#presenting verse

[tulipanthousa]

'rut' for your a/b/o presenting verse?

Roman is EXTREMELY possessive in rut - when they eventually sync up, this is fine, because virgil doesnt want to leave anyway, but the first year Virgil's not prepared for it and is very grumbly that every time he gets up to pee Roman either follows him or waits at the door with big wet sad eyes for him to come back. its NOT cute >:( (he totally thinks its cute, if annoying)

[willthespy]

happy unofficial birthday to my son!!! 🎂

wondering what’s in that box…. (genuinely don’t know) (i rushed this) (badly)

[technically-human]

*Reverses your Christmas*

A gift from @i-am-as-normal-as-you-are to all of you :) we really wanted the boys to get along for once, and what better occasion than Christmas? anything to make the Edwins happy!

[valtsv]

something i think about a lot and don't see discussed often in the silt verses are the narrative foils and parallels shared by the saint electric and VAL, particularly when it comes to their respective endings. a woman sacrificing her humanity in flames and undergoing apotheosis, elevated not merely to sainthood but ascended to godhood, and losing the entirety of herself in the process, becoming a product to be traded and sold, and a woman who sacrificed her humanity to be made into a commodity, a "valuable" weapon, finally rejecting her attempts to claim that same godhood in favour of reclaiming her personhood in a similarly fiery death. the peninsulan propaganda machine's greatest triumph, and its most damning defeat. the beginning and the ending of the same tragic story.

[suis0u]

Inspired by @not-poignant 's character The Raven Prince and their wonderful Fae Tales stories ❤️. I had to draw him with Jareth, because in my head they were just such a thing once upon a time, he he. (For a better view and for the details: click on the images and then right click to open it in a new window.)

[lsunstreakerl]

hi chef sunny it's me ya girl sarah verstappenalty can I order versainz with breathplay 😘

yes yes you may! today's house special is darkbull versainz, with a dash of a tenderhorny. kind of. the idea is there. 1k words, Max POV, darkbull, explicit

pairings: carlos sainz/max verstappen

relevant heads up: breathplay, dubious consent, this happens in a pool, if you haven't read darkbull before this is not really a good place to start either

"Carlos!"

Max lunges to the side with a panicked noise as Carlos darts forward at him, acutely aware of the pool behind them. Carlos almost goes crashing into the water, but he spins on a dime, grinning.

"Just give the hat back Max, that's all you have to do."

Max's hat, that Carlos stole.

"My hat? Mate, it's a fucking thirty three—!"

He scrambles backwards as Carlos feints at him, almost tripping over a chair. He's got nowhere else to go, and the rooftop pool of a hotel that he's pretty sure Red Bull somehow owns doesn't exactly have a lot of escape routes.

Carlos grins, and Max wavers as he walks closer. He's backed himself into a corner, and they both know it.

"C'mon Max, give me the hat."

His voice is a low croon, but it's a matter of pride now— he's going to have to pry the stupid hat out of Max's hands.

Max waits for him to get closer before launching himself into the pool, clothes and all, and frantically pushing off through the water to try and get around Carlos. He hears a second splash moments later, wincing.

A large hand wraps around his ankle, and Max shouts in a burst of bubbles as Carlos yanks him fully underwater, grip shifting from his ankle to his waist. Max can feel his lungs burning, fingers wrapped tight around the strap of his hat even as Carlos tugs at it.

They both surge back up for air, and Max tries to kick back and away, gasping for breath. Water drips down his face, hair plastered wet, and Carlos is still watching him with a smug curve to his mouth.

Max's back hits the wall of the pool, and he realizes immediately why Carlos isn't worried. If he wants to haul himself out, he's going to need to flip around and show Carlos his back.

