their backs standing straight together like neat little tombstones. Your light bounced off each of them in turn as you scanned the room, trying to figure out exactly how big it was and what on earth it could be for.

The bier at the front and center of the room was the last thing illuminated, as if revealing itself to you, and you rolled your eyes at yourself. Of course there was a viewing room in the House. (Well, there was room to quibble on terminology. There’d been a push to call it a ‘slumber room’ for a while, but you felt more comfortable just calling it what it was. No one ever slept in one, unless they were real tired or real weird.)

But still, how could there not be one whatever it was called, if this home had been hosting wakes and services almost since it was built? The sheer number of people who must have had their last day above ground in this room, laid right there in serene repose in their casket —

Well, hmm. Maybe not the best mental path to meander down right now, even for you.

You turned your light around the room more casually now, trying to picture it with working electricity and full of people. It was pretty decently sized, with the same dark paneling as the wall outside, and two tall windows muffled by heavy curtains on either side of the dais. The light in here would be decent, even actually pretty, if it was facing the direction you thought it was—

A bulky shape in the corner made you jump again, and you squeaked even as it reflected back to you from a lacquered black surface.

“…Piano,” you managed, choking a little both from fear and from the dust stirring around you. “Just a goddamn piano.”

Not a small one by any means, also old and apparently well-cared for in its day - like everything else you’d seen in the House so far. You treaded carefully towards that side of the room, checking the floor and between chair legs as you passed each row to make sure there were no hidden visitors after all. The last thing you needed was to end up in the hospital the next town over for a rabies shot series before you’d even bought the place. You couldn’t imagine that would contribute much to your image as a professional, either.

Then again, you thought as you inspected the piano up close, maybe you were being a little hard on these Greymoon folks. Maybe they weren’t as judgmental as you had already secretly decided they were. It would take you a little while to get to know them, just as they would need to get to know you. And besides, you really were going to be new at this. Surely they would be reasonably cut you some slack, especially if the place you were buying already seemed to have… kind of a reputation, if various faces and Bev’s behavior were anything to go by?

You mulled this over, checking the wood for any signs of wear or age, then examined the seat to make sure no critters had burrowed into the cushion for a nest. Weirdly, not only did the piano look almost polished, the seat itself seemed relatively free of dust or wear.

“Gonna have to ask Bev for that cleaning crew’s number,” you muttered, impressed. If parts of this place still looked this good after nineteen years unused, you wondered what miracles they could manage with weekly cleanings of a functioning home. Not to mention, now you’d be able to hire someone for live music at your services, instead of having to pipe everything in over speakers —

The way your light reflected off the piano keys gave you pause.

You couldn’t put your finger on why, at first, staring at the way they seemed to glow at you from the dark. The wooden fallboard being up wouldn’t have surprised you if it didn’t also seem to be… weirdly shiny, almost. Definitely moreso than the rest of the furniture in the room. But how, when this place had been empty for so long?

Your brain processed it before you did, and noted it almost passively: There’s no dust on any of it.

You ignored this voice, leaning forward to look again. There had to be dust. Even if there was a cleaning crew in here every couple of weeks, there should still be some traces of dust simply from sitting in a House this fucking old. Things didn’t just sit and not gather dust, especially when there was no one in here on a daily basis.

When no one had lived here for decades.

But the keys continued to glint back at you, looking as though they’d been touched that very morning. As though you’d even interrupted someone playing when you’d arrived.

You rolled your eyes at how determined you seemed to be to scare yourself, turning to head to the next room that needed examined, until the face made you stop dead in your tracks.

It was a little face, sitting on the music shelf. It was attached to a man made of cloth - a doll, almost. 

You stepped closer, both vaguely unnerved and intrigued.

The little guy made of cloth had a cheerful expression, a roughly embroidered smile with wide eyes behind thick black glasses. Brown hair slightly obscured the glasses and the eyes, and the body seemed to be clothed in scrap fabrics from a tailor’s floor - it looked like actual material from a suit had been filched to make the pants, vest, dress shirt, and tie.

He looked so strange in the context of things, it was almost tragi-comical: a blithely smiling little face left in a room that had borne witness to so much sadness. Was he an abandoned toy, left here by some grieving child? A homemade grave offering that had somehow fallen out of the casket during transport? How many goodbyes had the little eyes made of thread seen play out in front of him?

As much as the logical part of you was alarmed by the sight of it here so unexpectedly, your sentimental side couldn’t help but feel a little bad for him, all alone in this big dark room by himself.

You reached out a hand without realizing it, set to pick him up, until you forced yourself to stop.

What were you doing? This wasn’t yours. You hadn’t bought this place, you had no right to any of the things in it.

But he just looked so lonely, you countered to yourself. What was he going to do anyway, just sit here forever, being politely ignored by the cleaning crew? What about if someone else bought it? Would he be thrown away, left to smile forever in some trash heap?

But you didn’t know where he’d been all this time. What if he had little gnats or fleas living inside him by now?

Nothing a little cleaning and a TLC couldn’t fix, though; you’d rescued a fair amount of grody thrift store finds in your mortuary school days. With some scrubbing and some new stitches, he’d be adorable. Like a little funerary mascot, in a way.

“Fuck, can I please stop being weird for once,” you whispered to yourself, your hand falling limply to your side. You had a job to do, goddamn it. This place could be your one chance at establishing a real future for yourself without going into more debt; you didn’t have time to be making a pro/con list about some abandoned scrap doll.

But your fingers flexed as you stared at him, still hesitating. 

“…Look,” you said at last, talking to a thing that definitely could not consciously process speech. “If I think this place will work out, I’ll come get you after I sign the paperwork, okay? I’ll give you a good wash and put you somewhere less depressing.”

You started to walk away, then paused again, feeling like you had in the parlor with the family portrait.

Like something was watching you intently.

“…If I don’t buy the place,” you added, under your breath and over your shoulder. “You can always just, like, fall into my bag or something.” You shrugged. “My shitty apartment has sunlight, at least.”

For a moment, you lingered like you actually expected the little thing to answer you.

When you realized this, you hid your face in your palm, embarrassed on your own behalf. “Oh, fuck me, I’m losing my shit and I haven’t even started work yet,” you mumbled.

Rolling your shoulders, you hastily stalked back towards the doorway, wondering if there was a small gas leak in a nearby room somewhere that was making you imagine these things. You’d have to make sure you the whole place inspected top to bottom before you opened, that was for damn sure.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts, you forgot you hadn’t actually identified the source of the scratching sounds.

—

Later, when forced to consider the exact circumstances that would lead you to your fate, you would be forced to admit to yourself that you had kind of skimmed this first inspection of the rest of the House.

In your defense, you were mostly concerned with the parts that could prevent your future funeral home from functioning if they weren’t restorable. There was no point sinking so much of your savings into something that would just end up being a bottomless, money-hungry pit due to repair costs.

So yeah, when you went up the stairs to check things out, your mind was already on the embalming room in the basement. But you weren’t super worried about what was up there, anyway. There was no way you were going to use all of these rooms for just yourself.

They were mostly bedrooms, but none really seemed to speak to any sort of unifying aesthetic. One room with a balcony that overlooked the back property was furnished all in white, from the plush rug, to the vanity chair, to the bedspread, to the heavy old-fashioned canopy curtains that shaded the bed in its own pool of darkness. For reasons inexplicable to you - maybe it was the hush of the footsteps, or the natural chill of no sunlight - it reminded you of a sick person’s room. Like someone would only be in here if they were never coming out. It smelled, oddly, like dried roses — it was so strong, you caught yourself looking around, wondering if a vase had been left in here to putrefy in years of summer heat.

What you found instead was a surprising gash in the wall to the left of the bed, perilously close to the full-length window doors. It was horizontally long, and oddly thin, like whatever had been flung wasn’t actually that large. Still. You ran your fingers curiously over the violent notch, finding the plaster had given way almost entirely. 

Whatever had caused this, for being as dimensionally small as it was, would have to have been thrown into the wall with immense force. 

In a rage, for instance, or out of soul-crushing frustration.

“…I can patch that,” you muttered, trying to ignore the return of the creeping feeling down your neck. You nodded, rubbing the hole with your thumb thoughtfully as though it could possibly buff out. “Cover over that no problem. Hell, maybe I’ll make it a, um…” You frowned, trying to figure out what else a funeral home could possibly need. “A grieving room.” Some people down in these parts were twitchy about crying in front of others. You had plenty of family members who were a great example of the phenomenon.

But it also just felt like a room that was fit for crying in, for reasons yet again inexplicable.

