Possessive.

Hehe

About them individually:

F1 memes 🖤Haasbands/Hulknussen♥️ edition

"Leave my hand." "You first..."

I’m sorry WHAT???

UNDER MY F1 EVA POST 😭😭🙏

Deleted this bc what the actual fuck

This video is playing on my phone at least 100 times a day just because him talking/explaining in German tickles my brain in the right spot I dunno.

i think i will call them "aura birthers"

Launt ficlet time!

Full version of the extract I uploaded a few days ago!

Hope you like it

The sun hung high over the Silverstone Circuit, casting a relentless glare over the bustling paddock. Reporters swarmed like bees around Niki Lauda, who stood, as always, in his immaculate Ferrari racing suit, patiently answering questions. Among the throng was James Hunt, known as much for his off-track antics as his on-track prowess.

With a wicked grin, James maneuvered through the crowd until he was right next to Niki. The Austrian glanced at him briefly but continued his measured response about race strategy. Without warning, James grabbed Niki by the shoulders and pulled him into a kiss.

The world seemed to freeze. Cameras flashed furiously, reporters gasped, and Niki's eyes widened in shock and confusion. As they broke apart, the paddock erupted into chaos.

Niki shoved James away, his face a mix of shock and fury. “What the hell, James?” he spat out, his voice trembling with anger.

James leaned in closer again, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper that was still loud enough for the microphones to catch. “Just wanted to see if those rumors about our little rat were true.”

The reporters, sensing blood in the water, pounced. Questions flew at Niki from all directions, each more invasive than the last. “What was that kiss about?” “Are you and James together?” “Do the teams approve of this kind of relationship?”

James, still grinning, raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just having a bit of fun, lads,” he said, backing away. “Looks like I got my answer.” With that James turned and left the scene, the smirk never leaving his face.

The reporters didn’t relent. “Niki, care to comment? Is there something you’d like to share about your sexuality?”

Niki’s patience snapped. “No comment,” he barked, forcing his way through the crowd. His mind was a whirlwind of anger and humiliation. He knew he couldn’t let this slide.

He found James leaning against a wall near the paddock, still chuckling to himself. Niki’s approach was swift and purposeful. “What the hell was that, James?” he demanded.

James’ smile faded slightly, but he remained defiant. “Oh, come on, Niki it was just a joke. You never seem to have any fun. I thought I’d help you out.”

Niki’s fists clenched. “Fun?” His voice was a dangerous growl. "You call this fun? You think it’s funny to humiliate me? To expose my private life in front of the world?”

James’ eyes glinted with a challenge. “So, it’s true then? You like guys, don’t you? Is that why you never want to go out and pick up ladies with me?” He said with a mocking laugh.

The insinuation cut deep. Niki stepped closer, their faces inches apart. “You don’t know anything about me,” he growled.

James pressed on, his voice low and mocking “Admit it, Niki. You enjoyed it. Why else would you be so angry?” He looked down at Niki as realisation struck him “is that why Marlene broke up with you?” He asked with a chuckle

Niki’s control finally shattered. “Halt dein verdammtes Maul, du Arschloch! You think you know everything, don’t you?” His breath came in ragged gasps “You don’t get to ask me that. You don’t get to use my past against me for your amusement.” he shouted with tears prickling at his eyes.

James’ grin faltered, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. “I didn’t think it would bother you this much. I didn’t mean to—”

Niki cut him off, shoving him against the wall. “You never think, do you, James? You never think beyond your own amusement. You just act, and damn the consequences.”

For a moment, they stood there, breathless and glaring at each other. Then, something shifted in James’s expression. He stepped closer, brows drawn together in a frown “I didn’t think it bother you that much. I just wanted to have a little fun and get a laugh out of it.”

“Well, congratulations. You succeeded,” Niki said bitterly, his jaw clenching as he stared at the Brit. “If you can’t win you just go and ruin your opponent’s career with something else, huh?”

James’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Niki. Really. This wasn’t my intention! Why would I want to ruin-”

“Just shut up. You don’t understand. You have no idea what you’ve done.” Niki interrupted, his voice breaking.

The Brit took a step closer, confusion evident in his eyes. “Why is it such a big deal to you, Niki? What am I missing?”

“Just leave me alone, James.” Niki muttered as he turned to leave, but James grabbed his arm, desperation in his grip. “Please, Niki. Tell me what I’m missing. What’s going on?”

Niki stopped, his shoulders tense. He turned back to James, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to live like this? To hide who I am because I’m afraid of what people will think, of what it will do to my career? it’s not just a joke. It’s my life. It’s who I am. And you had no right to expose that.”

James blinked, confused. “Hide who you are? Niki, I didn’t know—” He cut himself off, realization dawning. “I didn’t know you were really… I thought it was just some stupid joke. I mean, if I had known it was really true I—”

“If you had known you what?” Niki asked, his voice tight. “You wouldn’t have done it?”

“No!“ James said without hesitation

Niki’s anger seemed to deflate, replaced by a sudden deep and aching sadness. “So you wouldn’t have kissed me if you knew” he muttered, more to himself than to James.

