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2024 Canadian Grand Prix - George Russell's Victory Pose

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interviewer: you think you could go for a win in the championship this year, constructors wise?

oscar: well, we're not aiming to finish 2nd so... 😏

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more gax!

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why did he get out from the back of the car ? 😭

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pst idk if u care but in your last tumblr fic let — girl charlie would be "la" predestinata rather than il!

ty anon 😘 halfway there with my absolute lack of Italian.

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Lando Norris — friday, canada gp ‘24

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💙 drunken kiss / tipsy -- i know you said you'd never write it ... but lestappen in your girl!lando verse

oh anon, honestly... you don't know the power you've wielded here because i truly did believe i'd not write it, but when i saw this prompt and i had a nice short way of doing it... i had to!!! please enjoy, i will always be nervous about my max and charles voices lmao.

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“Charlie! Charlie! We’re leaving.”

Charles barely hears George over the music, dancing with her eyes closed, packed in by hundreds of other beautiful people in short dresses and open shirts. She can still feel the tears drying on her cheeks, the snot in her nostrils from crying about him. 

“Are you coming with us, or not?”

She opens her eyes, blinking the flashing colours out of the way before she focuses on George. Her hair is in loose waves around her neck, sticking to her skin from the sweat. Alex is right behind her, a possessive hand on George’s waist, fingers curled into the silk of her dress. It’s daring, almost, for them, and Charles doesn’t want to be involved with whatever game they’re playing. 

“It’s fine, you go, you go.” Charles cranes her neck, searching for someone she knows, enough of a connection to the dark room that George will abandon the pretence that she wants Charles to come with them, and not to ditch her so she can go and do whatever it is that lesbians do. Charlie thinks there’s nipple sucking involved, and maybe dildos. The closest she’s ever got to it was kissing Lando in a game of truth and dare, but she thinks they’re not supposed to talk about that anymore. “Pierre is here, and Max. I will be fine.”

Carlos is still here too, somewhere, but she doesn’t mention that, or George will never leave. Charles turns her head to the sky, swaying to the music, ignoring both the creeping fear she doesn’t look sexy, and George’s worried glances as Alex steers her towards the door.

An hour could’ve passed, or two minutes, when she feels a tap on her shoulder. 

“For you,” Max’s smile is wide, reaching both corners of his face, like he’s so happy his jaw is unhinging. He didn’t even win the Championship today, nothing squared off except Checo’s P2. Charles wishes… but then, it hasn’t been the year for dreaming, for her. “Champagne. Christian, of course, bought the bottle.”

Charles snorts, taking a delicate sip, trying to avoid the bubbles from sparkling in her nose. 

“Mate, I should not be drinking this. Fred would be so…”

Fred wouldn’t care, Charles remembers. He’d probably take the bottle for himself, sit in a corner and laugh at his good luck. She keeps forgetting, since Mattia left, that she doesn’t need to be fearful of getting too close to the drivers from the other teams. Doesn’t need to hang her existence off Carlos and Maranello and being the sweet, innocent Madonna they imagine on her knees.

“You gave a good fight, today,” Max yells, and Charles can feel his spit on her cheek, letting her mouth drop open so it falls on her tongue. Sometimes, she wants Max more than she knows what to do with, and she’s heard things. That Kelly and him are sleeping in separate bedrooms, that she’s not in Vegas because they’re waiting until the end of the season to call it off. “When you went into the chicane? Ha, I was thinking maybe the deg would…”

Max makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, one of the classics. Charlie knows exactly what he’s getting at, the exact millimetres needed to take one of the corners and not lose pace. The guy he nearly hits in the face? Not so much. She reaches a hand out, stops him from taking out half the drinks on the dance floor. 

“Can we go somewhere?” Charles shouts, and suddenly she can’t think of anything she wants to do less than dance, in a tight dress, surrounded by guys who think she’s only a 7 because she’s got natural breasts and doesn’t really know how you contour your face. “I don’t care where.”

Max takes a full bottle from the table on their way to the door, and Charlie keeps her head down when they pass a group of Ferrari mechanics by the bar. Pierre spots them, narrowing his eyes, and Charles flips him off, then nods. She knows what she’s doing. 