You tried not to leave the room too quickly, the feeling of intruding in someone’s space once again matting itself like moss over your skin.

You missed the figure in the mirror watching you go.

Another bedroom was an odd, contrasting companion to the first: this one was painted a soft, rosy pink, but you could barely tell under all the papers taped hastily onto the walls, as if someone was desperately trying to cover it up. The room was a mess, but there was too much dust everywhere for it to feel like someone had only recently stepped out.

There was so much dust, actually, it felt like it clung to the soles of your shoes, causing you to pick your feet up with a shudder. Hadn’t Bev sworn they paid a cleaning crew to come through here regularly? Were they only obligated to clean up the first floor? You had sworn the white room hadn’t been this bad…

You blazed a trail through the dust, trying to figure out what set this room apart. There were clothes strewn over every surface, it seemed like, at least a few decades old. Though they were oddly mostly white, with some smatterings of green and black, a part of you felt like you were looking at a wardrobe spread from one of those high school dramas that came on when you were little. You remembered watching them with older girls in your family who were supposed to be babysitting you after school or on weekends, learning a bit too much too quick about how badly sex ed was failing teenagers from the soapy plots and love triangles. You remembered thinking the girls always looked pretty, but by the time you were old enough to wear any of the clothes you saw onscreen, they were out of date — plus, you had your own presentation issues to work out at the time.

Again, you wondered what had happened to make the previous occupants leave everything behind. It was like whatever girl had lived here had walked out of the room and never walked back in again.

You also wondered if you were an awful person for speculating how well some of it would sell on Depop. Vintage was in again, after all.

Walking closer to the walls, your eyes scanned the strange pages carefully, trying to figure out just what the wide sheets of yellowed paper were…

And realized you were looking at an anatomical drawing of the parts of a cat, as laid out during a dissection.

Backing up a step, and not for the first time in this House, your eyes combed the rest of the drawings. To your fascination and mild nausea, all of them seemed to be the same painstakingly detailed diagrams of local fauna - chipmunks, squirrels, doves, lizards - all in the same careful hand with precise linework. You couldn’t help but admire them a little; your own such diagrams in mortuary school had always looked far more clumsy, even when you’d been oh-so-careful with your scalpel.

These must have all taken hours, based on how skillfully they were done. Multiplying them by just how many were on the walls, you wondered if the girl who lived here had been dissecting little animals endlessly, from dawn until well after dusk.

Her bedspread was also pink and frilly, delicate, though you noticed rough edges where she’d been trying to pull the frills off with a seam-ripper. On the shelves surrounding her bed in its little nook, there were tons of large, ominous looking books, ranging from ones you recognized like Gray’s Anatomy to and classic novels to embalming texts that were considered antique and niche even in your school’s library.

And yet, on the shelf above the bed itself, you still saw some well-loved plushies, and a doll with mussed hair that spoke of countless adventures.

…And also, one taxidermy mouse that appeared to be wearing sequins and nipple pasties like a burlesque performer.

Whoever she had been, the contrast between her and her bedroom spoke volumes, even now.

Your mind returned to the angry-looking girl in the portrait downstairs, and you couldn’t help but nod to yourself. “Makes sense,” you whispered.

It also explained why the cleaning crew didn’t seem to frequent here as much. If the diagrams had been a surprise to you, who worked with dead people, you imagined they were deeply uncomfortable to people who stayed solely within the realm of the living.

There was a bathroom that adjoined this room, small and simple in its white porcelain tile. It was immaculate, too, as if the aforementioned crew paid extra attention to this room to make up for avoiding the girl’s room next door. You were a little relieved to see there weren’t as many traces of the previous residents here — any grooming products seemed to have been carefully cleared away, as if in anticipation of a visitor. Maybe some things were a little too intimate to leave staged, you guessed. Especially if the House is already a source of gossip.

As you turned to go, you paused, noting what appeared to be a thin white ring of something grainy around the edges of the room. You’d only just missed disturbing it with your foot as you’d walked in. Maybe it was pest poison? Something to keep curious critters away? You’d lived places where people fended off scorpions with lavender, after all. You handwaved it — it wasn’t your problem yet.

When you tried to open the door to the next bedroom, though, you found it locked from the inside.

You blinked, puzzled. That was… weird, even for here. You couldn’t imagine what would need to be locked in here that hadn’t required a lock on the girl’s room. Even though the cleaners didn’t go in there, they still obviously could.

So what was different here?

You walked back into the bathroom again - careful to avoid stepping in the coarse border, whatever it was - and tried the door that connected there as well. Again, it was also locked from the inside.

Letting go of the doorknob abruptly, an irrational part of you wondered if you were disturbing whoever was in there.

For a moment, you actually listened for impatient footsteps marching towards you.

…And then you remembered where you were, and how long it had been since anyone lived here, and shook your head.

“Bev has keys,” you said dismissively, leaving the bathroom once again. This also wasn’t your problem yet, after all.

But you still stepped over the ring of whatever the white stuff was.

The last bedroom on the floor was unlocked, and still had stickers on the door. You counted bands you recognized from the mid-eighties to early nineties, including a vintage Selena one placed with apparent love at an eye level slightly higher than yours.

Walking in, you didn’t think anything about the paint, because every available inch of the walls was covered in photographs.

It gave you pause for a minute, overwhelming you slightly just as the anatomical diagrams had in the last room. They were in every format available back then, some of them obviously altered, some of them clearly fading with time in their untouched state.

You walked closer, picking out a few of the faces instantly - you recognized the boy and girl from the family portrait downstairs, looking much more lively here than they did there. Their mother, whenever she appeared, seemed to command a stiffness in the room - everyone was clearly posing when she was around, locked in place rather than living a genuine moment.Their father was also in a few of the photos, always sitting or leaning off to the side, as if he was above most of what was happening in the room.

When you first saw his double in a photo, you wondered if maybe it was some kind of weird exposure trick… until you realized there was indeed another man almost identical to him. It wasn’t hard to tell them apart after a few photos: his hair long and soft around his face rather than slicked back, and only ever seemed to go back in a ponytail on a rare occasion. His face was similarly softer, with deeper laugh lines. Where Vincent’s face seemed to perpetually scowl or sneer, the other man’s seemed like it was impossible for him to do so.

Especially when he was looking at a beautiful woman with long, warm brown hair, seemingly always dressed in dark blouses and dresses that gave you serious Stevie Nicks vibes, with eyes that were so deep and galaxy-holding black that you thought you’d fall into them. She could’ve been a model, or someone’s muse, but she held herself so much less stiffly than the first woman. Like she actually liked being alive.

The photographer seemed to have almost as many photos of these two as he did of the twins from downstairs, and they were almost always gazing at one another, or in the midst of laughter, or caught in a dance. When they were actually looking at the camera, you couldn’t help but notice the way latent pride set at the corners of their mouths, or in the way their eyes crinkled in a smile.

You were so busy following the photos along the wall, you about tripped over something draped in a sheet leaned up against an empty desk.

You caught yourself before you crashed down onto the rug (still less dusty than the one in the girl’s room), and looked around for a moment before you remembered you were supposed to be up here alone.

With a tired sigh, you grabbed the sheet, pulling it carefully off what turned out to be a matching frame to the one downstairs —

Where a second family stood around the same chair as the people in the parlor. 

The beautiful woman with the dark eyes was the one seated, her chin coyly leaning in her palm as she smiled knowingly at the camera. Behind her, the man with long hair was wearing a mirror of the first brother’s suit, although it seemed less harshly tailored in the way it hung on him. One of his hands rested adoringly on her shoulder, while the other clapped the shoulder of a teenage boy you hadn’t seen yet.

He was slightly older than the twins downstairs, with his mother’s dark hair and eyes, and a softness to his features you recognized as his father’s. Rather than being dressed in a matching suit, he was in a dark purple dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up around his elbows. Around his neck was a medallion of some sort that you couldn’t quite make out, but was seemingly simple in its metalwork. 

His hand was lovingly placed on his mother’s other shoulder, completing the connection between the three.

You stared, tilting your head slightly to the side as if that would help you understand better. 

It was understandable why this portrait wasn’t hung next to the other one downstairs: compared to this family, the first family looked like they were all on strings pulled taut to the point of snapping.

Despite having never met them, you were willing to bet the first man wasn’t about to be shown up by his brother’s family looking like they actually loved each other. He seemed like the type.

But something else caught your eye, too — a fourth figure, looming just beyond the family in a background doorway.