There's not exactly anywhere else to go. His heart is pounding in his chest, and the adrenaline is higher than it should be just for some roughhousing in the pool, but—

He and Carlos have an odd relationship now. He's inserted himself into Max's life as thoroughly as GP had in the absence of Jos, and he's so close all of the time. Sometimes it's a friendly pat on the ass when he walks by, and sometimes it's making out messily in a supply room closet before debriefs. Max knows this isn't just roughhousing, not when it comes to Carlos, and it's embarrassing how that fact has him hard, fingers gripping the rim of the pool behind him.

He flips around, trying to get out of the pool as fast as possible, and all the air leaves his lungs as an arm wraps around his middle, yanking him back into the water.

Carlos wrestles him all the way underwater, and Max can't tell which way is up or down, barely has any oxygen left as he feels a hand squeeze at his chest, a rough palm over his cock before his head is yanked back above water.

"Carlos—"

He's gasping, hat forgotten, trying to wiggle out of the hold Carlos has in him, but he's stronger than Max is, rutting his hips against Max's ass.

There's strong fingers prying his jaw open before soaking wet fabric is shoved halfway into his mouth, and Max's protest is muffled through the wad of cloth. He realizes a moment later that it's the stupid hat as Carlos laughs, rubbing at his cock through his shorts again.

"You get so loud, Max. Wouldn't want someone to hear us and come investigate, would we?"

Max knows the hotel is all Red Bull, but the idea of one of the engineers, or Jonathan, or GP coming up and finding them, Max grinding back against Carlos, Carlos's hand slipping under his shorts—

Carlos snorts, floating them to a more shallow area of the pool.

"Ah, you would love that. Showing off for the team."

His hips buck into Carlos' hand, head tipped back against his shoulder, shaking it in protest against his words.

He can feel Carlos' fingers wrap around his cock, slowly starting to jerk, and he makes a panicked noise when he's tipped back under water, face submerged. Carlos is hard against his ass, and despite Max's halfhearted attempts at wiggling away, he's not getting very far. He blows out another stream of bubbles from his nose, fingers clawing at Carlos' arm before he's allowed back up again, gasping.

There's water in his mouth and nose, chlorine stinging in his eyes as he grips at Carlos. He can't see, eyes blurry and surrounded by water, the stupid hat sopping wet between his teeth, and he's achingly hard, rutting helplessly into Carlos' hand.

He's saying something to Max, but he can't hear it through the water in his ears, only realizing a moment later as he's tipped back into the water that it was probably a warning.

Carlos keeps him under longer this time, and Max can't ignore how he's close, lungs burning and cock hard as Carlos thumbs at the head, fingers a slick channel as he jerks him off. He's moaning through the hat, water in his mouth, and there's spots dancing in his vision.

Surely Carlos won't keep him under much longer, not when Max stops struggling, fingers falling loosely from Carlos' arm.

The air hitting his face shocks him back to reality as Carlos pushes him up against the wall of the pool, and he's coming without meaning to, gagging on water and eyes rolled back in his head. It feels euphoric, like he's floating on a high.

The hat drops from between his teeth as Carlos tugs it out, and Max realizes at some point that he must have also gotten off, because he's not hard against him anymore.

He's not entirely with it as he floats against Carlos, still trying to suck air into his stinging throat, mind untethered from the rest of him. Carlos navigates them both out of the water, tapping out a message on his phone as he finds the towels, wrapping one around Max's shoulders and he shakes out the hat, wrangling it back onto Max's head with a grin.

"There."

Max blinks at him, water dripping from the brim of it to splatter at their feet, head spinning. Carlos' face softens as he tips the brim up, kissing Max on the nose.

"You are so cute, Max. We should play around more often, that was fun."

Max slumps forward into his chest, exhausted.

Sure. Fun.