James buried a hand in his hair with frustration “Niki, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, yes, I wouldn’t have done it if I knew it would upset you like this. I wanted to kiss you so badly but now I’ve only made things worse. I’m sorry, Niki. I just—”

Niki cut him off again. “Wouldn’t you? Or would you?” Hoping that he heard right and that James wanted to kiss him so badly. “Would you kiss me again?”

James stared at him, taken aback. “What? Niki, I—”

“Do it again” Niki blurted out, his voice trembling. “If you really mean what you say then do it again.”

James opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out, instead he just stared at him, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. When he found none, he stepped closer, gently cupping Niki’s face.

Niki closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. “But this time, mean it. Not for the cameras, not for a joke. Just… for me. Please.” he whispered before worrying his lip between his teeth.

James took a deep breath. Hesitating for a moment before gently dragging his thumb over Niki’s lower lip - a fleeting touch to stop him from chewing on it.

Slowly he leaned in and kissed Niki again, slow, deliberate, and full of unspoken promises, this time not for the cameras or the reporters, but for Niki.

It wasn’t a joke this time. It was real.

When they broke apart, Niki’s eyes were once more filled with tears “Thank you” he whispered, his voice breaking.

James pulled him into a tight embrace, his own eyes glistening. “I’m sorry, Niki. I truly am. I’ll never make light of this again.”

Niki nodded “you better not. Arschloch.” He muttered, burying his face in James’ shoulder. For the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of peace. And perhaps, just perhaps, a glimmer of hope for what lay ahead.

thanks sebby, you always know what we want

kiss from point scorer to point scorer

(the promised haasbands art tehee)

First F1xNGE post!

Nico’s EVA Unit 09X!

Details:

And here’s an alternative version:

And here’s my Instagram post if you want to check that out as well!!

F1 x Neon Genesis Evangelion au

Max.

Story post to my previous drawing.

"Cut the signal! Shut it down!" Voices overlapped in his comms, frantic and useless.

His hands trembled against the controls. He wasn’t piloting anymore. He was inside something alive, something hungry, something that had always been waiting for an excuse to take over.

Max’s hands gripped the controls, fingers slick with sweat, blood pounding in his temples.

The Angel before him was relentless, its form twisting and shifting with eerie fluidity. Every strike was a surge of primal energy—a force that Max couldn’t seem to contain, no matter how hard he pushed Unit 33 to retaliate. His EVA was battered, bruised, the armor cracked and peeling away in places. But still, it stood. Still, it fought.

Another wave of energy hit, sending Max reeling inside the cockpit. He gritted his teeth, his body jolted violently as his EVA staggered backward, but it didn’t fall.

He couldn’t fall.

He had been fighting this Angel for what felt like days. The city around him had become little more than a memory—broken fragments of steel and stone scattered across the battlefield. But he was still there, still standing.

But he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

His vitals were spiking. The monitors flashed with warnings, but Max barely registered them. His breath came in ragged gasps, the LCL in his lungs thickening with each inhale. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain through his body, the kind that echoed deep into his bones, but it didn’t matter. He had to keep going. He had to fight.

There was no room for weakness.

He wanted to retreat—just for a moment, to assess the damage, to regroup, to think. He wanted to find a way to make sense of it all. But every time the thought crossed his mind, his heart raced. His chest tightened. Because if he stopped, if he gave in, lives would be lost.

People were counting on him.

He was their perfect pilot.

A perfect pilot didn’t retreat.

A perfect pilot didn’t allow failure.

Not when there was a city to protect. Not when people needed him. Not when NERV was watching, waiting for him to perform—to succeed.

Max’s heart hammered in his chest. His breath came out in short, sharp bursts. Every muscle in his body screamed for rest, for release, but he refused to listen. His hands trembled, but they didn’t leave the controls.

NERV had no patience for weakness. They never had.

They didn’t care if he was hurt. They didn’t care if he was dying.

As long as he was standing, as long as he was able to fight, he had no choice but to keep going.

No one else should do this. No one else could do this.

He couldn’t stop.

With a deep, shaky breath, Max drove Unit 33 forward again, the EVA’s claws scraping against the cracked asphalt. The Angel was already charging toward him, its limbs twisting and shifting, ready to strike once more.

His pulse raced. His sync rate spiked dangerously. The cockpit shook violently as the Angel’s tendrils slammed into his EVA, throwing him back again. Max’s vision blurred as he fought to maintain control, his hands gripping the controls so tight his fingers went numb.

Pain flooded his chest. Pain shot through his head.

But he couldn’t stop.

He couldn’t give up.

“Max! Your vitals—!” The voice crackled over the comms, but it was distant, muffled, like someone shouting from far away.

It didn’t matter.

Max’s jaw clenched, his breath harsh and uneven. The world around him felt like it was spinning, the edges of his vision darkening, but he pushed it all down. He could still fight. As long as he could move, as long as he had breath in his lungs, he could keep fighting.