You leaned closer, frowning. Why was this one so hard to make out, if the lighting was the same in both pictures? It looked almost… opaque, somehow. Like it had been entirely engulfed in its own shadow. Like the features had been blurred away in the exposure.

If it had any features to begin with, something in you pointed out.

You stepped back, not super sure where this thought had come from and not thrilled by it, either.

Looking away (for some lighter distraction), your eyes roamed over the other photos again. It was easier to pick people out, now, and you could even spot some photos where the photographer had let himself be captured—

Until you also spotted shadowy figures in photos you hadn’t noticed before. 

Some were looming behind the teens, usually whenever the photographer was also in the photo.

Some were in photos that you had originally thought were still-life, revealing themselves usually in a space where you wouldn’t expect them.

When you started seeing photos of the viewing room, set up for different services, you turned back towards the door. Whatever else was in here, you’d seen enough.

You shut the door behind you as if to keep something contained there.

A final room seemed to take up most of the space of the floor, big and airy, with high windows for catching the light outside. It was huge, behind two sliding wood doors, but when you looked inside, you didn’t bother cataloguing everything you saw on different work benches and tables and such. 

If anything, you were almost trying to convince yourself it was empty.

A quick run up the second set of stairs led you to some linen closets, another bathroom that seemed… fine, mostly, save for some weird feeling you couldn’t put your finger on, and an attic hatch at the end of the hallway you couldn’t be fucking bothered with right now.

When you found the master bedroom, you opened it long enough to look around and make sure it actually had been cleaned.

“Cool,” you said to no one, thankful for a seemingly ordinary staged bedroom with no defining oddities. “I’ll sleep here, I guess.”

And with that, you nearly slammed the door, running all the way back down to the safety of the first floor.

—

After a quick peek through the screen door to make sure Bev hadn’t drove off and left you (she hadn’t), you walked to the family room back off the parlor, separated by another set of doors. 

This had also clearly been cleaned and staged, throw blankets neatly folded over the couch and loveseat, pillows puffed probably just this morning in the arm chair.

Peeking into the kitchen, you got a similarly pleasant, ordinary vibe. While you could see there was more counter space here than most - probably to hold any food the families had catered for their wakes and such - it still seemed almost entirely separate from the rest of the House, the sun pleasant in the windows that looked out over the—

Cemetery. The next door cemetery.

Okay, so it wasn’t completely separate from the House. But at least it was like, comfortable. Chill. You could imagine yourself unwinding in here after a long day with some food, reading a book in the fading sunlight with a glass of wine. The porch just outside looked pleasant too, provided it didn’t have any looming hornets’ nests you couldn’t see yet.

Turning to the back of the kitchen, you saw one door that led outside to the enlarged pavement for transport — handy, you figured, especially when you came home with groceries. 

Aside from all the bodies that needed to come and go, of course.

Immediately adjacent to that was another door. The door you’d likely been thinking about this whole time, behind which was the room that would make or break your entire trek to this tiny town near the bayou.

Just wanting to get it over with at this point - if it wasn’t for you, you were ready to get out of here - you near-marched over to it, twisting the knob and opening it to pure darkness all in one fluid movement.

The downstairs chill was palpable. More than palpable — it set your skin off in goosebumps instantly, as if to spite another growing crescendo of cicadas outside.

You were an adult. You were an adult about to make a serious financial decision. You could brave a basement in a decidedly spooky House.

You had to do this, for the good of yourself, and future you, and any kind of good life you ever hoped to have.

Taking a deep breath and flicking your maglite back on, you descended before you could think too much more about it.

—

In an inversion that would have been unexpected for anyone who wasn’t you, the prep room felt the most familiar to you of anywhere in the House. Even in the dark.

But as your light moved over the gleaming surfaces, a weird peace settled over you. This was what you knew. This was what you were here for.

You fought to suppress the thrill that passed through you as the stainless steel flashed back from the depths of the room, refusing to believe it wasn’t a trick of the gloom until you were right next to the equipment yourself.

It was perfect. It was all perfect.

For being unused for nineteen years, it looked like someone could have walked in yesterday and had everything in the room singing. There was a miraculous lack of rust or grime anywhere your light brushed, and while the room was a tad musty, there was none of the disastrous miasma of rot and ruin that you’d anticipated. Hell, even the tile floor gleamed back at you from the dark, and your footsteps echoed without the muffling of dust. Even the embalming machine, admittedly a bit old-fashioned now, looked perfectly clear where it sat like it was ready for a fresh batch of fluid.

You really, really needed to get the number for the real estate agency’s cleaning crew, you thought to yourself, sweeping your light around further and finding nary a cobweb in any of the corners. This was unreal. It was like someone had scrubbed it down sparkling just the other day, mop and all.

For the first time in your self-guided tour, you felt yourself grinning from ear to ear. 

You could afford and own your own funeral home. You wouldn’t go into crazy debt trying to rehabilitate the place, and you could move out on your own to start your own business. Hell, at the asking price, you could afford more than just the Frigid embalming machine you’d been wanting. You might even be able to redo the whole viewing room just for the sake of aesthetics.

For the first time in what must have been ages - if ever - laughter bounced off the cold steel as your joy bubbled over, allowing yourself a giddy hop in place at your sheer goddamn good luck. When had anything ever worked out this well for you?

You didn’t see or feel the eyes watching you from behind the crack of the office door.

If you had, you might have noticed how they seemed to gaze without blinking for ages, wide with a perplexed sort of shock.

Or that they seemed to glow red, even in the perfect pitch black of the room.

(It's a little later than I would have liked to have posted, and originally I was planning on having the Realtor's reaction as part of the chapter, but you know what? I'm trying to convince myself that not everything I post has to be over 10k, for whatever weird made-up rule I've set for myself, so this is an exercise in that.

If you've read this far, I hope you have someone who looks at you like a stranger in a basement looks at the Reader!!)

#maxi morvant #maximilian vincent morvant #morvant mortuary #southern slasher oc #slasher oc #necromancer oc #slasher oc x reader #maxi morvant x reader #maxi morvant x you #non-binary reader #genderqueer reader #mortician reader #the boy au #monsterkisser fics #rora isn't in this yet but it's part of the twins' birthday celebration <3 #animal death mention tw #cat death mention tw #ask to tag

[bwoahtastic]

Shy little mer sub Max and Rico going for a swim together and Rico asks to court Max? Max is so so happy!

"Look at the coral!" Max beamed happily, swimming over to the bright colours, fins thrilling softly as he smiled at the dominant over his shoulder, beautiful shiny tail sparkling in the sun.

"Beautiful, just like you..." Rico smiled gently, softly taking Max's hand to pull the submissive closer, smiling as Max happily twisted their tails together a little, "Maxy, I would really like to court you, if you would want me to." He added after a deep breath, gently stroking his hand over Max's cheek.

Max's face broke out in a beaming smile, and he nodded enthusiastically, hugging his arms around Rico's neck and pressing their lips together, before turning more bashful, not letting go yet, but smiling a little shyly, "Did my momma give you approval?"

#asks #merpup max au #maxy is a momma's boy okayy

[k-chips]

Hassell and Brassius are just two idiots in love and I love them.

Brassius is growing on me lol and who couldn't love Hassell. He's just too sweet.

Also Mr. Gible was totally a gift from Brassius to Hassell-

They're literally the cutest thing ever 😭😭❤️

No joke, their story is one of the best thing I've seen. It's so good and sad and comforting and wholesome.

Also, I don't care, I consider them canon, just like Maxie and Archie.

Heterosexual couples don't need to be confirmed so I can do what I want 😤

Brassius is a baby, I love him so much I want to hug him🤧💚

AND HASSEL IS SO FREAKING COOL AND CUTE AND AAAAAA

#ephemeralartshipping #hassel #brassius #hassel x brassius #hassius #elite four hassel #gym leader brassius #hardenshipping #maxie #archie #magma leader maxie #aqua leader archie #my boys #ask

[ask-the-ais-anything]

Welp, someone's gotta do it.

Enters le groupchat

Can't say much but THEY know, be ready for a big fight. Guzma and Maxie are possible allies. The outworlders are watching.

Leaves group chat

I… can’t lose him… not again!

My dream shall live on, no matter the cost.

Maxie… why can’t you see what I do?…

Our dream is the perfect image of the world, and we shall show them that.

(Nut I’m just realizing I wrote epilogue and not monologue just- ignore it-)

#pokemon #asks #professor turo #professor sada #penny #Nemona #guzma #maxie #oh boy #these drawings are only gonna take longer the more we get into this.

