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Nico Rosberg and Michael Schumacher dynamics you will always be dear to me (derogatory)
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seeing this and being like Now what does carlos possibly have to say that would require that much text. and then i realized it was sr.
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what inspired you to go with the magic/faith theme? like you could have done a bare bones love spell story but your spin on it with believing and faith being actually so important to the power of the magic is soooooo interesting
it honestly came as i was writing chapter 2 !
the whole lights out remember the fear have faith etc running motif came first, and then as i was doing the worldbuilding in ch2 i was like - oh maybe we can take this the full mile !
and yeah it’s lowkey become the central theme to the fic. especially in ch4!!!
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Details: Max Verstappen
📸 Vladimir Rys
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if people ask i’ll answer fourth finger asks in the morning 🥹🥹🥹
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you should get into motogp because if you ever wrote rosquez it would be like scripture to me
i cant even write brocede what makes u think i can rosquez
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Girl you need to get into motogp bc tell me why one of the riders posed to recreate the iconic “ass cover” from The Strokes band. Yes, it sounds exactly like what it is. And this is just one example of how unhinged this sport has been.
i’ve seen that photo more than i’ve seen any other photo today
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easy shot but witch for the wip word game?
Lottie doesn’t ask many questions. She lets Charles speak freely. He tries to explain how, any time he wasn’t with Max, it was hazy—when he was with Max, he couldn’t remember any moment from when he wasn’t with him; when he wasn’t with Max, he couldn’t remember any moment from when he was with him. Like his consciousness was split. Like he was in pieces.
He tells her the truth, as much as he knows of it: how it felt too good to be true, but at the same time he hadn’t questioned any of it. Like being in a dream—how you don’t know it was a dream until you’re already awake.
Charles can barely get his head around the summer, memories and flashes of moments in time. How it all happened, how he can barely conceptualize that it was him, doing all of those things, feeling all of those things—but it was him. He feels it, even now. Muscle memory, even in his chest.
She’s satisfied with as much as Charles is willing to give her: the first day on the boat, the dinner they had, the roadtrip they took to Italy, and the rapid progression of their relationship throughout the next two weeks—until Charles left for Maranello and Max left for Milton Keynes. Then finally, this morning, when he finally became whole again.
His cheeks are burning through it all, but she only hums, intrigued and asking him more about how it had felt and how he perceived the world around him when he was with Max rather than anything that happened. She’s clearly quite fascinated in the mechanics of the spell. He can’t help but think about how much Max hates witches—how Max was vocal about his dislike of witches and of magic in general, even when they were kids.
He knows that Max hates witches even more now, and magic in general, after the scrutiny he was put under in Abu Dhabi, four years ago.
It’s the one thing that’ll set him off more than anything else in an interview, and journalists have long learned not to bring it up.
Charles, in all honesty, has always hated witches and magic too.
send me a word and if it's in my wip i'll post a bit from where it's from
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for the wip game: fond or mean
After Singapore, the first thing Max does is message Kelly.
It takes him a few days of, quite frankly, begging, for her to finally respond and give him a chance.
He explains himself. He tells her he wants to talk, tells her he wants to fix things, tells her he wants things to go back to the way they were before the summer.
She tells him to fly to Brazil if he really means it.
Max doesn’t give it a second thought.
There’s nothing left for him in Monaco anyway.
He spends his twenty-seventh birthday on a plane.
send me a word and if it's in my wip i'll post a bit from where it's from
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I went to Montenegro for a week and did pretty much nothing. Just laid on the beach... or the rocks, 'cause there's no sand.
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stupid fucking haagendazs caramel cone WITH NO CONE
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hey sorry if this conversation is over but i go to a university in germany and beer pong is played at literally every single party (not just frats) so i feel like max would know about it
OHHH??? interesting
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For the wip game: track or circuit
Four years ago, in Abu Dhabi, Max was losing his first championship.
He started on pole and lost it at the start. He knew it was important to make the place back as soon as possible. So at Turn 6, when Lewis opened the door, Max made the late lunge and he stayed on the race track, within the white lines, but Lewis didn’t. He rejoined miles ahead of Max, and by the regulations, all sense pointed to him having to give the place back.
Max was ahead at the apex. Lewis overtook off track.
No action, the stewards decided.
It wasn’t fair—but that’s the way it seemed to go that year. Bad call after bad call, the stewards doing whatever they wanted in the grey areas, whatever they felt was right. As much as the sport aimed to bridge the gap from the human to the machine, the rules still had this human element of imperfection.
Still, he drove on. Despite the pace deficit to the Mercedes, and despite the growing gap between him and Lewis, Max just kept on driving. It was all he could do.
Maybe Lewis could pick up a puncture. You never knew.
send me a word and if it's in my wip i'll post a bit from where it's from
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light for the wip game
He really did love her once, but it was a different sort of love—safe and comfortable. It’s the sort that he isn’t sure he can find in himself again.
It’s not better or worse, but when you know how it feels to go from zero to one hundred, to flick left, right, through Eau Rouge then up the hill through Raidillon, sweeping corners, the thrill in your chest, the feeling you chase every time you slip into the cockpit—it’s hard to go back, when you know a love that lights up all corners of your life.
send me a word and if it's in my wip i'll post a bit from where it's from
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