The thing is I read a landoscar fic from 2024 and like it's a vv nice fic and all really but there's this bit where they're talking about how there wasn't ever really a chance that Lando would have won the wdc that year because "nobody comes back from a 60 point deficit with only 8 races left" and I had to pause and close it for a minute to stare at the ceiling bcs 😭😭😭😭 god😭😭😭😭 there is in fact onebody
something very uncouth about charles making those eyes at the camera oh my god asdgsdgfsdfg
it makes me think of yours, specifically this moment:
"He darts his eyes over to Charles to see that he’s already looking at him.
He immediately looks back at the TV, grateful for the darkness obscuring his blush. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the side of Charles’ mouth quirk up as he looks back at the screen."
BUT ALSO it made me think of pissed off charles making max apologize 😋 anywayssss i love ur fanfics sm <33333
Most uncouth indeed!
Yes. This is all very Yours Verse Charles coded to me, in the deepest part of my soul🥰
omg i loveee max mouthing off and bragging about how he and charles fuck nasty with his friends then charles hearing and knowing immediately he’s getting fuckkkked !! alsoo obviously yours verse charles has no competition but out of all of the men max flirts with irl who’s the biggest threat ?
Yes yes exactlyyy. I agree.
I feel like if we're entertaining hypotheticals, then Daniel would make the most sense because he and Max have always shamelessly joked around about that, so much that I think they might genuinely consider doing it just for the bit
i'm working on a longer daemonverse fic and i wrote this section that i really like but i think i might have to cut down significantly to make it fit in with everything else.
so i thought i'd post it in this state as just an independent ficlet! it still is in daemonverse, obvi, but it stands on its own without the surrounding longer fic i'm trying to struggle together.
mostly below the cut. enjoy!
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Leonie forgets sometimes, when she and Max are around other people, to act as if they're bound by the same physical limits as everybody else.
It's not that they need to hide the fact that they've trained to be so far from one another. And they're not often around people who are paying enough attention to note that they're not as close as they should be.
Still, when people do notice, it invites questions. And that's worth more trouble than it's worth, really. It's far too likely that the line of questioning will delve into how they learned to withstand such distance, and then why their father would train them like that. And then come furrowed brows and twisted mouths.
Max tends to be more forgiving with Papa than Leonie is. Maybe it's because Leonie has more distance from the matter. Distance Papa caused, ripping her away from Max's side. Distance Max caused, always standing between her and Papa. Distance Leonie caused, because she's never been strong enough to fight herself out of Papa's grip.
Their pain is shared, but it's always Max who feels the fists and Leonie who feels the phantoms, and Max thinks he deserves the pain, even as he tries to shield Leonie from it. And it's always Leonie who feels the hands gripping tight, and Max who shudders and retches at the feeling of the most profound violation one can commit.
Max thinks he needs Papa's 'discipline' to be better, and mourns that Leonie is caught in the crossfire.
Leonie has only refrained from tearing Papa apart because she loves Max more than she hates him.
So she tries to avoid concerned frowns just as much as Max does. Because all they ever bring is placations from Max that it's fine, really, and it hurts Leonie more than the fists, sometimes, to hear him say that. To hear him think so little of himself.
Which means no questions. Which means nothing to question. Which means either Leonie will spend race weekends slinking around the circuit grounds, staying clear away from Max as he and Papa work on the kart and go to the grid, or she'll try to remember to stick close by his side.
Mostly, she picks the first option. Nobody questions why Max doesn't have a dæmon with him—he's young enough that Leonie hasn't permashifted, and most common racing dæmons are small enough to hide up a sleeve or in a pocket anyway. Leonie plays stray cat and lazes in the grass and tells herself that with the track out of view, not being in the kart with Max doesn't hurt so much.
Sometimes, though, Papa will be in a good mood, or Max will be in a bad one, or Leonie just can't keep herself away from the roar of the engines and the smell of the fuel. And she'll scamper by Max's heel, keeping step the best she can, trying hard to keep the right amount of distance between them.
The thing is, she's so terrible at it. Max is, too. They're both too distractible, both too unused to being so close after so much time being trained to stay apart.
And sometimes, Max will stop to talk with a teammate, and Leonie will trot off to watch someone tinker with their kart, and then the jig is up. And then come the exclamations and the intrigue and the questions.
And people, when they learn that Max and Leonie can stand to be so far apart, assume that it's because they've trained themselves out of the horrible feelings that accompany it. The wrenching in their chests, the fire that races through every inch of their bodies. They say it's so crazy Max and Leonie can do that, because when they try to leave their dæmon's side, it feels like they're being torn apart at the seams.
They seem to think that Max and Leonie managed to break themselves apart from one another and the wound left behind healed. That, over time, the pain dulled.
It didn't.
Papa wrenched them apart and wrenched them apart and wrenched them apart, ripping open the wound again and again. And he never managed to break them, but maybe they're not quite whole anymore.
Because Leonie remembers what it used to feel like to sit by Max's side, a foot between them, and feel nothing but peace under her skin. But now, the only time she stops burning up from the inside out is when Max holds her close, and she can feel how their heartbeats align.
It doesn't matter if Leonie is sleeping in a patch of grass across the circuit, or if she's butting her head against Max's leg. If Papa's hands are on Max, or on her, or blissfully absent. If she's surrounded by the smell of engine oil, or if she's breathing in the trees of home.
She always feels like she's being torn apart at the seams. Every molecule ripping itself to shreds.
She always feels like she's being torn away from Max. Again and again and again.
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