[fazcinatingblog]

Genuinely thought Maxi was eating out of a colander which would be on par for Maxi eating pasta

#Glenn Maxwell #Just pour the pasta into the colander 'oh wow I've made too much' but he just pours over the sauce anyway and eats it like that #showing sam Harper how it's done #sam invited maxi around for dinner and tossed the pasta and water straight into the sauce #right in front of maxi #while Sam's child stacked blocks for Logan and then Logan smacked them down #Sam's child asking if it's a boy and if it can walk #Sam has had a kid for awhile yeah #can't remember its name #I'm either thinking max or Jack #who named their child after maxi there is a max floating around #i was way off it was finley #born on fazzy's birthday #Nice

[5sospenguinqueen]

Team Betrayal | Red Bull! Reader x Platonic! Grid

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N races for Red Bull but when she's caught out drinking another brand, she enacts her revenge until the Grid outs her snitched.

Apologies but this is a female reader.

Warning: Bad writing. I'm not sure what this is but it was prompted between an energy drink dilemma I had the other day.

There is no timeline for this. Make it up.

Main Masterlist.

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Swiping away the sweat that ran down the back of her neck, Y/N grinned at the camera, drinking in the euphoric energy enveloping her on all sides.

"Thank you for joining us after such a long day." The interviewer beamed, pleased to have been able to catch the Red Bull racer before debrief started. "How're you feeling? You look absolutely drenched."

"Yes. Max thought he was funny tipping the entire can of Red Bull over my head. I'll wash my hair three times and still go home smelling of the stuff." Y/N joked, dabbing the drop of sticky liquid rolling down her forehead.

Pleased that the conversation had naturally developed down that path, the interviewer smirked at the camera before turning their attention back to you. "So, you've been driving for Red Bull for 2 years now? Is it safe to say you're also a big fan of the drink?"

She laughed nervously, unsure why such an odd question was being asked after a Grand Prix. Usually the media used this opportunity to ask how she felt about losing/her teammate winning. Again. "Who isn't?" Y/N joked.

Whipping out her phone, the interviewer (dressed in traitorous McLaren orange) thrust it in front of her face. The grin from Y/N's face instantly dropped as she squinted against the blinding sun. Disbelief painted her face.

"Where did you get that? That's actually me!"

"One of your fellow racers provided it earlier." The interviewer informed, tucking away the damning photo of Y/N drinking a can of Monster Energy, dressed in her Red Bull racing suit and attempting to hide her behaviour behind a laughing Lando Norris.

"Who?!"

"I'm afraid we're not at liberty to say. We promised confidentiality in favour of the photo," teased the interviewer.

"That's my face." Y/N's eyes darkened challengingly. She leaned into the microphone, staring down the camera. "In that case, those boys won't know a moment of peace until I get my answer."

She straightened just as soon after, smile flickering back into place as she heard her name being called. "Oops, I was meant to be in debrief a minute again. Thanks for talking to me. Catch you later!"

"Thank you for your time." The interviewer called after the retreating navy figure. She turned back to the camera. "Ladies and Gentleman, I think it's safe to say that Y/N Y/L/N is as ferocious off the track as she is on it. I don't know about you but I would not want to be a member of the Grid this evening."

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

The interview went viral.

YourUserName this you? (She retweeted with a pic of Lando wearing a Monster Energy hat, a can of Red Bull in hand)

→ LandoNorris no.

User 1 not Lando deliberately lying about his own face

User 2 oh, no. Lando. What have you started?

User 3 not me checking my phone every 2 seconds to see if Y/N has posted after she vowed vengence.

→ Your User Name 👀👀

User 4 don't drag poor Maxie into this. He's always seen drinking Red Bull.

User 5 she never was good enough for the team, hope they drop her after this.

User 6 may as well just go to McLaren with how much time she spends with them.

OscarPiastri just a warning. I can hear her laughing evilly next door.

YourUserName so just to clear a few things up. I have never bought a Monster Energy in my life.

YourUse Name i am always supplied with them by people who are attempting to remain innocent in this scandal.

PierreGASLY yeah, well. My shoes are cleaner than yours so...

→ LandoNorris you sure showed her.

User 7 not the Grid coming for my girl only to end up fighting for their lives.

User 8 coming for his teammate

User 9 not the whole Grid teasing her for betraying Red Bull

User 10 always knew Max didn't like them. This just confirms

YourUserName not you too. You said you had my back

→ Max33Verstappen this is why you didn't get on the podium

Max33Verstappen not my babies?!

→ YourUserName i may not have a podium but I do have your cats.

→ Charles_Leclerc you're making this worse for yourself

→ YourUserName watch out or Leo's next

→ Charles_Leclerc *horrified gasp*

User 11 alex fighting for his innocence.

User 12 the Grid are feeding us tonight.

User 13 what's the odds that they're fighting for their lives in the gc?

User 14 bet they're compiling a list of times they gave her Monster

→ User 15 trying to figure out who might be next

User we found the snitch

User 2 anyone else see Red Bull lurking in the likes?

LandoNorris @ danielricciardo this is why she didn't respond

Max33Verstappen daniel's currently crying.

redbullracing christian said you have a meeting with PR tomorrow.

→ YourUserName crap.

User 3 can we take a moment to appreciate all the Grid content we got this evening?

→ User 4 and look at how quick Y/N's responses were. Boo was ready for them.

→ User 5 what are the odds they were all sitting next to their phones, terrified every time it buzzed

→ lilymhe can confirm.

#formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 smau #f1 smau #formula 1 social media au #f1 social media au #social media au imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 headcanon #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 headcanon #f1 one shot #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #the grid #max verstappen #max verstappen smau #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #george russell imagine #george russell smau #george russell x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris smau #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smau

[norrisleclercf1]

Max and Lando and reader are dating and reader is pregnant and they’re arguing about who the baby is going to look like

A/N: Stopppp they totally would

"You think the baby would have my eyes?" Lando asks, late one night as the three of you lay in bed. You couldn't sleep as the baby was constantly kicking your spine and the boys couldn't sleep as they just got back from Australia and the time change was kicking their ass.

"Pfft, no, I win at everything, you honestly think I didn't win this?" Max snarks that has Lando huffing and cuddling closer and resting his head on the top of your stomach, slowly stroking it. Max was curled around your back and his hands were tangling in Lando's hair.

"I want her to have Lando's eyes, but your hair," You whisper, as the boys knew how much you loved Lando's eyes. "But, you're smile, and how loyal you are Maxie. Lando, I want her to have your drive, to explore her interests, maybe a driver like the both of you, but I want her to love like you two do." You whisper, thinking about the little girl with dirty blonde hair, and gorgeous sea green eyes.

"Babe, that's so sweet, but that doesn't matter right now." Lando whispers and sits up glaring at Max. "Just because you win everything doesn't mean you won this Verstappen. If you happen to remember 7 months agon, it was me who got a podium and got her begging for my-" "Finish that sentence and you'll never see me naked again." You glare which has Lando deflating and Max smirking.

"Sureeeee, but when we went on vacation, I was the one who was buried so damn deep in her." Max argues back and you groan covering your face with a pillow as the boys argue back and forth.

In the end they both lost, because your gorgeous baby girl was an exact carbon copy of you.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fandom #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #f1 scenario #f1 fluff #f1 oneshot #f1 fic #lando norris #max verstappen #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff #norstappen fluff #f1!poly #poly!f1 #norstappen x reader

[astonmartinii]

Could you do a smau where she’s max’s sister and dominating MotoGP the way max is f1. Maybe they have the typical annoying younger sister/protective big brother relationship and he finds out she’s dating one of the f1 drivers? Xx

cherry lip balm | oscar piastri social media au

pairing: oscar piastri x motogp!verstappen!reader

the verstappen siblings run motorsport, but the youngest's f1 allegiances may belong elsewhere

f1 and motogp

liked by oscarpiastri, danielricciardo and 1,405,466 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, yourusername

f1 and motogp: happy international siblings day to max and y/n verstappen, these two have 60 wins between them 🏆

view all comments

user1: my faves i love them

user2: the way jos wasn't gonna let them kids do anything else lol

yourusername: + victoria verstappen the patron saint who puts up with both of us love you 🥰

maxverstappen: you mean putting up with you ? i'm a mature man of the world now

yourusername: girl you are fussier than all of our nephews put together mature MY ASS

maxverstappen1: i am mature and i have BOUNDARIES

yourusername: yeah you have boundaries between all your food you bland man

victoriaverstappen: i think you just proved y/n right

user3: they are the most unhinged people ever i feel so bad for victoria lol

user4: patiently waiting for y/n's championship

marcmarquez93: no marquez representation?

