At First Bite
Lestappen
1k~ words
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Not today Justin
No title available
$LAYYYTER
wallacepolsom

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

Love Begins
we're not kids anymore.
RMH
🪼
cherry valley forever
noise dept.
No title available

★

Kiana Khansmith
Jules of Nature
todays bird
Claire Keane
Misplaced Lens Cap
occasionally subtle
Peter Solarz

seen from Iraq

seen from Germany

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States

seen from Luxembourg
seen from Philippines
seen from Canada

seen from Australia
seen from Poland
seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Lithuania
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
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seen from United States
@lestappened
At First Bite
Lestappen
1k~ words
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
@maxineverstappen, come get your juice
yes this is YET ANOTHER drabble for All Roads Lead to Rome. did you know that the zombie virus is actually sebmax thoughts? it's true. and debilitating.
---
Sebastian can't deny that his heart is pounding when the race begins.
He knows, rationally, that it's a hell of a long shot. That it's not up to what Max can achieve. That it depends more on McLaren's ability to fuck up severely. Or to not.
The laps tick forward, one by one by one. Max continues pulling the gap, steady, steady. The commentators puzzle over it—why doesn't he try to back them up? Hope that Charles can overtake Lando? (Hope that, if Charles does, McLaren won't tell Oscar to crash his car into the barriers so Lando can still pull a P3.)
It's what Lewis did in 2016, angry and desperate for a miracle. Hoping that Max could be one of the ones to overtake Nico, that he could offer Lewis a road to victory.
But Max isn't Lewis.
The gap stays steady.
There's one moment—only one—where Max seems to let himself have a glimmer of hope. Asks GP on the radio, "Is Charles catching him or not?"
There's a pause.
"Fairly equal pace, between them," says GP.
Max keeps driving.
Sebastian has a moment where he wonders, briefly, what the response would have been it were him in the Ferrari, still. If he could have caught up to Norris, could have taken those three points, could have given Max hope that wouldn't be snatched away within seconds.
But the Ferrari never belonged to him, not like it does to Charles. And it doesn't matter anyway. Sebastian is half a world away, watching on a screen so much smaller than those that dot the race track, house silent apart from the sounds of his daughters playing upstairs, his wife breathing steadily beside him.
Max crosses the line in first, twelve seconds ahead of the car in second. Sixteen seconds ahead of the championship winner, two positions; but it wasn't enough, not quite.
Two points behind. It might as well be two hundred; the result is still the same.
Sebastian listens to Max's words over the radio. Congratulating the team, telling them not to be disappointed, because he isn't. He watches as Max pulls himself out of the car, pulls Norris into a hug, grinning wide.
Max isn't Lewis. Isn't Nico, or Sebastian, or Kimi, or any of the others. He's a champion all of his own, one who can fight back from 104 points behind to 2, and can still find a smile and a word of praise for his team. Bright and genuine and kind.
Sebastian takes out his phone. Texts Max, Good job.Waits a moment, fingers hovering, before adding, If you have time this winter I would love to meet Lily.
Hours later, as Sebastian settles into bed, his phone dings softly.
That would be lovely.
Heated Rivalry x The Untamed anyone?
Rivals, yearning, pining, and not communicating - that's so wangxian! ✨👏✨🩵🖤❤️🏒⛸️❄️
Max Verstappen and Arvid Lindblad duo ❤️ |
Max just adopted new child
another drabble i'm rescuing from the All Roads Lead to Rome comments:
---
Sebastian sees Max, damp-faced from sweat and tears, glowing brightly with championship victory, and only then does he accept that his time has come and gone.
He was Red Bull's golden boy, once. Lead them to their first championship. Lead them to victory after victory after victory.
He isn’t anybody's golden boy anymore. Isn't leading anybody to victory. He thought that he could be crowned in red, like Michael, but the red he bled for Ferrari wasn't rosso corsa enough. He thought he could keep fighting, even if it wasn't with Red Bull, or with Ferrari, but he dresses in green and gets in his car, and it doesn't sing beneath him like it used to.
It's the end of the season, and he goes home. Falls into his own bed, kisses his children and his wife. Thinks maybe it's time to stop bleeding.
He doesn't have to go to the FIA Gala. He isn't top 3. Isn't top 5, top 10... He isn't anything. He's P12; 43 points; one podium, and he could taste in the champagne on his tongue that it was his last.
He doesn't have to go, but he does. Drives to Paris in his old car, which has been left untouched for years. The Tepig still sitting on the dashboard fits easily into his pocket.
