#( to the max :: episode one. )

[remyfire]

Gay renaissance painting

[symphonyincoordination]

Things I love about Big Mac:

-Klinger’s refusal to yield at the prospect of a MacArthur visit

-Trapper and Hawkeye respecting his efforts

[lucascsinclairs]

Max Mayfield in Stranger Things 2 | Chapter Five: Dig Dug

"You did a good job, okay. You can go tell the others I believed your lies. Get your experience points or whatever."

[not-equippedforthis]

really love characters who have varied panic responses. kirk stating himself that he does not panic outright, externally, not in high-stress dangerous situations, but instead becomes tense and level like a wound string, on-guard: mostly because his role as captain necessitates that he maintain level rationality even when facing potential death as his training as 'the guy who tells you what to do when shit hits the fan' requires, but also because his childhood experiences taught him early that drowning in the desperate haziness of panic won't help you survive. especially as kirk already follows his intuition so deeply. he learned to grasp and contort the feeling. spock is the main person who represses his emotions, of course, but kirk does it to those deep-set, personal ones (this includes how he doesn't reveal anything truly personal about himself willingly 90% of the time, only what others already know/shallow anecdotes) in a much more subtle way that's really interesting to me. certified expert at avoiding the subject as long as he isnt caught out on the lie. professional bluffer.

in terms of past or parents we dont know much!!! hes known as the heart-on-his-sleeve guy!!! like yes he yells, he gets irritated, excited, hes a whirlwind of quick-thinking and plans and intuition, he goes out of his way to connect with his crew and shows it, when he puts on a little act or bluff he puts his heart into it and clearly enjoys the dramatics so much, at times he wears his heart on his sleeve, he laughs openly and is honest to spock about what he means to him, he's very sun-coded to me in a burning, passionate way, always intertwined with the stars and seeking them out, but when it comes to genuine deep-set turmoil? we dont actually know all that much about him??? hes so full of emotion and character (i love fics where spock characterises jim's mind/bond as a whirl of colour and sensations, hes a quick thinker!!! intuitive!! lively!!!) and yet its still so outwardly surface level. tarsus iv gets mentioned like twice? so especially here where kirk gets briefly jumpscared by the creature, because like:

its subtle but his eyes. his eyesss!!!!! kirk commands with his emotions but there's always some sort of level of control to it, or he transforms them into something that spurs on others or uses them to ascertain a goal: seeing unguarded fear/distress in his eyes even if its faint and brief (in this instance) makes me go insane every single time. like!!! its such a small moment!!! he isnt even panicking!!! really, he just got jumpscared!!! its insignificant!!!!!!! but seeing a two-second flash of actual, naked apprehension is just...oughhh,,,,,,,,,

oh god, and dont even get me started on the galileo seven episode where he assumes a tense level-headedness throughout the whole thing, irritated and apprehensive but not panicking, making sure he maintains intelligent rationality, even when he has to leave them behind, but when spock and the crew are confirmed safe and the bridge is occupied the camera pans to him and his eyes look like they're fucking watering and he's so achingly relieved. don't even talk to me. im. fuck.

he shows so so much but at the same time reveals so little.

[itstheclaud]

Ohhh. Yeah okay, It all makes sense now;

No wonder he wound up gay and in love with a tiny, sarcastic, hyperkinetic creature of pure chaotic violence—

HE’S A SAM & MAX FAN.

[jeonwonwoo]

George will not be King. Parliament would not agree. Your father has risked everything, and he has lost. EDWARD IV & GEORGE PLANTAGENET THE WHITE QUEEN — 1x03: The Storm (2013)

[aintnopartylikeaprideparty]

i had a dream last night that the last episode of season 3 of Good Omens had a scene where Aziraphale and Crowley make-out in the bookshop. it was pretty normal. until i realized, with a vague dawning feeling of uncomfortableness, that it had been nearly 5 minutes, and they still hadn't stopped. it lasted for 13 minutes straight. i was actually beginning to worry for Michael and David bc they hadn't pulled away from each other to breathe once. not even an inch. like they were absolutely going at it. i was starting to wonder if this was just the entire episode, and then the scene ended with them acting like nothing happened. the rest of the episode played like normal.

[enidsinclesbian]

[punk-with-glasses]

The Verstappen hair tuck

(Bad quality ik)

[aviul]

watch the news on the screen is it real or a dream? the whole world at my command tv guide in my hand

[formulafang1rl]

God, I love him so much 🤣 never shy to speak his mind

Making sure everybody knows it was Ferrari’s fault and not his boyfriend Charles'

[pomegranate]

MOVIE TONIGHT!!! EP OF ALL TIME

[anonymous-tals]

This show has captured my entire heart. Harry and Asta(and D'arcy, not depicted) are so siblings and I love them.

I love Harry's creative ventures.

Can you tell what my favorite episode is?

[chirpsythismorning]

Me when I remember what the Cocoa Puffs featuring in S3 of Stranger Things are meant to signify:

[leclercifying]

I love that he's aware of the meme

[maxybabyy]

literally losing my mind over your frat boys au klllllljkkljkllkklljll

please know it has been living in my mind since yesterday, so here's part two, aka what i actually thought about when i saw the original ask (@gaycrunch) ...

part i (re: this)

He finds him outside, hunched over on the porch with his phone in his hand and a half-full bottle of vodka open between his thighs.