[hikiclawd]

Rip Chihiro estrogen could've actually saved you like bigtime

Hello hello hello I'm back to terrorize the danganronpa tag yes i draw her with byakuya yes theyd probably never have a good relationship in canon even if dr1 never happened NO i dont rly care 😄 this is danganronpa bitch we clown here in this motherfucker take your sensitive ass back to hundred line defense /j idk if i'll make more drawings but the first two are for my own personal no despair au called blueberry perfume-verse so i'll just tag it incase i do more with it ^_^7 smiley... it takes place like around modern times if the events of thh didnt happen . yes its chigami-centric leave me alone giggles. anyways chihiro has to work for some branch of the numerous togami businesses where byakuya is personally overseeing it and its like romcom-esque and shenanigans ensue, kuya learns empathy at like 32 years old (embarrassing), and chihiros just tryna do her jobbbb brauh ����. probably doesn't make sense but im having fun so i think that makes it ok

[melandrops]

hollywood could never top the casual but meaningful representation that horror fiction podcasts have

[wedriftlikelonelyplanets]

so i can make you feel like new again

ship: lando norris/max fewtrell rating: idk teen? there's not really any smut it's just longing tags: referenced disordered eating patterns, referenced mental breakdown, putting that guy in a situation only the person in the situation is Lando Norris, and Max Fewtrell is the F1 driver.

OKAY felt like doing a little flip flop and needed to write something no pressure, so here's a THING, written directly into this fucking posting box. This is IDK roughly 2021 when covid was big and Max was living in Monaco with Lando (but now Lando's living in Monaco with Max)

Title from "Dizzy on the Comedown" by Turnover

Sometimes, Max wishes it was Lando, and not him. Sometimes it's sharp beneath his skin like the edge of a knife to know that Lando's waiting at home for him, watching his races while he's playing games on stream. Sometimes, Max wishes it had been easier for both of them. But there were right places, and right times, and right teams, and Lando got none of them, and Max got all of them.

He'd spiralled, and Max had watched, couldn't do much more than hold out a hand and try to save him while he was drowning. Couldn't do much more than be there for him, and it was the scariest thing he thinks he's ever done.

It's better now, mostly.

He went on to Formula 1, and Lando found a therapist, and somehow, *somehow* they find a way to make it work.

But Max can't shake the guilt when he's gone for triple-headers, and Lando's stuck in his flat.

Knows it had been worse, before everything, before Lando had lived with him. At least now, he knows that Lando's got a fully stocked fridge, a place to sleep, somewhere to call home. Like Max doesn't know that Lando thinks that he's home. Like Max hasn't already thought of Lando as home for years.

Even now, he misses the pitch of Lando's voice, the volume of his laugh, loud and bright. Even now, when he's staring up at the hotel ceiling in the dark, when he knows he's supposed to be sleeping, he can't stop himself. Tosses and turns, before he reaches over for his phone where it's charging on the nightstand.

It's an easy next step to ignore the messages on his phone, and swipe over to twitch, just to check if Lando's still live. He doesn't have the energy to do the time conversion, but if the dark circles under Lando's eyes are anything to go by, he hasn't slept well.

Max feels the guilt of it curdling in his guts. Knows Lando always sleeps better when he's there, when Lando can crawl into bed with him, press his cheek against Max's chest and fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

If you'd asked him even 5 years ago, he wouldn't have said they were codependent. But 5 years ago, he also wouldn't have been able to admit they'd been in love with each other the whole time. Hadn't been able to admit it until Lando had agreed to move in with him.

Until he'd known it wasn't all going to slip through his fingers because he signed to an F1 team, and all Lando had gotten was publicised mental breakdown.

Max still wishes it had gone differently, if he's being honest.

But now they're here, and he feels like he's a million miles away from the only place he wants to be.

The warmth of Lando's voice is enough to make him smile though, and he gets comfortable before he types in chat.

maxfewtrell: did you have dinner?

The message is met with a tiny, unintelligible noise from Lando's end, before Lando makes eye contact with the camera, narrows his eyes, and holds up the plate sitting beside him on the desk. It's empty, and it could've been from another day, knowing how much of a disaster Lando tends to be, but Max wants to think the best. "'Course I did, mate. Chat can verify, yeah?" and the messages come in full of support.

