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.
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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.
another drabble i'm rescuing from the All Roads Lead to Rome comments:
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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.
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)
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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.
-
The Hungarian Grand Prix is a blur of answering the same question over and over again, to fellow drivers and media alike. By the time it's over, Sebastian's spent more time talking about not driving than the damn car he drove in the race.
It only cements that he's making the right decision.
At some point during the weekend, Max sidles up to him, Red Bull in hand, and asks if he has any free days during the summer break.
"For you, Max? Of course."
-
Max shows up at his door a week into the break, arms full of gifts.
"Your daughters are, of course, older than Penelope," he says sheepishly. "So maybe they will not like them."
Sebastian smiles, touched. "Max, they are children. They will enjoy any toy."
Max's gifts, like Max himself, are a hit with the kids. Sebastian practically has to pry Max away when midday rolls around and Max asks him, "Can I take you to lunch at a place I like?"
Sebastian is intrigued by the prospect of Max knowing a good place to eat in the corner of Switzerland and would never say no to him anyway.
The girls eventually let them go once Sebastian promises that Max will be back very soon, just after they eat. Max kneels down to let them hug him goodbye and says something quietly enough that Sebastian cannot hear, but has them giggling excitedly.
"What did you say to them?" Sebastian asks suspiciously once they're out the door and Max is digging his keys out of his pocket. "And where are we going?"
Max shrugs with a grin. "You, of course, will have to wait to see."
-
As soon as Sebastian sees the golden arches, he's slapping Max on the arm. "You cannot say you are bringing me to a place you like and then take me to a McDonald's, Max!"
Max laughs as he swings the car into a parking space. "Why not? You are not going to be an F1 driver anymore, so you do not have to worry about your diet."
"Arschloch," Sebastian mutters without bite.
Once inside, Max insists that Sebastian find them a place to sit while he orders. When Sebastian tries to protest, Max says, "The rule is, of course, that the world champion pays."
Sebastian settles grumpily into a booth.
-
When their order is called, Max brings four Happy Meals back to the table along with a tray full of burgers, McNuggets, and a milkshake.
"Max, what—" Sebastian says when Max sets them all on the table.
Max takes three of the Happy Meals and moves them to the end of the table, away from the rest of the food. "I hope that you do not mind that I promised your daughters to get them another toy."
Sebastian laughs. "You are such a pushover. Penelope must be very spoiled."
Max winces. "Kelly has made a rule for how many gifts I am allowed to buy every month."
The last Happy Meal, Max pushes over to Sebastian with a shit-eating grin.
"Okay, I guess this is payback," Sebastian says with a roll of his eyes, easily accepting the box. He ignores the milk and the apple slices and goes straight for the toy.
He pulls out a plastic figurine of Mario sitting in a red kart.
Max nearly chokes on his sip of milkshake.
"Oh, come on," Sebastian moans. "What is this? You got a cool pig, and I get a go-kart. It is not fair."
Max shrugs. "You can throw it out of the window on our drive back if you want. Maybe it will be cathartic."
Sebastian pictures it for a moment: Throwing away the red car. But even though it's just a hunk of plastic, the thought makes him sad. Just as the thought of ever getting rid of the Tepig had made him sad, years ago.
"No." He places it onto the table, tries to move it along the tabletop. The wheels don't even spin. "No, it is mine now. I will keep it."
-
They chat about strictly non-racing things as Sebastian picks his way through a couple of burgers and Max inhales stacks of McNuggets, until Sebastian is finishing off the last sips of milkshake, scooting his plastic car ineffectively back and forth on the table.
"I think, probably, you did not want to be talking more about your retirement," Max says, brow furrowed, tearing a paper straw wrapper to pieces on the table. Sebastian stops trying to chase the last drops of milkshake along the bottom of the cup with loud slurps. "But I want to say that I think it is very good, what you are doing. You should, of course, race only if it is still fun and you still want to. I think many people are too stupid and focused on the wrong things. You are, of course, already a world champion and have accomplished very much. You do not need to stay just to prove anything because already, you have shown how good you are. And you, of course, have more important things in your life now." Max gestures at the three Happy Meals that are still at the end of the table, meant for Sebastian's daughters.
"I know that you are not so stupid to listen to everyone's stupid opinions," Max continues. "But I know that probably many people have been saying only dumb things about it or acting as if it is a tragedy. And it will, of course, be sad to not have you on the grid anymore. But it should not be about that. It should be about what you want. So I think it is good that you are doing what you want and what is good for you."
Max looks up from the pile of paper scraps he's been carefully rearranging with his fingertips.
"We, of course, do not have to talk about it if you do not want to. But I just wanted to say that. And that, even when you are not on the grid, you can still talk to me any time. About anything."
Sebastian remembers the young boy whom he had once teased with a Happy Meal. Who had said that he was only important because of racing—that nothing else mattered.
Underneath, that boy still remains. The speed, the smarts. The softness right at the core of him. But Max is wearing a plain tee and skinny jeans. His laughter is bright and easy. His bare arms are bruise-free.
He's grown into his own person with his own life. He's the one, now, who is here for Sebastian, and whose words are far more comforting than any Sebastian ever managed to give to him.
"Thank you," Sebastian says sincerely. "I will text, but only if you promise to do the same."
Max smiles. "Of course."
-
When they leave, Max carrying all of the Happy Meal boxes at his own insistence, Sebastian says, "You should have gotten one for yourself. Now you are the only one without a toy." He wiggles his red kart back and forth fake-enticingly.
Max chuckles. "I, of course, still have the pig. Of course, I do not have it with me now. It is next to my sim rig."
"With your championship trophy?"
Max frowns as he fumbles to get his key out of his pocket, juggling the Happy Meals. "Yes. It is, of course, where I keep the important things."
He ducks his head into the car to put the Happy Meals into the backseat, and Sebastian blinks away the sudden dampness in his eyes.
-
Sebastian puts his shitty little red car on the edge of the mantlepiece, tucked next to a framed photo of his wife and daughters grinning widely, golden hair glittering in the sun.
He gives the car a pat on the head with his index finger and goes to kiss his daughters good night.
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)
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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.)
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.
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.
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 🙏"
dededos
dailybridgerton
baratheonpilled
kianamaiart