He shakes hands, claps politely, drinks champagne. (It doesn't taste the same.)
He finds Max after the speeches, and the cameras, and the show. Pulls him aside, tugging gently on his arm, until they're in a corner all to themselves.
Max is a man, now. He's grown into his frame, into his skill. Broad-shouldered and confident. (When Sebastian looks at him for too long, he can still see him small and alone, fists clenched and mouth pinched as he stares down an empty road.)
Sebastian grabs the Tepig from his pocket. Takes a moment to run his thumb over its head one last time.
He presses it into Max's hold, envelops Max’s hands in his own. "Congratulations, Max. You deserve it. You always have."
When he releases his grip on Max, Max opens his palm to see the Tepig. He looks up to Sebastian in wonder. "I— You—"
Sebastian gives him a small smile. "I told you I would give it back to you someday. I'm sorry it took me so long."
Max blinks in shock for a moment before pulling Sebastian into a hug. The Tepig is gripped tightly in his hand.
"Danke. For everything."
Sebastian wraps his arms around Max in return. Grips tight, not quite ready to let go. Not just yet.
"Bitte."
another ficlet from the All Roads Lead to Rome verse bc seb and max wouldn't leave me alone. surprise!
(mostly) under the cut bc it got a bit longer than expected (~1.5k)
---
Sebastian doesn't tell anybody before he tells the whole world.
Better to do it all at once. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
He posts the video and doesn't turn his phone off because only the most important people have his number.
By the end of the day, he has about a billion texts from Lewis and Charles, and he's spent a few hours on the phone with each of them. Maybe he should have expected it, but he didn't. Didn't think it would need more explanation than, "I'm done." But even when he hangs up, he doesn't think they quite understand how he can walk away.
A few days after the announcement, Kimi texts with a thumbs-up emoji and nothing else, and Sebastian laughs out loud.
But the first person who texts, only a few minutes after Sebastian has pressed Post, is Max.
Thanks for the instagram follow mate 😜
Sebastian rolls his eyes fondly and hearts the message.
-
folks. you have got to stop leaving comments on All Roads Lead to Rome, because i'm just gonna keep writing drabbles in response. it's getting out of hand.
uhh cw for japan 2014 (not graphic)
---
Sebastian doesn't really pay much attention to Silly Season. All he cares about is his own drive—particularly, this year, that his seat will be in a Ferrari; scarlet red suit matching red nose cone, just like in his dreams. Faster than hell, standing on the top step in rosso corsa.
But, for now, he's still dressed in navy blue. And Daniel can't speak German, so Sebastian is still Helmut's earpiece for many of his thoughts on the Toro Rosso seats.
Which is how he finds himself spluttering for breath, desperately coughing past the sip of Red Bull that has found its way to his lungs instead of his stomach, when he hears Helmut say the name Max Verstappen.
Helmut arches an unimpressed eyebrow as Sebastian catches his breath. "Do you know this name?" he asks.
Sebastian thinks that maybe Helmut is the last person he should tell about his Italian escapades with Max. Still, it's not like he can write off his reaction now. He nods. "Yes. I have heard he is a good racer."
Helmut continues to stare at him, flat and unbelieving, and Sebastian tries to put on his most convincing face of innocence, holding in the coughs still stuck in the back of his throat.
Max is—Well, he is very good, Sebastian hadn't been lying about that. Sebastian—despite vowing to never show up unannounced and ruin Max's day again—had continued to track his results since the last time they met. Win after win after win. Clinical.
But he's 16. Had still only been in karts last year, and had been one of the younger ones. Is working through his first season of single-seaters right now, in F3.
Sebastian thought he had been young when he started. And he had been—still holds the record for youngest race winner, youngest pole sitter. Youngest champion. Smooth-faced and bright-eyed.
He had been five years older than Max is now.
Helmut hums again and moves on to another subject. Sebastian shakes off the memory of a young boy in the rain that hasn't haunted him for a year.
-
Sebastian knew, as soon as Helmut had said his name, that Max was going to get the seat at Toro Rosso. He's far too good to not, even if it's completely unprecedented.
Signed at 16. The media explodes.
Sebastian, not for the first time, curses the fact that, despite Max having his number, he doesn't have Max's.
-
