little lion man(e)

[deletes line] no, too emotionally aware

I would love to see your bullet points for a Lewis/Mick Regency AU.

idk if you're gonna like this anon but it's what you're gonna get

lewis and seb met at university and have been friends ever since. they both love travel and adventure and studying the natural world and getting in ridiculous arguments about it at meetings of the geological society. the only difference is that lewis has always said he'll never marry; he loves his freedom too much. his younger brother is engaged and can carry on the family name.

seb, on the other hand, has been engaged to mick schumacher for as long as lewis has known him. michael and norbert had arranged it forever ago, and seb seems happy enough about it. lewis likes mick; it's the sort of match seb deserves. they're just waiting for mick's debut season to finish, and then it will all be settled.

and then a scientific expedition to gibralter goes down in a storm. with sebastian on board. nobody makes it to shore.

what else is lewis supposed to do? mick has no other suitors. there hadn't been any need. it's what seb would want: someone who knows and likes mick, who isn't just after his fortune. and lewis has never wanted marriage, really, but...but he can't be alone with this. mick accepts his proposal with tears in his eyes, and lewis thinks they have that in common.

the wedding is small, just close family. they do it at the church near the schumacher estate, partially so lewis can pay his respects to michael and partially so lewis doesn't have to set foot in the church where they grieved sebastian ever again. and then lewis takes mick home. lewis would happily let mick spend his time as he will, but mick seems determined to be a proper husband. he explores the grounds; joins lewis for dinner every night; immediately supplants lewis as mrs. cullen's favorite in the household. in the cold winter months, he comes up with a plan for expanding the vegetable garden come spring. lewis tries to hide his tears when mick tells him about it. mick comes to his bed for the first time that night. the letters from sebastian, one for each of them, arrive the next day from calais, where the merchant ship that rescued him has come in to port.

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ok you mentioned like. a sebmichael medieval arranged marriage thing a little while ago but never writing it but i’ve been thinking about it ever since and i need to know more ofc it’s entirely up to you whether you want to share but pls know that if you decide to write or publish it in any format i will be it’s biggest fan

thank you for this anon!! some rambling below the cut.

I do not currently have any plans to work on this fic; I'm about 6k into Space Sebcedes and also just agreed to step in and write a fic for a playlist exchange, so that's what's down the pipeline for me right now. I also just put so much humiliating "what the fuck does :pleading_face: mean use your words I don't speak bottom" yearning into saltwater and gasoline so it might be a hot minute before I yearn on main like that again. (if you like absolutely desperate yearning and Ye Olde Historical Whatever, you may also like the collection of vibes in the cottagecore sico bedtime story. I may be tossing some more on that pile pretty soon)

however. the sebmichael arranged marriage is one of my absolutely favorite thoughts to periodically chew on. vibes wise, it's basically set in the Fantasy Fanfic Middle Ages (TM); for those of you who want a historical touchpoint, think approximately eleventh-century soctland, insofar as we've got a general tendency towards the consolidation of power into kingdoms but we still have a series of kingships, warlords, constant skirmishes over borders, what have you.

anyway michael schumacher is an absolutely terrifying warlord in the process of some Territorial Consolidation Through Conquest. does he already have at least one dead wife? like, maybe. sebastian vettel is the terrified blushing virgin to be wed to him. Yes, sebastian is absolutely going to grow into being a Powerful Spouse Consort and also Horny As Fuck. we play the hits here on kritischetheologie dot tumblr dot com.

I might never write this because I just don't actually think I can be bothered doing the amount of worldbuilding I would need to do to make something hit in a serious way, but if I went for it on just vibes I would feel kind of cringe and gross, so instead I just think about michael in like bloodstained leather fucking seb on a fur rug immediately after returning from battle. that's what we're on about.

anyway some fic recs if you want Deeply Formative Arranged Marriage Shit (fun fact this is one of my few favorited tags on ao3 dot gov what does that fucking say about me):

the lady of storm's end, 148k, sansa stark / stannis baratheon, this fucking rewired my entire selfhood when i read it

she who would be queen, 98k, r*ylo, nobody fucking @ me about this

and I love this place, the enormous sky, 11k, bellarke, grounder!bellamy (if you like arranged marriage this ship has SO MUCH)

of weddings and warfare, 82k, hermione granger / remus lupin, also just search the entire "marriage law challenge" that was the SHIT

anyway that's enough het for now bye

Daniel: I literally cannot believe I let you talk me into this.

Max: I literally said “I have an idea,” and you just went along with it without question.

inspired by your last post.... Spanish crime lord Fernando kidnapping Lance for ransom...but of course they fall in love, and then Lance works with him to get the ransom so they can run away together

Literally………. Like. Fernando kidnaps Lance off of a luxury yacht, it’s offensively easy. He’s honestly mad about it. That he can just jet ski up in the night and grab Lance off the back deck where he’s sitting looking at the stars and Lance just blinks at him almost TRUSTINGLY as Fernando chloroforms him or whatever.