"I should be the one asking you what you're still doing awake. Drivers need their beauty rest," the grin that spreads across Lando's features is obviously teasing, but Max can feel the flush, hot in his cheeks.

maxfewtrell: can't sleep maxfewtrell: had to find something to do

Lando pulls a face that no one else in the chat probably recognizes, but Max does. It's a strange combination between guilt and pity, the face he makes before he's about to do something that's either devastatingly stupid, or stupidly endearing.

"Hey chat, I'll be back in a little bit, yeah?" and he's muting himself before Max has a second to type in the chat. Knows that even if he could, the message would get lost in a flood of comments. Doesn't have time to protest before his phone is ringing, and he has to swipe up to close the Twitch window, before he answers.

"Bob, go back to stream, I'm fine," he can't stop himself, the kneejerk response, the thought that he doesn't need to be taken care of, despite the fact that he's always looking after Lando.

"Y'sound absolutely wrecked, mate," and despite the fact that Lando looked exhausted on stream, his voice is surprisingly bright. Max is usually good at parsing through the tones of Lando's voice, and he can't pick out anything genuinely miserable. "Didn't realize you missed me that much,"

Max just sighs, shifts in bed so he's lying on his back, wishes for a moment that they were facetiming, but he knows they can't, really. Lando might be muted, but his stream's still live, and he doesn't know how many people he wants knowing that he and Lando facetime late into the night. Doesn't really know how many people he wants to have knowing how gone he is for Lando. "Just been a horrendous day, car looked like shit during free practise," and it's just easy for him to unload, just a little bit. The more stress he unloads, the better he feels, and Lando interjects with little observations.

He's exhausted, by the time he's done talking, yawns so wide that his jaw cracks, and Lando giggles on the other end, the sound bright. "Think you can sleep now?" and Max just snorts.

"Rather stay with you, I think," he says, filter gone, because he's exhausted, feels it in his bones. "Miss you a lot, Bob," knows it's sappy and they don't really do sappy. "Fly you out to the next one,"

Lando makes a small sound in the back of his throat, and Max is struck by how much Lando reminds him of a cat sometimes. Makes little sounds to voice his pleasure, his happiness at being thought of. "Think I'd like that, Maxy," Lando's voice is a small, pleased thing, and Max allows his eyes to flutter shut.

"Stay on with me?"

When his alarm goes off in the morning, the call's still live, his phone scorching hot, and he can hear the soft, snuffling sound of Lando's breathing before he hangs up, keys in a quick text so that Lando doesn't get cross with him.

Miss you, text me when you're up.

[toad-in-a-trenchcoat]

Time passing with the lack of factory conditions and a full “sobering period” without brew resulting in a gradual, if minimal, increase in health among the escaped Mudokons, an odd example being the occasional feather growth

[tulipanthousa]

Omegaverse 👄

i think roman would like cock/clitwarming Virgil with his mouth. theyre switches but im not even sure if it'd be a really defined D/s thing or if its just something Roman likes to do if theyre cuddling watching a movie in bed or something

[hazellevessque]

My headcanon is that all of the Rick Riordan Presents books + Rick’s books take place in the same universe so I would like to imagine Brynne, a girl from Manhattan, has offhandedly mentioned “this boy who blew up the buses in fifth grade and got expelled” to the other Potatoes at least once

[thewhizzyhead]

So like one common theme when discussing bullying is the tendency for bullies to project their insecurities on their victims right? like them taking their own shit out on the people they bully?

so i know that may not be exaaaactly the case with Max Jagerman in Nerdy Prudes Must Die like the dude even in the afterlife just really fuckin likes terrorising the shit out of people due to his god complex BUUUUT what I found very interesting was when in the Nerdy Prudes Must Die sequence, he was telling Richie to repeat after him: "Who will pray for me when my body's gone or until another Richie comes along?" And mind you, this song comes directly after another musical sequence about all the teens in that high school being so fucking happy that Max was gone. And like, well yea you can't blame the kids for being happy that Top Terrorizer #1 is gone and that they don't have to abide by his social strata anymore - but then again, having nobody pray or give a fuck about Max after him being mysteriously missing for 2 weeks is,,kinda fucked up for Max no matter the kind of person he is. So, to see someone he victimised get the attention and appreciation I would assume Max would've wanted from his team especially after being missing for so long - it really does seem to me that he was projecting onto Richie when he was about to kill him and making him feel how little he will matter to other people when he dies - like what he could've felt after literally everyone considered the high school "objectively better" now that Max was gone.