yourusername: you need to serve more

maxverstappen1: you guys don't have the verstappen sass

user5: someone needs to stop them 😭

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 832,771 others

yourusername: the two sides of a race week

view all comments

user6: the way she won this race and was like yeah i need that 0.5 of me drinking coffee actually

yourusername: it's a hot chocolate cause i'm a child

user7: are we all collectively ignoring the whole ass man on the last slide?

maxverstappen1: no we're not Y/N Y/M/N VERSTAPPEN CALL ME THIS INSTANT

yourusername: calm it on the all caps and maybe i'll call you

maxverstappen1: MAYBE?

yourusername: well that's not making it any better maxie

user8: i can't loose this parasocial relationship y/n get that man's hands off of you now

landonorris: y/n please pick up max's call he's threatening to throw my monza trophy PLEASE PICK UP I DON'T HAVE THAT MANY TROPHIES

yourusername: please refer to my previous comment about all caps and then come back

landonorris: y/n may you please call your beloved brother back so my very limited trophy collection does not get destroyed

yourusername: sure just for you lando ❤️

maxverstappen1: STOP FLIRTING PLEASE

yourusername: i just picked up ... and ur still commenting (plus that's not lando in the pic btw he's too skinny to be him)

landonorris: why am i getting bullied by both verstappens today, i'm just trying to help :(

maxverstappen1

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 1,034,661 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: there's no party like a verstappen party and a verstappen-only party with no BOYFRIENDS because they don't exist :)

view all comments

user14: ahaha passive aggressive max is my fave

yourusername: just cause you're too much of a pussy to ask charles out so i can't have a boy friend?

maxverstappen1: what?

yourusername: what?

user15: max as overprotective brother is my new favourite thing

danielricciardo: i fear y/n is 22 years old and her own woman

yourusername: awwww thanks danny at least one man here has SENSE

maxverstappen1: how much did she pay you to comment that?

danielricciardo: she didn't pay me but my house plant currently at hers was being held at gun point

yourusername: i would never

danielricciardo: so i can delete my comment

yourusername: do that and sheila gets it

user16: i know we should be more concerned with max going insane, but daniel's choice of name for his house plant is the most pressing issue

user17: hear me out but for comedic purposes ... i need y/n's bf to be a driver

maxverstappen1: do not speak that into the universe

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 808,943 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: i like the taste of her cherry lip balm

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user22: what 😭 the 😭 fuck 😭

yourusername: you don't taste half bad either ;)

oscarpiastri: come back to bed

maxverstappen1: NO NO NO STOP RIGHT THERE OSCAR JACK PIASTRI WHAT ARE YOU DOING DON'T SAY THAT ABOUT MY SISTER

oscarpiastri: how do you know my middle name?

maxverstappen1: i called your mum, anyhow YOU ARE A DEAD MAN

oscarpiastri: how did you get my mum's number?

maxverstappen1: i'm trying to threaten you please stop asking questions

yourusername: maxy please stop trying to be scary i know you still wear footy pjamas at christmas

maxverstappen1: well i hope oscar is terrified by my christmas spirit

user23: i feel like i lose brain cells watching y/n and max talk to each other

user24: we ignoring the fact that max managed to get oscar's mum's number just to ask for his middle name PETTY KING

maxverstappen1: it was more than a middle name, i needed a character witness

yourusername: CHARACTER WITNESS? YOU WORK WITH HIM? YOUR BEST FRIEND IS HIS TEAMMATE?

maxverstappen1: i understand you are making points and no one has a bad word to say about him ... but i've got to stick to the bit now

oscarpiastri: so i'm not going to die in hungary?

maxverstappen1: no. but keep all your business to yourself, i don't need to know what lip balm my sister uses and that you own a bed

oscarpiastri: got it 🫡

user25: well that was dramatic

maxverstappen1

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 1,203,788 others

tagged: yourusername, oscarpiastri

maxverstappen1: congrats on your first podium in f1 oscar, welcome to the family i guess ... don't take photos on my phone every again

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user28: so we can all say oscar has max's approval now?

user29: mans was like wow he challenged me in the race he has the stamp of approval now

yourusername: jokes on you we look great @oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri: and what the people don't know is that max was also doing face masks with us

maxverstappen1: not the serve you think it is i am very secure in my masculinity

yourusername: i'm glad you've gotten over your weird older brother act ... does this mean you'll both come to my next race?

oscarpiastri: i'll be there :)

maxverstappen1: i guess

yourusername: whooooooooop finally

user30: the way i am so happy for oscar i feel like i've been on this journey with him

user31: honestly rookie of the year and it's not even close

user30: i was talking about him and max... but yeah he's doing great !!!

landonorris: can i also get a pass for your next race y/n for keeping it a secret?

maxverstappen1: WHAT

yourusername: ur so dumb i actually can't

oscarpiastri: i'm not helping you here dude i just got approval

landonorris: well now i regret helping you guys

maxverstappen1: open your door lando

user32: is he dead?

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 1,348,300 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri

yourusername: fifth win of the season, my family and the love of my life, what could be better

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user33: i feel like the shit storm of max and oscar has defo distracted us from the fact that f1 and motogp fans are suffering through a verstappen winning nearly every race

maxverstappen1: i want everyone to appreciate my character growth as i took that gross ass last photo

yourusername: thank you maxy, what a sacrifice

oscarpiastri: thanks dude, you did push me in the water right after though

maxverstappen1: uh you snooze you lose, a verstappen rule of life, you had no phone on you so fair game, i thought you wanted to be part of this family

oscarpiastri: I DO ... does this mean i can push you in next time?

maxverstappen1: absolutely not.

yourusername: do it anyway osc i'll protect you babe

oscarpiastri: idk i'm scared

yourusername: he's ticklish he's so easy to beat

maxverstappen1: THAT WAS A SECRET Y/N

user34: if you told me last season that i'd see max go from wanting to kill piastri to being brothers with him and that i'd know he wears footy pjs and is ticklish i'd laugh in ur face

maxverstappen1: ONLY AT CHRISTMAS

oscarpiastri: don't worry mate i think it's cute

maxverstappen1: okay now i prefer you over y/n

yourusername: who? what? where? when? why?

oscarpiastri: soz babe you snooze you lose

note: ahhhhh i really enjoyed writing this so i hope you enjoy i love writing comment domestics if you couldn't tell lol xx

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri instagram au #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri

[cyberdragoninfinity]

Hey, I heard you like Duel Links Lore! As owner of the (inactive 😓) @incorrectduellinksquotes I would like to impart the Cursed Knowledge if I can.

First, an easy way to tell if someones AI? If they re-enact a duel in their talk. Pegasus and Kaiba(DM) roleplay their DK duel, for example.

Starting with DM, an interesting note about Isis/Ishizu - Even before Yami Marik was added, she and Rishid/Odion had a conversation about how Malik/Marik was missing from Duel Links... ish. If I remember correctly, what they actually say is that Malik is missing in general, and they came to Duel Links to try and find him. While Isis has evidence pointing to her being an AI clone, Rishid has no damning evidence either way. Its entirely possible that Rishid is the real Rishid, and Malik has actually gone missing. I wonder if (Yami) Malik's inclusion in the game was considered in poor taste and got backlash.

Also, its evident that The Real Kaiba used Kaiba (DM) as his avatar for a while, before DSOD world was complete. Oddly, Roland/Isono seems to listen to Mokuba(DM) as his superior despite Mokuba being an AI copy, which is just funny

Onto GX - Its true that most characters are pretty ambiguous, but theres some that are obvious. Judai and Yubel (separate, not Yubel/Judai) are both AI, Cronos/Crowler does the RP thing, Ryo/Zane is still a butt much, but thats about it. The only one who has any indication they're real is... The Chazz. Yes, Black Thunder seems to be the genuine article, if and only because of the company he brings with him. Ojamas Yellow, Green, and Black wouldnt be there if Manjoume was an AI, and even if they were they wouldnt Leak Yubel's Event like Yellow did.

5Ds... you seem to have a good grasp on them.

I never watched zexal :X

Arc V iirc kinda implied nobodys real? i dunno i dropped Duel Links at that point

Vrains is where it gets interesting again, but frankly thats its own post. The question isnt "are they AI copies" the question is like. If you're a digital copy of something already digital, and the original is gone... is there a functional difference calling you a copy? Or is it fair to consider you the original? the funny ourple blob boi is a philisophical nightmare and he'd probably enjoy knowing he is.