Anyway. When lance wakes up in the luxurious two rooms he’s being imprisoned in, and makes the most apathetic proof of life video, Fernando gets even more mad. Like!!!!!! How can he not! Doesn’t this boy, this man, this IDIOT care that he has been kidnapped by Spanish criminal mastermind and former interpol most wanted (and still top ten interpol most wanted!) thief Fernando Alonso!!!!! He robbed el Prado in 2005!!!!!!!!!

Lance is like, ok. Can I go to the pool???? So while Fernando is like, demanding higher ransom from Lawrence and saying he’ll cut off lances finger or whatever (he ends up sending someone else’s finger, bc when he walks up to Lance, Lance is lying on a pool lounger in Fernando’s bathing suit and sunglasses, nose a little pink from the Spanish sun and he smiles up at Fernando and Fernando decides - he’s more valuable whole.)

Unsurprisingly Lance goes from sleeping in his locked up room w a guard at the door and barred windows to Fernando’s suite w the balcony looking out over the blue sea, lying happily in the Mediterranean sun and white linen sheets, sleepily nuzzling against Fernando’s chest.

In the end Lance gets on the phone w his dad and Fernando gets a lot of money and Lance just stays w Fernando anyway and now Fernando provides lance’s security on his yacht too etc etc

since you are an advocate of let them have a row... five most absurd/mundane/irrelevant topics seb and lewis could get into a huge meaningless tiff over

let them drive each other insane!!!!!

five arguments that are absolutely unnecessary and yet totally necessary:

Lewis doesn't ask Sebastian if he wants to go to the Met Gala. Seb doesn't want to go to the Met Gala, obviously. Christ, these days Lewis barely wants to go to the Met Gala. But he should have actually asked Seb before he started making plans. He realises that as soon as he sees the look on Seb's face. But—come on. It's in New York, you hate New York, Lewis says. You'd have to fly. And wash your hair, he says, trying to lighten the mood, and, oh, Jesus, bad idea. Abort. Eject. Sebastian goes on a four-hour bike ride about it and Lewis stomps around his house, wallowing. When Seb gets back, he says, standing there in his cycling shorts, Do you love me, and Lewis says Yes and then But I don't always know how to show you, and I don't always feel like I'm allowed to ask, and when I guess, I get it wrong. Seb does come with him to New York—he even goes to the Gala, technically. But he doesn't walk the red carpet; he spends most of the night poking around the Costume Institute's exhibition while Lewis gets a thousand pictures taken with a boutonniere of alpine snowbells on his lapel, and then Seb talks his ear off about it all the way home.

They get into tiffs about music....regularly. One time Lewis cracks a joke about The Beatles being overrated and Seb has to get up and leave the room. Lewis thinks it will blow over. It does not. They genuinely have to have a sit-down conversation about The Beatles, on the living room couches and everything. Seb insists that They're not overrated, Lewis, they're incredibly influential and they're important to me and Lewis says I didn't say they couldn't be important to you, I said they were overrated, that's not the same thing and he wants Sebastian to let it go but they both have chronic cannot-let-it-go disease. Seb says But you're wrong and Lewis looks him in the eye and says Even if I am, I'm not hurting anybody, The Beatles are doing just fine—(Seb, interjecting, two of them are dead)—and you're gonna have to let me make fun of famous white guys every once in a while without throwing a temper tantrum. And Seb goes Ah. And then Hmm. And then OK.

Sometimes when Lewis opens a cupboard or drawer in a kitchen, he just leaves it open. It's not on purpose!! But once he's gotten whatever he needed, he kind of just...stops seeing it. And it drives. Sebastian. Insane. No it's not actually a big deal for any real reason, but the twentieth time he walks into the kitchen of his place or Lewis's place or an Airbnb somewhere and has to close a bunch of shit, yes, OK, maybe he slams one of the doors with a little bit of attitude. Ten minutes into the argument Lewis says OK but we're not even at your house, we're in my flat, and Seb throws up his hands and says Fine, but what about when we live together? and Lewis's mouth falls open. And after a moment he says What and Seb is turning completely red and says Ignore that, that's not the point but Lewis is already prowling across the kitchen and saying Say that again. Anyway when they move in together they get open-concept shelving.

Canada 2019. Yes. Really. Again. Pierre brings it up at dinner one night despite Charles making frantic silent gestures to try to dissuade him. It starts out as some light-hearted needling over the bread basket. You can imagine how long that lasts. It was a stupid penalty, though and So you should have been able to crash us both out with no punishment? You're lucky I braked in time and You can't control your car when you've been on the grass, you know that as well as I do, I'm not actually responsible for the laws of physics and Yeah but you're responsible for not putting your car on the fucking grass in the first place I'm pretty sure and Well thank God you got the win, you really needed it. Charles is eyeing up the emergency exits. Pierre is signaling to the server for another two bottles of wine. They give each other angry handjobs in the toilets before the entrees arrive and then have a perfectly pleasant rest of the meal, a massive new lovebite visible above Seb's collar.