Which makes things a whole lot more interesting when Max snaps out of his WHO WILL PRAY FOR YOU solo when Richie belts out I'M NOT A LOSER - henceforth defying the idea of worthlessness Max was projecting onto Richie. So damn.

[valtsv]

i know we all talk about the silt verses being the aro podcast but this moment really encapsulates that particular theme for me. because the very existence of love-saints already sets up the implication that love is, like everything else in this world, something can be made a commodity, weaponised, and used to objectify you and make you a product, but VAL's interaction with them above makes that explicit. and it's just so refreshing to see love presented as this neutral value - as a tool - capable of inspiring both immense acts of kindness and reprehensible expressions of cruelty, like that. because love is the driving force behind many of the most uplifting moments in the story, but it's also the motivation for some of the most horrible, destructive, selfish, senseless acts of violence committed by people to each other and themselves. love will not save you, and it will not make you a better person, and it does not absolve you of the harm you enable in its name. it is not enough that the love was simply there - it's what you decide to do with it that matters.

[spectrum-spectre]

oh man... I just experienced A Thought™ again

I'm never gonna write this, so if someone else wants to, go right ahead (preferably with credit, please):

Everyone thinks that Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson are alphas, but they're actually hiding their true designations--not because they're scared omegas, but because they're both secretly betas.

They're mimicking! You obviously can't choose what you present as (unless you go through bitching or studding, but this is rural Indiana in the 80's; nobody in that town has ever even heard of these things)--

BUT! Your designation can be partially influenced by your environment! That's why Steve's dad made him join three different sports teams; to encourage his body to develop into that of an alpha. Except, well... Steve doesn't really want that. He hates the culture surrounding alpha males, but he also sees how the world treats omegas of all genders, and he doesn't want to play a part in any of that bullshit. So his body decides to present as something else entirely.

Eddie's story was much the same, but he also went through a different kind of pressure from his family. His parents fought a lot, so he would play the mediator in a desperate attempt to keep them together (and so his dad would target his anger at him instead--just like he does with bullies at school).

Steve sees alphas as assholes, and Eddie sees alphas as abusive, but they both recognize they would be granted a certain level of safety and social standing if everyone thought that they were alphas instead.

That's not even getting into the fact that betas aren't exactly a hot commodity; Steve is terrified that people will find him boring--or worse, undesirable.

They came up with the plan together. Steve was a sophomore, and Tommy had dared him to try buying weed from the weird junior who still hadn't presented *yet. Eddie had just seen his last client for the day, but as soon as Steve approached the picnic table, both their presentations hit at the same time. There's no beta equivalent of a heat/rut, they just... suddenly Know™ that's what their designation is.

It was actually Steve's idea, at first. He remembered reading a book about mimicry in elementary school, and when he mentioned Monarch Butterflies, Eddie came up with the nickname King Steve (it only stuck because other students overheard Eddie refer to him as that while snarkily muttering under his breath). He helped Steve flesh out the details of the plan, and the two came to an agreement: they'd try to prevent targeted harassment from their respective cliques, under the threat of mutually assured destruction.

*in my mind, they go through their initial puberty around ages 11-13, and then their presentation/second puberty hits around ages 14-16. I imagine Steve was freshly 16, with Eddie just a few weeks shy of turning 17, so he was a bit of a late bloomer.

[deermouth]

"The Many Below, the Woundtree - my god, my hated child... The exact same voice that bellows in my head about the reckoning that’s to come for all of us unworthy sinners... is a mouth without a face. A pitiful thing that feasts upon carrion when we don’t have richer meat to offer it."