Sorry. but also im not

OH FUCK YEAH!! Thanks a bunch, this is a FANTASTIC compilation of interesting lore bits; I didn't know a lot of these! (as it goes, having not played the game for like...the first four years it was out dfhghsdfg) THE FACT CHAZZ MIGHT BE THE REAL DEAL, OF ALL CHARACTERS??!? ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS. PLEASE. proving his humanity thanks to Ojama Yellow. truly only the best for The Chazz.

The thing about if a character reenacts a duel in their dialogue being a good benchmark for whether or not they're AI is fascinating....the brings up an interesting side-tangent with that when you have two confirmed AI characters dueling each other, and their dialogue isn't a perfect duel reenactment but still implies an established dynamic and history (like aporia and z-one's dialogue when they duel each other /obligatory comment about my old men). The way the AI themselves are evolving and talking with each other and being their own variations of these people....that's a can of worms all its own.

Arc-V's been such a weird case because even if everyone there happens to be AI, they're so kneedeep in trying to figure out how the memory cloning process works, what brings a person into this world, that you wonder if there's going to be some sort of realization of the self for one of those guys on the horizon. Could be fun if so!!!!

very very interested to see where the VRAINS implications go cuz that is SUPREMELY INTERESTING lore (especially for a fucking FREEMIUM TRADING CARD GAME ONLINE) and I want to see what they do with it. havent even SEEN vrains yet but I like watching these characters try to solve a mystery that should have never been their problem in the first place. great stuff!

#ygo posting #asks #ask-maxie-boy #duel links madness

[mandarinmoons]

Look he's just a little bby 🥺🥺🥺

Curled up so nice and snugg 🤧

#wish i could pet him fr #my maxie boy x #ket's asks

[isimpoveryou]

lestappen x sargeant!reader

fc: sabrina carpenter

{𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓} {previous part} {next part}

yourinstagram ✔︎

liked by maxverstappen1 and 972,809 others

yourinstagram emails I can't send coming out soon!

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user01 I BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE!

user02 AFTER 2829939383 YEARS WE FINALLY GOT AN ALBUM

oliviarodrigo i'm in love with you

yourinstagram let's get married

user03 i spy with my little eye max verstappen and charles leclerc in y/n's likes

user04 they're so me honestly. i'd be down bad to for y/n

logansargeant cover up some more

logansargeant jokes aside im proud of you

yourinstagram thanks i guess 🙄🙄

maxverstappen1 😍

logansargent no

*comment deleted by yourinstagram

yourinstagram 🫶🫶

charles_leclerc ❤️❤️

logansargeant no

*comment deleted by yourinstagram

yourinstagram 🫶🫶

user05 WE ALL SAW LOGANS REPLY RIGHT?!?!?!?

yoursecondaccount

liked by babyolivia and 189 others

yoursecondaccount me when im falling with two guys that vroom vroom in circles for living

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babyolivia TWO AT ONCE?!?!

yoursecondaccount THEY'RE BOTH CUTE OKAY?!?!

babyolivia ok yeah you're right... BUT STILL

graycoma GURL WHAT BOTH OF THEM?!?!

yoursecondaccount ITS NOT FUNNY ANYMORE IM SO DOWN BAD FOR THEM! i cant keep on with this "we are just friends and im one of the drivers sister" facade

graycoma go get that dicks gurl

troyetoy i cant keep defending you 😭😭😭

yoursecondaccount DONT LIE YOU'D BE ON YOUR KNEES IF A GUY TEXT YOU LIKE THAT

gracebrams VROOM VROOM GUYS?!??! THEMMM?!?!?

yoursecondaccount like what ariana grande said "yes, and?"

yourinstagram ✔︎

liked by charles_leclerc and 478,927 others

yourinstagram girls just wanna have fun

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user01 MADISON BEER X Y/N COLLAB WHEN?!?!?

madisonbeer 👀👀👀

yourinstagram 🍵🍵🍵

user02 charles max ya'll better start making a move before i make the move FOR YA'LL SAKE

user03 they are literally down bad for y/n

user04 honestly i think they'd the guys that goes down bad for a girl. like before y/n could ask something they're on it already

maxverstappen1 and charles_leclerc liked the comment

user04 THEY FUCKING LIKED MY COMMENT?!?!

scuderiaferrari better in red in all honesty 🤷‍♀️

redbullracing i'd say dark blue

williamsracing and both of you are delusional

user05 NOT THE ADMINS 😭😭😭😭

yourinstagram ✔︎

liked by maxverstappen1 and 1,019,729 others

yourinstagram EMAILS I CANT SEND OUT IN ALL PLATFORMS

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user01 VICIOUS?!?! HELLOOOO VICIOUSSS?!?!?

logansargeant I'm getting emptional 🥹 THATS MY SISTER EVERYBODY

yourinstagram I CANTR 😭😭 LOVE YOUU LOGAN!!!

user02 CRYING OVER BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY

user03 SO REALLL?!?!

taylorswift SO PROUD OF YOU 🫶🫶🫶

yourinstagram I LOVE YOU 🫶🫶🫶

oliviarodrigo who knew dating the same guy could get us this much success?

oliviarodrigo jokes aside CONGRATS MY LOVE

yourinstagram OLIVIA?!?!? thank you pookie

maxverstappen1 Congratulations y/n 💞💞

yourinstagram thank you maxie 🫶

user05 A NICKNAME?!?!?

charles_leclerc Congratulations belle 💞 you are absolutely talented

yourinstagram thank you so much cha 🫶

#fake instagram #social media au #instagram au #social media imagines #fake social media #f1 x reader #x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #lestappen #lestappen x reader #lestappen x you #f1 blurb #f1 x you #f1 smau #f1 social media au

[dilemmaontwolegs]

F.I.N.E || MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x teacher!reader Summary: When your student gets injured and you can’t get hold of her parents you try call an old contact number hoping he can help. Warnings: slight angst, fluff WC: 3.4K

Max frowned at the unfamiliar number calling him. If it wasn’t for the fact it was a local number he would have ignored it but since few people had his personal number he decided to answer it. Immediately he was hit with the sound of high pitch cries and a soothing voice softly singing a lullaby that eased the knot of anxiety that had formed in an instant. 

“Hello, is this Max?” you asked when you realised the dual tone had stopped and the call had been answered. You shifted the child carefully on your lap and grabbed the old enrolment form to see the name again. “Max Verstappen?”

“Maxy?” the girl in your arms echoed with confusion.

“Yes, who is this?”

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m one of Penelope’s teachers. There’s been an incident and I found your number under her emergency contact list.”

“Oh no, sorry, there must be a mistake. You should call her mother or father. I’m not, we’re not, um, I shouldn’t be on that list anymore.”

You cringed as another piercing cry deafened your ear and you rubbed the little girl's back. “It hurts,” she whimpered.

“I know, sweetheart, someone will be here to get you shortly,” you replied softly and you hoped it was the truth. “Look, Max, I’ve tried every other contact number and no one is answering. Is there any way you could come down here? At least until I can get in touch with someone else.”

Max pinched the bridge of his nose but when he heard P’s shuddering cry he knew he had to go. “Okay, I’ll be there shortly.”

Max didn’t care if he got a parking ticket, he took the loading space right outside the preschool building. He likely would have gotten a speeding ticket too in his rush to cross the city but thankfully there weren’t any police in his path. 

“Maxy!” 

Penelope wriggled in your arms as she spotted the stranger walking into the classroom. His eyes immediately found her and he crossed the space to where you sat holding her.

“Hey, P,” he greeted with a smile and knelt down at your height. “What’s happened, bug?”

Her little eyes welled up again as she lifted her bandaged wrist. “I fell off the playground.”

“I don’t think anything is broken but I would suggest having her doctor check to be sure.”

“I don’t know who her doctor is. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

“You’re contact details were-”

“Those must have been from when she started. Her mother and I haven’t been together for a while.”

“Oh, I see. I’m sorry to put this on you. I swear I tried every other phone number we have.”

Max nodded and his sigh sounded exhausted as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I just need to make a call. I’ll be back in a minute, bug.”

Max walked along the room, looking over the children’s artwork as he pressed his phone to his ear and waited. Eventually the call went to voicemail and his spine straightened tensely. “Kel, I’ve picked up P from daycare and I’m taking her to the hospital. Call me when you get this.”

You could see the man was stressed when he returned and his short hair pointed in all directions from the hand he kept nervously running through it. It was cute.