“What’s a pretty boy like you doing out here all by himself?” Daniel asks, teases as he drops down to sit next to him. “If only there was a party somewhere, with like, good people and shit.”

Max grunts, barely moves as Daniel hooks his knee over Max’s. He brings the bottle to his mouth, swallows a mouthful of vodka as his free hand comes to rest on Daniel’s knee. “You know already probably, this is why you are here,” he says, digs a finger into the scar on his kneecap, the faded line from when he cut himself on a beer can.

Daniel does, was pulled aside by at least five different dudes who told him where Max had gone, “But I’d rather you tell me, Maxy.”

Max pours another shot into his mouth, keeps the bottle by his lip as he talks. “What even is a rose? This makes no sense, Daniel,” he says, and to his credit, he does sound frustrated. He’s a little drunk too, always is these days when the night falls, but Daniel doesn’t know if it’s cause or consequence.

“It’s an old school thing,” Daniel relents. He steals the bottle from Max’s hands and takes a tiny sip just so he won’t keep drinking. “Reckon I’m plenty sweet for the lot of us, yeah? Don’t need a lady to tell me how to act.”

He didn’t know frats still did this kind of shit, thought they were all past it now, that men could be graceful and charitable too. Hadn’t even thought to mention it to this year’s pledges, but then maybe, Max could have used the lecture anyway.

“Did you really tell her to go suck a bunch of dicks? Because if so, Maxy –“

Max huffs. His leg shakes underneath Daniel’s knee, jostles loose the slide he wears on his foot. “I of course did not say this,” Max says, snappish, taut. “She said she was the best at sucking dick, and I said, ‘this probably is not true’. She showed me this thing she did with her tongue, with her straw you know, and it did not look good, Daniel.”

Daniel chokes down a laugh, relents easily when Max reaches for the bottle again. He watches with unbridled want as Max pretends to suck off the lip of the bottle, interrupted too frequently by his own commentary on the technique.

Daniel reckons he’s right, the tongue is too much, barely touches the bottle at all. Not like Max had done that night, lips heavy around his dick, his tongue firm against the underside of the head.

“So like, you didn’t tell her to suck a dick?”

Max jams his elbow into his side, jolts when Daniel clams his hand around the top of his thigh to keep him in place. “Always this was not – Daniel, I would not say this,” he says, glares at Daniel when he doesn’t relent. “I said maybe that she had to practice more. I have of course sucked a lot of dicks, if she wanted to be like me, then.”

Daniel laughs, loud and surprised, and suddenly Max laughs too.

The Kappa Alphas are dicks anyway. They wouldn’t lose anything if Daniel took them off the social calendar, isn’t really a party if the entire frat can’t go, is it?

“Why didn’t you go home?” He asks after a while. The lid has been put back on the bottle of vodka, and Max has been fed whatever was left in his cup of water.

Two weeks after officially becoming a pledge, Daniel had found Max passed out in a pool of tub juice, white tee soaked in sticky sweet alcohol. He hadn’t vomited – Daniel doesn’t know then if he wouldn’t have just left him there – but Daniel had dragged him upstairs and into the shower. Had scrubbed the marker off his face but left the blue marker in his hair to watch the botched, fucking dip dye his hair had held onto for almost a week.

Max had slept in his bed that night, does it at least every two weeks now, cuddled up between Daniel and the wall. They haven’t fucked since that first time, since Daniel realised Max would be pledging the frat. But sometimes they kiss, and it’s. It feels nice, feels easy, breezy even.

“I have to wait for Carlos,” Max says, shrugs.

Daniel had elected not to pair himself with Max, chose instead one of the legacies who seemed to find power in whatever fucking hazing ritual Daniel threw at him. He kinda regrets it now, knows how shit Carlos must be at this big brother stuff. Knows he left more than an hour ago with Max’s friend from the lacrosse team, apparently without saying shit to Max.

“Nah, Maxy. You’re fine,” he says, squeezes his thigh again when Max hesitates. “Let’s go back to the house, yeah? Maybe Carlos is waiting for you there or like, we can send him a text or something.”

Max doesn’t look convinced, sceptic, like he’s the one who’s on his third year in the frat. But he takes his hand when Daniel gets up, pulls him to his feet. “Lando has the dorm tonight,” he says, shows him a picture of a sock on a doorknob.

It looks fake, but Daniel hasn’t actually seen it for himself ever. Like with the rose, doubted it was even done anymore. But then, Lando’s always been an odd guy.

“There’s always the couch if you want,” Daniel offers, shivers. “Or like, there’s also my bed. Probably the best if you don’t wanna wake up when Scotty gets home.”

Daniel doesn’t hold his breath, he doesn’t, listens instead to the crunch of the road underneath them. It’s no more than ten minutes until they’re home, Greek row almost condensed down to one block.

“Okay, Daniel,” Max says, quiet in the dark night. His hand brushes against Daniel’s, and he tries not to jump, stays still in case Max does reach out. “I think that would be very lovely.”