hi! i'm jupiter. (i also go by nickels, and can be found at nickel_eyes on ao3). my pronouns are they/them.
i love angst, i don't care about shipping, my tagging system makes no sense to anybody but me, and my favorite person in the whole world is @its-an-echo.
ACTION ITEM: read my most recent angsty ficlet! (torn)
quick links: writing (tag); writing (m.lists); art (physical); art (digital); guides
DTM Summer: info | season playlists | weekend playlist links | recs | recaps
i write! my magnum opus is All Roads Lead to Rome (ao3), but visit my fic masterlists (extended verses; unconnected ficlets) to see a breakdown of all my ficlets, or feel free to brave the #jupiter writes tag to see them posted chronologically. i give blanket permission for all my works.
i also do some art on occasion. not well, but that's fine, i still have fun. check out #jupiter draws to see my car sketches, and #jupiter badly photoshops to see my digital artsy stuff (which ranges from genuine bad photoshops to blackout poetry).
i created some guides to figuring out what year a photo of max is from. first one can be found here, and the others are linked on that post and through the tag #max dating.
i liveblog races for multiple series, and am generally insufferable, so have fun with that if you choose to follow me. peep my driver tier list to see who i'll be rooting for (and maybe against) in f1. my non-f1 liveblog tag is #lb. if you are looking for how to watch races from any of the series i yap about, check out my list of links.
lastly, i'm literally always down to chat (or just scream incoherently) about all things max, so never be afraid to shoot me an ask or a dm if you want to chat or scream incoherently!
hope you're having a lovely day, and i'll see you around! :D
Y’all are so quick to write girls/women off as lost causes when they have a bad maiden single seater season
Alex’s single seaters debut, he went without points. The next year he only made it up to 16th
I know the situations aren’t perfectly comparable and there is a lot of nuance not presented here but i see so often girls having mid debuts and people essentially going “well maybe next year we will have a new woman who is actually good enough” like jesus christ. I understand that there is pressure to act callous towards underperforming women in sports, but it’s actually not helpful in the long run
sorry, sarah's right. max, a 100 piece jigsaw puzzle, and a crowd of five to ten people laughing at his jokes and clapping and cheering whenever he solves a piece
i'm working on a longer daemonverse fic and i wrote this section that i really like but i think i might have to cut down significantly to make it fit in with everything else.
so i thought i'd post it in this state as just an independent ficlet! it still is in daemonverse, obvi, but it stands on its own without the surrounding longer fic i'm trying to struggle together.
mostly below the cut. enjoy!
---
Leonie forgets sometimes, when she and Max are around other people, to act as if they're bound by the same physical limits as everybody else.
It's not that they need to hide the fact that they've trained to be so far from one another. And they're not often around people who are paying enough attention to note that they're not as close as they should be.
Still, when people do notice, it invites questions. And that's worth more trouble than it's worth, really. It's far too likely that the line of questioning will delve into how they learned to withstand such distance, and then why their father would train them like that. And then come furrowed brows and twisted mouths.
Max tends to be more forgiving with Papa than Leonie is. Maybe it's because Leonie has more distance from the matter. Distance Papa caused, ripping her away from Max's side. Distance Max caused, always standing between her and Papa. Distance Leonie caused, because she's never been strong enough to fight herself out of Papa's grip.
Their pain is shared, but it's always Max who feels the fists and Leonie who feels the phantoms, and Max thinks he deserves the pain, even as he tries to shield Leonie from it. And it's always Leonie who feels the hands gripping tight, and Max who shudders and retches at the feeling of the most profound violation one can commit.
Max thinks he needs Papa's 'discipline' to be better, and mourns that Leonie is caught in the crossfire.
Leonie has only refrained from tearing Papa apart because she loves Max more than she hates him.
So she tries to avoid concerned frowns just as much as Max does. Because all they ever bring is placations from Max that it's fine, really, and it hurts Leonie more than the fists, sometimes, to hear him say that. To hear him think so little of himself.
Which means no questions. Which means nothing to question. Which means either Leonie will spend race weekends slinking around the circuit grounds, staying clear away from Max as he and Papa work on the kart and go to the grid, or she'll try to remember to stick close by his side.
