polesitting

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it’s now 8 hours since the race and I’m still thinking about that charles overtake on george goddamn that was sexy

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helmut marko in parc ferme… isack i fear you might need to go ahead and start packing ur bags babie

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I 💗 my parasocial relationship with an idealized fabrication of a celebrity from a specific period of their life

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we’re in an era of nonchalance and I’ve never been normal about a thing in my life ever. maybe the most chalant person I know, even!

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Flourish in Radiance

Jie Song

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every day is a struggle

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nothing is more thrilling to me than two men NOT fucking

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a little snippet of something i'm working on ...

Max hasn’t even had his super license for one full week when Christian sits him down in the boardroom at Milton Keynes, hands him a folder, and forces him to choose.

“Pick one.”

It doesn’t click immediately, veiled in the absurdity of what Christian is actually asking him to do. They haven’t been working together long, there’s still a fuzziness there. A language barrier that Max is on the losing end of, struggling to piece together a language that everyone else seems to understand with the fluency of those born to it. A gap where Max has to measure his instincts with what he thinks Christian expects for him to do. Jos had handled most of the negotiations for the Torro Rosso contract singlehandedly. This is only the second time they’ve even been alone in a room together. 

He’s still halfway to thinking he’s stumbled into some rookie hazing ritual, caught between staring blankly at Christian and the black leather cover glinting with fluorescent shine, when Christian sighs, reaches over, and cracks the spine for him. Flips it to the first glossy page with a pinky ring-laden flourish and points to the headshot of a man at least ten years Max’s senior. It’s a terrible photo, objectively. Professional to the point of soullessly devoid. The others aren’t much better. But Max recognizes the type, with their perfectly placed hair and barely there makeup and conservative smiles with too-white teeth. Pretty. Delicate. Omega.

Christian gestures to the grid of headshots. “FIA mandate. Unmated alphas are strictly disallowed.”

Max’s stomach drops. “I don’t understand why—“

“We were already out on a limb giving you a trial at Suzuka. Todt’s not going to look the other way next time. You want to race? You have to pick an omega.” Christian crosses his arms. “Those are the rules.”

He’d been aware of the regulations, abstractly. His father hadn’t been concerned about it when he was in karting, and then F3. Treated it more like a foregone conclusion than anything else. A logic equation with an easily solvable answer. Max would be an Alpha. Max would be in F1. Max would mate an omega. Every individual truth informing all the others.

Maybe a secret part of him had wished that by the time he got this far, he would have gotten the opportunity to choose. Or maybe that things would change enough that he simply wouldn’t have to. There were omegas on the grid now, and even on the top teams—Rosberg with Mercedes, and now Ricciardo. Max lets his eyes scan over the rest of the images, the neat grid of twenty, his index finger toying at the edges of the page, as his breakfast sits laden and traitorous in the back of his throat. 

The paper is expensive, thick enough to cut yourself on. For a split second, Max lets himself imagine it, how the red would look like blooming across the ivory cardstock. Somewhere hidden in these pages is the person he’s going to spend the rest of his life with, or at least the rest of his career. Whichever comes first. He doesn’t imagine any of the omegas staring up at him care too much whether its the former or the latter.

“Good talk.” Christian claps his hands, eyeing his wristwatch. He’s had twenty minutes of his time already, more than most rookies get. Most certainly more than Carlos got. Only afforded to him because he’s Helmut Marko’s pet project now. Max isn’t self-deluding enough to think that when he signed that contract it was actually about him. He traded one owner for another, but he’s still the one on a leash. “24 hours. You don’t tell me by then and the PR team gets first crack.”

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unemployment hitting me so hard right now I’ve resorted to notes app fanfiction

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watching pretty woman for the first time !!

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people have varied reasons for liking or disliking ships and that’s okay, in fact I encourage it—

but lately I feel like I’ve seen so much discourse about lestappen as a valid ship (which is crazy bc this is sports rpf every ship is simultaneously valid and not valid), but I feel like the missing part of this is that charles and max are fundamentally two very similar people. and i feel like if you’re not able, or maybe not willing, to break charles out of his (very curated) media persona then yeah I feel like they‘re not going to make a lot of sense to you.

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sometimes i have a thought and go “this would do numbers on tumblr dot com” and oh boy the numbers! 0. absolutely fucking nothing. maybe 1 if i’m lucky.

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we must free mclaren fans from the shackles of boyfriend stan-ism they are obviously not willing to do it themselves

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I know I’m a verstappie so barely have room to talk but crashing out over that man so hard you go to the psych ward is completely unfathomable to me I’m sorry

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the difference with the way fans and media talk about drivers like alonso and hulkenberg vs lewis is exhausting and so heavily rooted in racism. like alonso and hulkenberg get an entirely free pass despite wading thru mud for the past decade without a glimmer of success... their presence on the grid is wholly unremarkable and yet they slog on, given caveat after caveat for their lack of success and their contribution to the sport inflated. and that’s FINE for everyone apparently. lewis… who is fighting for so much and shows every single weekend how bright he still burns gets weekly retirement chatter. why? bc he might not reach the levels of success he had before? he’s the only person in this sport who must prove he deserves his place in it every single weekend and must do so with a trophy. despite having more trophies than every other driver in the history of the sport. despite having a sprint win this year and a race win last year. still he has to prove he deserves a place here.

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olivia pope was the original tashi duncan I won’t be explaining myself