#how we feeling about this my fellow ross girlies

[icbmil]

2014/2022

#god bless fitted white tees #how we feeling about this my fellow ross girlies #bc i am physically unwell #he was always a man but now he IS A MAN #ross macdonald #the 1975 #photo set #icbmil*

[boxboxlewis]

I know I've already read a bit but I'd love more of your danielfest fic or "new maxiel I guess" lol

going to combine this with an ask from an anon who wanted "new maxiel i guess" + "seance" :))

new maxiel:

The worst part was how calm Max looked. Almost bored, as if breaking up with Daniel were a task he was ticking off some list: work out, break up with Daniel, meet with accountant. Daniel by contrast was breathing hard, feeling frantic, feeling insane. He wanted to break something; he wanted to punch himself in the stomach. He said, “You know sometimes when you smile really big, you look like a fucking capybara?”

Max sighed. “I do not know what that is.”

“Yeah, well, maybe google it. Or fucking, look in a fucking mirror.”

“Daniel.” He sounded like a calm dad: not angry, just disappointed.

Daniel said, “Don’t you be all fucking mature at me, don’t you fucking dare—” And then he was sobbing, ugly-crying, big hiccuping girly sobs, and Max was stroking his back, and it was wrong, it was all wrong, that Max should be trying to comfort him when it was all Max’s fault.

danielfest:

That Thursday, sitting in the team motorhome in between meetings and dumb PR shit, Max turns to Daniel and says, “I chartered a yacht for us. Because my apartment, we are always there hanging out anyway, so I do not think it would feel special,” as if that’s a remotely normal thing to say.

Daniel stares at him and says “what.” He doesn’t want to overreact, in case it’s a bit, but if it’s not a bit and he tries to roll with it Max will be—whatever, it doesn’t matter. It has to be a bit.

“I chartered a yacht for us,” Max repeats, doing the little eye widening thing he does when he’s annoyed that someone is being dense. “For our—for the thing.”

There are Red Bull staffers all around them. Christian fucking Horner is across the room berating his PA. Jesus Christ. “Maybe we can talk about this later, yeah?” Daniel says, trying to sound more jovial than he feels.

“Why? I’m not saying anything stupid.”

“Debatable, my friend. Look, if we like, have to do this now. Why don’t you text me.”

Max rolls his eyes and says, “Yes, because that is less weird,” but he takes out his phone. A minute later Daniel’s phone buzzes.

Message from Max V. I chartered a yacht for us. He truly is such a shit sometimes. Daniel texts back yeah i got that part.

seance (ft. francis crozier of The Terror (2018)):

He testified at his own court-martial only because Sir James Ross appeared at his rooms the week before and said, unforgivably, that it was all very well to throw himself away, but if he did not appear before the Admiralty Board he would be dishonouring the men whose lives were lost.

Francis was wearing a nightshirt though it was three in the afternoon; hadn’t washed in days. He stared at Ross almost disbelievingly and said, “You shit.” 

He might as well have said “I was a fool to have loved you once,” but Ross chose not to hear it.

He slapped his gloves into his palm. “You’re a good fellow, Francis. Tuesday morning, then. I’ll be here at eight, and will you please tell that manservant of yours to admit me this time? I don't like to have to threaten him.”

#asks #f1 #the terror