Mostly, she picks the first option. Nobody questions why Max doesn't have a dæmon with him—he's young enough that Leonie hasn't permashifted, and most common racing dæmons are small enough to hide up a sleeve or in a pocket anyway. Leonie plays stray cat and lazes in the grass and tells herself that with the track out of view, not being in the kart with Max doesn't hurt so much.
Sometimes, though, Papa will be in a good mood, or Max will be in a bad one, or Leonie just can't keep herself away from the roar of the engines and the smell of the fuel. And she'll scamper by Max's heel, keeping step the best she can, trying hard to keep the right amount of distance between them.
The thing is, she's so terrible at it. Max is, too. They're both too distractible, both too unused to being so close after so much time being trained to stay apart.
And sometimes, Max will stop to talk with a teammate, and Leonie will trot off to watch someone tinker with their kart, and then the jig is up. And then come the exclamations and the intrigue and the questions.
And people, when they learn that Max and Leonie can stand to be so far apart, assume that it's because they've trained themselves out of the horrible feelings that accompany it. The wrenching in their chests, the fire that races through every inch of their bodies. They say it's so crazy Max and Leonie can do that, because when they try to leave their dæmon's side, it feels like they're being torn apart at the seams.
They seem to think that Max and Leonie managed to break themselves apart from one another and the wound left behind healed. That, over time, the pain dulled.
It didn't.
Papa wrenched them apart and wrenched them apart and wrenched them apart, ripping open the wound again and again. And he never managed to break them, but maybe they're not quite whole anymore.
Because Leonie remembers what it used to feel like to sit by Max's side, a foot between them, and feel nothing but peace under her skin. But now, the only time she stops burning up from the inside out is when Max holds her close, and she can feel how their heartbeats align.
It doesn't matter if Leonie is sleeping in a patch of grass across the circuit, or if she's butting her head against Max's leg. If Papa's hands are on Max, or on her, or blissfully absent. If she's surrounded by the smell of engine oil, or if she's breathing in the trees of home.
She always feels like she's being torn apart at the seams. Every molecule ripping itself to shreds.
She always feels like she's being torn away from Max. Again and again and again.
maybe Dani stood up for Max when he was called the weak link because they knew the actual weak link was.... well let's just say Not max
when has max ever been a weak link in his life c'mon that man is actively welding together the chain and kissing the seams to encourage them to hold strong
but yeah lol auer at this rate you're never getting a special tag. or a first name for that matter
i'd like to formally apologize for my actions. i have learned and grown immensely since this time in my life. it wasn't okay for me to be so ignorant and misinformed back then, but i hope that the steps i have taken and continue to take will be able to show how much i've changed.
He doesn’t know it. That’s what strikes you first. He doesn’t know what he is, who he is. Or more accurately he doesn’t know the effect he has by being what he is, who he is. Or maybe he does and it just doesn’t matter. All he knows is racing. All he cares about is his family, his friends. All he wants is to do his best in everything he does.
He doesn’t know that when he wins it is isn’t the fireworks that are blinding. It isn’t the camera flashes. It isn’t the lights of all those television cameras. He doesn’t know that it is him. He doesn’t know that he shines so bright, so blinding and yet no one can look away when he stands on the top step. And he isn’t even being dramatic. He isn’t putting on a show. It’s just his pride in the team and himself, beaming out from his chest. He is beautiful up there, that sweet boy. So beautiful.
He knows that when he goes home his little girl will smile so blindingly bright, even if he wasn’t on the top step. She doesn’t care. Her love is the brightest thing in his world and it doesn't depend on him being anything other than her loving papa. Nothing else really matters. Not to her and not to him. Even the things that matter because he cannot do anything other than his best. Even those things don’t matter when his little girl smiles at him and wraps chubby arms around his neck. He knows that nothing else should matter as much as this. As much as being kind, as much as making the world a little better than you found it. And that is why he will always shine so bright.
i'm working on a longer daemonverse fic and i wrote this section that i really like but i think i might have to cut down significantly to make it fit in with everything else.
so i thought i'd post it in this state as just an independent ficlet! it still is in daemonverse, obvi, but it stands on its own without the surrounding longer fic i'm trying to struggle together.
mostly below the cut. enjoy!
---
Leonie forgets sometimes, when she and Max are around other people, to act as if they're bound by the same physical limits as everybody else.