Sebastian feels weirdly anxious ahead of the Japanese Grand Prix. Not because of his own race—he hasn't been anxious getting inside a car for a long time. Not since 2010, his first championship on the line, down to the wire. And he's accepted, by this point in the season, that he's not going to win the championship this year. His reign of terror is finally over; the end of an era. Sebastian will never win a championship for Red Bull again.
In Friday Free Practice, Max is set to drive the STR9. He's 17, now—turned 17 all of three days ago.
Sebastian manages to block the thought from his mind as he drives. Manages to keep his heart from jumping in his chest when he hears, "Verstappen car behind," and sees the Toro Rosso shoot past him at two hundred kilometers per hour.
He's in one of the fastest cars in the world. No room for error. One mistake, one technical error, one reaction a millisecond too late, and he could be in the wall, car crumpled, silence on the radio.
Sebastian nearly has a heart attack when a red flag is called and he sees Max's car on the big screen, smoke billowing from the back of it.
Broken exhaust valve, he's told. Not a 17-year-old rushed to the hospital.
He breathes easier when Max has to end his session early due to the issue, and then curses himself for going soft.
Max knows the risk of getting into an F1 car. They all do. Just because Max's grinning face lives behind Sebastian's eyelids; just because the memory of him tucking the Tepig under his fingers as he takes a bite of burger lives nestled under Sebastian's ribs—just because Max is young doesn't mean he doesn't know that. Doesn't mean Sebastian has any right to want to keep him from it.
Besides. It's 2014. The cars are a lot safer, now, than they used to be. There aren't as many dangerous crashes, and drivers, more often than not, walk away with nothing more than bruises.
Max will be fine. He'll be fine.
-
(Two days later, the rain pours, and Jules goes into the back of a wheel loader. Car crumpled, silence on the radio.
Sebastian spends the next three months yelling at Helmut, arguing, begging him to change his mind. They can't sign Max, they just can't. He's too inexperienced, too young. Too sweet and funny and kind. Too entwined with Sebastian, sat next to his heart, there in every heartbeat.
But Sebastian's time is up. The season ends, the season starts. Sebastian dresses in scarlet red, and Max in navy blue.
They know the risks. They both put on their helmets and drive.)
All Roads Lead to Rome
Max watches the van disappear over the horizon. He can't help but keep his eyes glued on the road—can't help but hope that the van will turn around and come back. But he knows that that's a stupid wish. His father has a lesson to teach, and he won't come back until Max has learned it. A voice from behind startles Max out of his reverie. He whirls around, prepared to run, and— Is that Sebastian Vettel? - Three times Max and Sebastian cross paths in Italy.
Chapter 1 is out now on ao3!
Chapter 2 is out!
Chapter 3 (of 3) is out!
When a car gets faster, it’s very often gets more nervous to drive. So you need more talent to actually be able to drive it.
That’s all I’m gonna say.
I really love when cats use their front legs to hold something in place while they use their back legs to kick the absolute shit out of it
What exactly is formula one even about
row me o'er the tide
There's noise from behind him, footsteps and a soft click, so Gianpiero scrubs the back of his hand across his face even though of course everybody already saw him cry on the pit wall and turns around. Max is standing in the doorway of the strategy room. He's not wearing a cap, not his usual team cap nor the one he earned by winning today. He says soft, "GP?"
this is about 3.5k of more or less coherent outpouring of my post ad25 max and gp (and rbr) emotions bon appetit <3
The wider cultivation world's POV on Wangxian is incredibly funny cause on one hand you've got Jin Guangyao treating it like it's his comfort trashy soap opera, while Lan Xichen is well aware what's going on from day one and goes through the full parabolic arc from "oh he has a little crush that's cute" to "he's mourning him like a grieving widow maybe I should hide all the branding irons". The juniors take one look at the whole situation and go "huh I don't know why Lan Wangji is sleeping with this crazy guy we found in a ditch but whatever makes him happy man 👍" Jin Ling finds his uncles so aggressively endearing he is forced to speedrun Unlearning Homophobia and ends up giving Wei Wuxian a shovel talk that starts and ends with "be faithful to him or istg I will kill you with my own two hands." (he is thirteen)
And then there's Jiang Chang. Not only was he blissfully unaware that Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan could even hold a civil conversation with each other, he also somehow went through Wei Wuxian's entire first life thinking that his brother was straight.
lol lmao even
do you see my vision
mercedes are like those men that have a daughter and realise women are people actually except it's "now that we have a teenager of our own, we realise bullying teenagers is Not OK 🙏"
MV1 WRAPPED