Social media. Oof. They have a few good talks about it early on. Lewis is proud of them: real grown-up shit. But Sebastian still waves him off more than he expects when he tries to take a picture or video of him. Lewis is sneaking one of Seb working (still) on that motorbike—jeez, he's a dreamboat—when Sebastian snaps at him, Would you put that away. And then all productivity is done for the afternoon. Seb won't budge. I don't want to be content, I don't want to be part of your—your brand, like I'm your dog. Lewis sucks in a breath. I want to capture this time, I want to remember things. Seb smiles sadly. And I want you here with me, not thinking about your Instagram. And Lewis gets it, he does, but: I wish you wouldn't talk about it like it's stupid, just because you don't like it. Congratulations on being above it, but I'm not. He stalks out of the garage, and Seb follows him. Don't put words in my mouth. I mean, it is stupid, but—no, listen—but you're not. And I didn't say you were, and I don't think you are. He sighs. I just want to feel like—like the things we do are real, not something you're doing just so you can show people you're doing it. Lewis gets that, and most days he lies down at night thanking God that he didn't wind up with someone who uses him for sponcon. But: I was hiding for so long, he says. I want to share things. I know you're not ashamed of this, of me, but it still makes me feel that way sometimes. Seb sits down on the bench in the garden, exhausted. And the only way for me to fix that is to be on your Instagram? Really? Can I marry you instead? Will you believe me then? Lewis looks down at him for a moment. Will you? he says. Seb nods, concedes the point. I will, Lewis continues. But don't ask me like this. A smile twitches on Seb's mouth. And our wedding photos are going on Instagram, idiot, so make your peace with that now.

here's a part four of my little maxiel college au!

part one and two • part three

Max tries not to touch the tattoo too much.

Daniel'd checked it for him right before he left for winter break, leaning in over Max's lap in the futon so Max could feel it tickling his thigh when Daniel breathed out.

"Looks good," he'd said, squinting at Max's skin and not touching it. "Does it itch?"

"A little maybe," Max said, because he'd seen Daniel smacking the flat of his hand against his own tattoos when they were healing, to scratch them without hurting them. He imagined Daniel doing that to him: bringing his hand down against the top of Max's thigh, making it sting and feel hot; leaving a little bit of red behind on his skin.

But Daniel just frowned and pulled back further away from Max, and said, "That's good, that's normal. You know not to scratch it, right?"

It's been a week since then and since Daniel left, and Max thinks the tiny little cowboy hat tattoo is mostly healed now. It doesn't hurt or itch any more, and the lines of the ink already scabbed and then peeled off. There skin where the ink is is still bumpy though, a raised line Max can reach down and feel even in the dark; even under his blanket.

He knows that touching it a lot won't probably make it go away, but he still tries to not do it too much. To act normal about it instead of creepy.

He lets himself press his fingers to it when he gets his grades back and has two C's, when he gets off Facetime with his mom and Victoria and their new little puppy on Christmas Day, when Daniel texts him check your email! 🎅 and Max has a message saying Daniel Ricciardo bought him 2800 FIFA points as a present.

And in bed, in their empty dorm room with Daniel far away, and something he drew still on Max's skin.

When Max gives Daniel a tattoo, Daniel makes jokes about it, showing it to other people and telling them Max gave it to him when they were drunk.

Max wants no one in the world to ever see his tattoo from Daniel. For it to be a piece of his body that only Daniel knows about, and no one else.

In bed, when he misses Daniel and feels stupid and lonely, he reaches down and touches the line of it with one hand, and remembers the night Daniel gave it to him, how he'd put his hand on top of it afterwards and held it there, warm on Max's thigh, until their movie was over.

He traces the curving lines of the it, the little gap where the line breaks because Daniel had never done a tattoo before, to anyone, and he jerks off with his other hand.

He tries not to think about how after they graduate in the spring, Daniel will probably go back to Australia, and it would be weird for Max to follow him there, and so probably he'll never see him again.

He thinks about how even when probably someday Daniel gets married to a girl, he'll still have tattoos all over him that are from Max, and Max will still have this; will still be able to touch it.

Mick: Hey, wanna help me commit arson?

Lewis: What the hell!?

Mick: Oh, sorry, my bad.

Mick, whispering: Wanna help me commit arson?

Lewis, whispering: Of course. What do you need?

What is lineage / if not a gold thread of pride and guilt?

Ada Limón, from "The Hurting Kind", The Hurting Kind

Daniel: Don't joke about murder. I was murdered once and it offends me.

Max: Remember, when burying a body, make sure to cover it with endangered plants so it’s illegal to dig up!

Daniel: Make sure to follow me for more gardening tips!