He had to.

He was their perfect pilot. The one who never stopped. The one who never failed.

Even as his body screamed for rest, even as his mind teetered on the edge of exhaustion, he kept going. Because the world demanded it.

Because they expected it.

A flicker at the edges of his vision. The sync rate display spiked.

85%... 90%... 94%...

He growled, shaking his head. "Not now. Not yet."

A second strike. The Angel’s attack tore into Unit 33’s plating, exposing the writhing mass of muscle beneath. Pain surged through him—not real, but real enough. His nerves lit up as if he had been struck himself. The sync rate climbed again.

97%... 99%...

"Max! Keep control!" The voice—his comms officer? His strategist? He couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter.

The anger came in a wave. A deep, all-consuming heat. The walls of the entry plug pulsed around him, the LCL thickening, as if alive. The heartbeat of the EVA—his heartbeat—pounded in his ears.

100%.

Then, silence.

It felt like hours had passed.

Unit 33 twitched. Its jaw cracked open wider than it should. A low, inhuman snarl vibrated through the battlefield.

The EVA moved—and Max wasn’t the one moving it.

With a deafening roar, Unit 33 launched itself forward, faster than before, limbs contorting, armor splitting as its organic form expanded. It tore into the Angel like a rabid animal, ripping through its core with bloodied claws. The once-monolithic creature writhed and screeched, but Unit 33 didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop.

Max gasped, trying to override the controls. Nothing responded. The EVA thrashed wildly, breaking the Angel apart piece by piece, ignoring the fact that it had already won. The thing was dead. And yet, Unit 33 was still moving, still destroying, still devouring.

"Cut the signal! Shut it down!" Voices overlapped in his comms, frantic and useless.

His hands trembled against the controls. He wasn’t piloting anymore. He was inside something alive, something hungry, something that had always been waiting for an excuse to take over.

The last thing he heard before everything went black was the sound of his own laughter—low, broken, and not entirely his own.

—

The cockpit disappeared.

The battlefield disappeared.

Everything disappeared.

—

Max floated.

Drifting in a vast, endless sea of nothingness, weightless. lost in a space without shape, without form.

It was as though the air itself had melted away. There was nothing. No edges, no boundaries. Just an infinite softness wrapping around him, enfolding him like a cocoon of silence. He couldn’t name it—the color, the sensation. It wasn’t light, but neither was it dark. It was... something. The absence of something. Or everything.

Every time he tried to name it, the thought slipped away, like sand through his fingers.

A slow breath.

The emptiness felt warm in his chest. It wasn’t his breath. It wasn’t his body. But the air still moved. It still filled him, and in that slow rise and fall, he felt something.

He knew this place.

A sense of relief bloomed, quiet and deep. It was as though something heavy had been taken from him, something unspoken, something he had never let himself acknowledge. A breath that he hadn’t known he was holding.

He Knew. Unit 33 was tearing apart the Angel—or worse, something else.

He could hear it. NERV was screaming through comms, trying to reach him.

But he didn’t care.

Because this was the only place where he could be vulnerable.

No battle. No expectations. No weight crushing down on his shoulders, forcing him to be perfect. Here, he didn’t have to hold up the façade of strength, didn’t have to wear the armor he’d built around himself.

Here, there was nothing.

And in that nothingness, it was waiting for him.

A figure stood above him. Watching. Protecting.

It had no metal, no restraints, no plating to hide behind. It bared its true form—muscle and sinew, raw and unshaped, not human, but something close. Its eyes, deep and endless, held something he couldn’t name. It reached for him, but did not touch him. It didn’t need to.

Its presence was vast, too large to understand, and yet its outline was etched into his mind as if it had always been there. It didn’t move, but he felt it, hovering above him like a shadow without a form. Or maybe it was light—he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that it was watching.

A strange pulse—faint but unmistakable—washed over him, and the space around him seemed to shift, as if the very nothingness breathed with him.

He felt held.

It was holding him.

Keeping him safe.

It was not a grip, not an embrace. It was a knowing, an understanding that didn’t need words or touch. It existed between the silence, in the place where nothing could reach him.

And for a moment, he allowed himself to float in it.

Weightless.

There were no edges. No time. The concept of moments felt like waves, but they never broke. He drifted, and yet he didn’t move. And somewhere beneath it all, he could feel it—the thing that had always been there.

He didn’t know if it was his.

He didn’t know if it was him.

But it was with him.

His fingers twitched. His body, for the first time in so long, felt light.

His eyelids grew heavy.

He let them close.

His mind felt detached, his thoughts soft like ripples in water, fading before they could take shape. There was no rush. No urgency. Only the slow, quiet rhythm of something waiting.

The figure above him remained, and in its presence, he didn’t feel the need to understand. He only existed—floating, breathing, and being held by something that wasn’t quite light, and wasn’t quite shadow.

A moment, perhaps. Or maybe, no moment at all.

It didn’t matter.

He let go.

Let it take over.

And for the first time in a long time, Max rested.