“Daniil is in Italy this week for work,” Max said as he returned to your side and picked up Penelope’s Prada backpack before opening his arms. “I’ll keep trying to get a hold of Kelly. Come on, bug.”

Lunchtime was coming to an end and children were starting to file back into the room, a few of the older ones stopping at staring wide eyed at Max. He was tall but not that tall or formidable to draw such a reaction but your question was answered when one of the boys ran to his picture on the wall. Timothée unpinned the drawing of a race car and ran up to Max, holding it out with a pencil.

“Sir, can you please sign this?”

Max looked used to the attention and took the pen with a polite, “Sure.” He stared at the picture for the moment after signing it and chuckled. “Is the RB20?”

Timothée nodded eagerly. “It’s my favourite.”

“Mine too,” he said as handed the picture back and smiled as it was crushed happily to the boy's chest. Max then carefully picked up Penelope, slowly so she wasn’t jostled, and his arms brushed yours. 

“If you need anything you have my number,” you reminded as the weight was lifted from your lap. “Children can be a little overwhelming if you’re not used to it.”

Max smiled fondly at Penelope and shook his head. “This isn’t new. I still have her room set up.”

“You do?” Penelope asked hopefully and Max turned his head as he cursed to himself. “Are we going to live with you again?”

“No, no, sorry, P,” he said softly. “I just haven’t had time to redecorate.”

“Oh.” You both winced at the defeated tone and you knew the fresh tears had nothing to do with her arm this time but you were saved by the bell as it spurred Max to toss the bag over his shoulder and look to the door.

“I hope you feel better soon, Penelope.”

“Thank you, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Thank you,” Max echoed with a nod before departing.

All afternoon you were distracted with thoughts of the two of them until the final bell rang and you grabbed your phone. You had sporadically tried to contact Daniil and Kelly again but the calls went straight to voicemail every time and you found no returned calls.

Y/N: How is Penelope? Max: She is happy watching The Little Mermaid. She has a sprained wrist and the nurse complemented the bandaging so you should be proud. Y/N: And how are you? Max: I’m fine.

Max swore as the pot of water boiled over and he hissed as he grabbed the handle to find it was just as hot. He dropped his phone reaching for the teatowel and then P started calling out from the living room complaining that the movie was boring - the same movie she watched a thousand times and she had specifically asked for.

Y/N: My mentor used to tell me that stood for: freaked out, insecure, neurotic and emotional. Are you sure you are fine?

After turning the stove down to a simmer and wiping up the mess of water that had splashed across his floor he went and changed the movie to what would hopefully last longer than ten minutes before she changed her mind. Taking another attempt at making dinner, he grabbed a bag of pasta from his pantry and poured its entirety into the pot.

Max: I’m thinking I am definitely neurotic and possibly starting to freak out. Y/N: I couldn’t have that on my conscience. My offer still stands if you need some help. Max: You don’t have anyone you need to get home to? Y/N: My cat prefers his own company unless he’s hungry and he’s already been fed today so no. Max: I don’t want you to go out of your way. Y/N: I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t willing to follow through. Let me help. Please?

Max smiled at his phone before sending his address and looking around to see how tidy the place was. His jacket was tossed on the table instead of being hung up and Penelope’s bag was spilled across the entryway floor, not the first impression he wanted to make.

You entered the port address into your phone and locked the classroom behind you, feeling a little unsteady at the thought of seeing Max again. Penelope was a sweet child and she seemed comfortable with Max but you hadn’t really ever heard her talk about him before. You told yourself the only reason you were going there was to check on your student's wellbeing, but a small part of you wanted to see Max again.

You wondered if maybe he hadn’t heard your knock on the door or that you had the wrong apartment and you rapped your knuckles on it again before he called out. There was a crash and then a groan close to the door before it swung open and Max balanced on one leg.

“Uh, is everything okay?” you asked as he clutched his foot.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he rushed before he caught the teasing curl of your brow and he froze before a smile grew on his lips. “Right, freaked out, insecure, neurotic and emotional.”

“You’re a quick learner.” You stepped inside at his invitation and he closed the door behind you while you rushed towards the burning smell in the kitchen. “Oh, wow.”

“Fucksake,” Max grumbled as he grabbed a wet tea towel before reaching for the tray of garlic bread in the oven. “Ouch, shit!”

“You said a naughty word,” Penelope called out from the next room like it was something that she regularly commented on. “That's another 20.”

Max sighed heavily as he looked at a jar on the bench that was already filled with cash. “Shit.”

“I heard that.”

“Shouldn’t you be watching your movie?”

You giggled at the amusing conversation before turning the tap to cold and taking Max’s hand. “Wet towels and hot trays make steam.”

He watched you guide his hand under the water and flinched as it hit the burn mark on his palm. “I don’t usually cook, if you couldn’t tell.”

“The life of a bachelor. Keep your hand there.” You moved with ease around his kitchen trying to save what was left of dinner but paused at a huge pot of pasta that had swelled up and pushed the lid half off. “Are you expecting a dozen other people?”

Max shrugged innocently. “I didn’t know how much to put in.”

“Well the good news is the top half is edible,” you stated after finding a colander and draining the pasta until only a thick layer remained stuck to the bottom of the pot. “Do you have any sauce?”

“Sauce?”

“What were you going to have with it?”

“Garlic bread.” You both looked at the charred sticks still smoking on the baking tray.

“Do you mind?” you asked as you pointed to his fridge and the cupboards around the kitchen.

“No, please. Go ahead.”

You checked the fridge first and you were pleasantly surprised to find it well stocked with fresh fruit and vegetables. “Do you live off salads or does all this go to waste?”

“Neither, my nutritionist comes by twice a week and he prepares the meals.”

For a moment you had forgotten his profession. You had googled his name after Timothée couldn’t stop talking about meeting the ‘Max Verstappen’. “That must be intense, and restricting. Does your social life suffer?”

“It’s not so bad. I still get to go out for dinner and have a few drinks when I want.” He started to pull his hand out from under the water but you tutted and caught his wrist, holding it back beneath the cold stream.

“Keep still,” you warned with a voice you saved for children who weren’t listening. “It needs 20 minutes under there.”

“You want me to stand here for twenty minutes?”

“No, science wants you to stay there for twenty minutes.”

“Are you a teacher or a nurse?” he asked with a playful roll of his eyes.

“Depends if it's halloween.”

His loud laugh made you smile and you eased your grip on his hand one finger at a time to see if he would stay where he was. He did. “I’ll behave, Miss Y/L/N.”

“You can call me Y//N.”

“I kind of like calling you Miss Y/L/N.”

You checked to see if he was serious but thankfully there was a teasing smile on his face before you returned to the fridge to gather some ingredients.

By some small miracle dinner can’t have been too bad since everyone cleaned their plates of the pasta, though you thought they were likely being polite since you could still taste the hint of smoke from the bottom of the pan. Penelope had spent most of the meal asking Max if he remembered what they used to do when she lived there, how they used to go travelling and shopping. You got to see first hand how much patience the man had as he answered each question despite how it made him uncomfortable.

“You miss her,” you commented after she had gone back to the tv. Max started to collect the dishes with you and sighed as he placed them in the sink. 

“It was a big change when they moved out,” he spoke quietly and you stepped closer so you could hear better. “She kept asking if she did something wrong.”

“That must have been hard for you.” His eyes widened and you wondered what shocked him, but you had a feeling it was the fact someone showed concern for him. Even though you didn’t know the details of the break up, it was clear he had and still did care for Penelope and you felt sorry for him. “Can I hug you? I’m a hugger and I feel like you could really do with one.”

“You want to hug me?”

You tried to shrug it off casually. “If you want to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everyone needs a hug sometime.”

“I do,” he said quickly, very quickly, before he cleared his throat. “I mean, I-I wouldn’t mind a hug.”

You smiled at his tentativeness and stepped into his personal space, slipping your hands into the narrow openings between his limp arms and his body to curl around his waist. It took a moment for him to respond before his own arms embraced the comfort and curled around your back too.

“You smell really good, Max,” you complimented as you rested your head on his chest and caught the scent of his cologne.

“Thank you,” he chuckled, the amusement relaxing him even more until his entire body curved into yours. “I think you have playdough in your hair.”

You hummed in agreement. “Highly likely. You wouldn’t believe the places I find that stuff at the end of the day, glitter too.”

His bold laugh made you smile and you didn’t care it was at your own expense, you were just happy to know it was because of you. Unfortunately you didn’t have the chance to hear it again as his phone rang from the countertop and you saw Kelly’s name light up the screen.