It's not that they need to hide the fact that they've trained to be so far from one another. And they're not often around people who are paying enough attention to note that they're not as close as they should be.
Still, when people do notice, it invites questions. And that's worth more trouble than it's worth, really. It's far too likely that the line of questioning will delve into how they learned to withstand such distance, and then why their father would train them like that. And then come furrowed brows and twisted mouths.
Max tends to be more forgiving with Papa than Leonie is. Maybe it's because Leonie has more distance from the matter. Distance Papa caused, ripping her away from Max's side. Distance Max caused, always standing between her and Papa. Distance Leonie caused, because she's never been strong enough to fight herself out of Papa's grip.
Their pain is shared, but it's always Max who feels the fists and Leonie who feels the phantoms, and Max thinks he deserves the pain, even as he tries to shield Leonie from it. And it's always Leonie who feels the hands gripping tight, and Max who shudders and retches at the feeling of the most profound violation one can commit.
Max thinks he needs Papa's 'discipline' to be better, and mourns that Leonie is caught in the crossfire.
Leonie has only refrained from tearing Papa apart because she loves Max more than she hates him.
So she tries to avoid concerned frowns just as much as Max does. Because all they ever bring is placations from Max that it's fine, really, and it hurts Leonie more than the fists, sometimes, to hear him say that. To hear him think so little of himself.
Which means no questions. Which means nothing to question. Which means either Leonie will spend race weekends slinking around the circuit grounds, staying clear away from Max as he and Papa work on the kart and go to the grid, or she'll try to remember to stick close by his side.
Mostly, she picks the first option. Nobody questions why Max doesn't have a dæmon with him—he's young enough that Leonie hasn't permashifted, and most common racing dæmons are small enough to hide up a sleeve or in a pocket anyway. Leonie plays stray cat and lazes in the grass and tells herself that with the track out of view, not being in the kart with Max doesn't hurt so much.
Sometimes, though, Papa will be in a good mood, or Max will be in a bad one, or Leonie just can't keep herself away from the roar of the engines and the smell of the fuel. And she'll scamper by Max's heel, keeping step the best she can, trying hard to keep the right amount of distance between them.
The thing is, she's so terrible at it. Max is, too. They're both too distractible, both too unused to being so close after so much time being trained to stay apart.
And sometimes, Max will stop to talk with a teammate, and Leonie will trot off to watch someone tinker with their kart, and then the jig is up. And then come the exclamations and the intrigue and the questions.
And people, when they learn that Max and Leonie can stand to be so far apart, assume that it's because they've trained themselves out of the horrible feelings that accompany it. The wrenching in their chests, the fire that races through every inch of their bodies. They say it's so crazy Max and Leonie can do that, because when they try to leave their dæmon's side, it feels like they're being torn apart at the seams.
They seem to think that Max and Leonie managed to break themselves apart from one another and the wound left behind healed. That, over time, the pain dulled.
It didn't.
Papa wrenched them apart and wrenched them apart and wrenched them apart, ripping open the wound again and again. And he never managed to break them, but maybe they're not quite whole anymore.
Because Leonie remembers what it used to feel like to sit by Max's side, a foot between them, and feel nothing but peace under her skin. But now, the only time she stops burning up from the inside out is when Max holds her close, and she can feel how their heartbeats align.
It doesn't matter if Leonie is sleeping in a patch of grass across the circuit, or if she's butting her head against Max's leg. If Papa's hands are on Max, or on her, or blissfully absent. If she's surrounded by the smell of engine oil, or if she's breathing in the trees of home.
She always feels like she's being torn apart at the seams. Every molecule ripping itself to shreds.
She always feels like she's being torn away from Max. Again and again and again.
thought about max being an example for the vcarb drivers and red bull juniors and f2 and f3 drivers all looking up to him and him reaching out with kindness and warmth and everyone said he shouldn't be the example for the kids but the kids said he is everything they could ever dream of being
young drivers: MAX IS SO NICE! HE'S AN ABSOLUTE ANGEL! THE KINDEST OF SOULS! HE LOVES RACING AND KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT IT! HE ASKED ME HOW I WAS DOING AND GAVE ME TONS OF ADVICE! HE THEN GAVE ME FREE KINDER AND A KITTEN TOO! HE'S SO SMART AND HUMBLE AND BEAUTIFUL AND-