“I should let you get that,” you said as you stepped back, instantly missing the warmth and his scent. “I’ll go keep Penelope company.”

Max waited for you to leave the kitchen before he accepted the call, his calm state evaporating in an instant. “What the hell, Kelly? Where have you been?”

“My phone was on flight mode, I was on a plane. Is P okay?”

“Her wrist is sprained but she’s alright now.” Max pinched the bridge of his nose and reminded himself to breathe. “Why would you leave her alone?”

“She wasn’t alone. Maria was meant to pick her up after school and I should have been home in time for dinner but my flight was delayed.”

“Who is Maria?”

“Her nanny.”

Max had to suppress the groan at the news. He knew Daniil hated the idea of a nanny and he had offered to have more custody so that P would be raised by her parents and not a stranger, but Kelly had vetoed that idea.

“Do you want to go out for dinner? I owe you.”

“No, we’ve already eaten.”

“Some other time then.”

Max made a non-committal sound, his eyes darting to the living room where he watched Penelope explain the movie to you. You were so attentive and patient, asking questions that had Penelope thinking deeper and using such a simple interaction as a learning opportunity. He could see why you suited being a teacher.

“Maybe,” he lied, “just let me know when you’re almost here and I’ll bring P out to you, I don’t want to confuse her any more.”

“Right, of course,” Kelly sighed. “I’ll see you soon, Max.”

Max made the most of the time he had left with P, abandoning the dishes so he could sit on the other side of her and watch the movie about a chef rat. She had cozied into his side with a yawn and nudged his arm until he eventually draped it over her shoulder. It was completely innocent but you couldn’t help noticing the heat of his hand touching your arm, the warmth spreading like wildfire.

The fire was doused when his phone vibrated and the moment to leave had come.

While he grabbed Penelope’s backpack, you grabbed your handbag and prepared your own goodbyes. It was silly to feel sad the evening had come to an end but you knew that you would likely never see Max again. You weren’t famous and he didn’t have children, your paths weren’t meant to cross.

“Have a good weekend, Penelope,” you said as you knelt down and gave her a hug. “I’ll see you bright and early on Monday.”

“Bye, Miss Y/L/N.”

You rose to your feet wondering where you stood with Max until he opened his arms. “Anytime you need a hug, you have my number,” you offered as you stepped into his embrace, no matter how unlikely that prospect was.

“Or if I’m feeling fine?”

You giggled and nodded against his chest. “Especially if you’re feeling fine.”

The walk to the elevator was slow, as if no one wanted the strange evening to end, but there was no stopping time as it began making its way down from the penthouse to the ground floor. The doors opened and you instantly spotted Kelly in the reception area, her elegant and effortless beauty reminding you that you still had playdough in your hair.

With one last look at the man beside you, you gave him a small smile and stepped away. “Goodbye, Max.”

He didn’t respond as you headed to the valet area but he pulled his phone out of his pocket and yours vibrated a moment later.

Max: Are you okay?

Y/N: I’m fine.

Max: Me too. Emotional, you?

Y/N: Insecure.

Max: Want a hug?

You stopped and turned to see Max hand Penelope’s bag over before struggling to separate the girl from where she clung to his leg. She didn’t know, couldn’t see how it was hurting Max, but you could. So you waited, and when the mother and daughter had departed you stepped into the elevator with the subdued man, slipping your hand into his.

The elevator rose quickly and you watched Max’s throat bounce with the deep swallow he made before he choked out a broken, “Fuck.”

“I feel like I should remind you about the swear jar,” you teased as you bumped your shoulder gently against his arm. “But I’ll let you off this once because I have a soft spot for you.”

He looked down at you from the corner of his eye and you saw some of the sadness fading from them. “Does that make me the teacher's pet?”

You gasped dramatically and clutched your chest with your free hand. “I could never bestow such high praise after just one day.”

“What are your plans tomorrow then?” he asked with a smirk as the doors opened and he pulled his house key out of his pocket.

“I don’t have any.”

“Lovely, now are you going to answer my question?” He stepped inside the apartment and opened his arms. “Did you want a hug?”

Your smile chased away more of the shadows in his eyes and the last of it was erased when you stepped into his arms with an eager nod. “I will never say no to a hug.”

His chest bounced with a laugh and you felt him rest his cheek on your head with a contented sigh. “That is very good to know.”

#max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #formula one imagine

[coco-loco-nut]

Hii!

Can I please ask for an angsty fic with Max, where the reader defends him from Jos after not finishing his race in Melbourne...idk if you remember when Max kept his helmet for four hours after a race because he was afraid of what Jos would have done to him after not winning...and the reader basically tells Jos to get lost even if she's like 5'4 and definitely not as intimidating as them both lol.

And then maybe after the win in Suzuka, they "reconcile" but she still reminds him to act right around her boyfriend, who's now a man and not a little boy he could pressure like he once did.

Sorry if it's too long!! Thanks for taking your time and reading my request!

Guard Dog

Pairing: Max x Reader

Summary: You are sick and tired of watching Max take Jos' shit

TW: verbal abuse

A/n: thank you soooo much for the rec, I love writing these out so much <3

requests open masterlist

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"Maxie... are you okay?" you wait patiently by the door to his driver's room, careful not to barge in like Jos would, as you have for the past year since you first witnessed Jos' beratement of his son. He is sitting on the couch with his helmet between his hands. The fire causing an unpleasant start to the race, and you are just glad you got here first.

"I'm okay," his voice cracks and you step into the room, closing the door behind you. "I know it wasn't my fault, but I can't help but feel like it was my fault," Max looks in your eyes, the fire brewing behind them. You were genuinely the sweetest girl he's ever met, and to get you mad took a lot. God help you if Jos shows up, you are tired of Max feeling bad even when he podiums.

"You're right, you didn't do anything wrong, the car failed you today," you stay calm, sitting beside him and cuddling into him. Max stays quiet, enjoying your warmth, and decompressing from the start. He can understand why the fans were so happy to see him lose, in fact, if he wasn't himself, he would join them. No, the fear of his father is what has him on edge. Rightfully so, because a few seconds later the door is slammed open again.

"Max, what the hell did you-" Jos starts and you launch yourself off the couch. Jos and Max were big guys, and you were average height for a woman, 5'6 or so, but you didn't seem like it in that moment.

"Shut the hell up and leave. You have nothing useful to say and you are going to shift blame to Max who had NO fault in the DNF," you snarl, setting yourself up as a barrier between the two, Jos still in the doorway and Max on the couch.

"Girl, I don't know who you think you are, but I am Max's father, and I can-," You cut Jos off before he can continue.

"No, you aren't his father. A father doesn't talk to his son like that, you are simply a man who shares the same last name as Max. A father is someone like Carlos Sainz Sr or Lawrence Stroll. No, you are a man- sorry a boy in a man's body- who can't cope with the fact that he doesn't race anymore and wants the man who shares the same last name with him to be impossibly perfect and win every single race, even when the car breaks down." You sneer at the man. "You need to leave, before I call security and make them remove you," you don't back down, instead you step closer. Max watches in both awe and fear.

"I-"

"Leave, Jos, now. Don't make me repeat myself," you say, practically slamming the door behind him. You turn around and look at Max, seemingly calm and normal. He looks at you bewildered.

"That was the sexiest thing ever. Thank you, Schatje, you didn't have to do that," Max hugs you, a large weight off of his shoulders.

"Of course I did, who else will be your guard dog?" You smile at him, squeezing him tighter. "Now, get changed and get back to the garage," you tell Max, stepping out to the room. You let out a deep breath, surprised with how you treated Jos and stood up for Max. A couple minutes later, Max rejoins you, quickly stopping inside hospitality for a snack.

The two of you avoid Jos, going extremely low contact, not that he was trying to. Jos would never admit it, but he was embarrassed at how you spoke to him, and his retreat allowed him to ignore it. Instead, you and Max enjoyed your time together in Japan. The both of you were aware Jos was there, but chose to ignore it. After Max won, Jos warily approached the two of you.

"I wanted to congratulate you on winning. You drove well," Jos says stiffly, silently calling for a truce. You let Max take the lead on the conversation.

"Thank you," he says, feeling like a little boy again, but accepting the temporary truce.

"It was good seeing you Jos, but we need to go," you interject, sensing the still tense atmosphere. The older man, still a little scared of you despite your sweet demeanor, lets you go, not quite willing to cross you again.

"Love you, Maxie"

"Love you too, Schatje,"

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen #i hate jos verstappen