“You cannot just get married here, of course,” Max tells her as they walk down past one of the chapels, way off the strip by now, swigging from the bottle of champagne. It’s cold, too cold for her dress, and Max’s AlphaTauri jacket is big on her shoulders, smells like him and his cologne. “You have to apply for the licence, yes? And they won’t let you do it when you’ve had drinks…”

He holds up the bottle, sloshing some onto his shirt. Max’s hair is a mess, and Charles leans a hand out to flatten it, automatically. She can’t remember the last time they were somewhere together, drunk. Monaco, maybe. New Year’s. Kelly had been there, and Charles’ boyfriend at the time. She can remember watching them kiss at midnight, soft and sincere, whilst Laurent pawed at her arse and ground his crotch against hers.

She broke up with him the next week. 

It had just run its course. 

“So we cannot tonight then?” Charlie purrs, and she knows it’s a bit unfair, but she’s wanted someone to flirt with all night, ever since Carlos told her he was bringing her, some model, his new girlfriend. “That is a shame, Max.”

“Ah, the press would love it.”

“Mmm,” Charles takes the bottle from him, and threads her other hand with his, swinging it between them and making him twirl her under the neon flashing lights of the chapel. “Mrs Charlie Verstappen.”

Max frowns, dragging her to a halt, and they’re very close. Above them, Cupid swings with a creak.

“You would keep your own name,” Max says seriously, and when he swallows around the lump in his throat, Charles can see it. And she knows then, that he’s thought about it, about destiny and soul mates and all the foolish things she starts to believe when she looks at their birth charts and the twin signs in their lives. La predestinata. “Of course.”

“Of course.” Charles nods, exaggerated and slow, and when she stops, she leaves her face tilted skywards. If he doesn’t take the hint now, Charles thinks, then he never will.

Max takes the bottle from her hands before he does anything, placing it carefully at their feet, and when he wraps his arms around her to a chorus of honks from a passing limo, Charles knows.

This time, it’s going to be different. 

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landoscar twins 🧑‍🤝‍🧑

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he's just swinging his legs 🤏

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I can’t remember if Max and Oscar kissed in So Brittle it Shakes or not??? so ❤️ for them but if they did 💙 or 💜

they did NOT kiss anon, you're so right for remembering that.

i have always know where and when their first kiss would be, which means this is NOT a snippet it's a 1.3k scene lmao but... it's friday, baby, why not post a mini fic?!

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Max chooses the other park near his house, the one he didn’t spend three weeks one summer drinking cider and disappearing into the bushes to get blowjobs from a girl who was a cousin of one of Theo’s mates.

Oscar brings the Pepperamis, and two big bottles of water, the kind that’s always 2 for £4.50 in the petrol station, whatever the oil lords at BP have decided to stick some money off this week. Highland Spring, thank god. Max might’ve been sick if it was Evian. Too French, for the occasion. 

“Whatever they’d done to the rear wing was a mess, I binned the car first corner and all the engineers did was shake their heads? As if I’d choose to do that or something.”

Max nods along to Oscar’s story about his factory day. It’s years since he’s been in a proper sim, one not hooked up to iRacing or the F1 game. The kind where you can feel every vibration, every grain of the imaginary track you’re driving. Once, Max had closed his eyes on a cool down lap, and if it wasn’t for the lack of wind and the stale smell of the factory, he’d have almost believed he was there, cruising up Raidillon. 

“You supposed to be telling me this?” Max asks, when Oscar finally takes a pause. He thinks Oscar might be a bit nervous, the kind of rambling story Max knows he only tells himself when he’s trying to impress someone. “What if I sell your secrets? Might still have an in at Alpine.”

Oscar snorts.

“Yeah, right. They delete your number before you’re even out the door, mate.”

Max closes his eyes briefly, pretending the sun is making him squint, holding a hand over his eyes.

He knows Oscar means it like, figuratively, or whatever. Borrowing from his own experiences at the hellscape diamond. Max can’t look a Clio in the eye, feels his skin crawl when he spots a Zoe. Stupid name for a car that. 

“Sorry,” Oscar says awkward, foot up on the trunk of a tree. He’s like a cross between boy and man, hanging off a branch like it’s a monkey bars with his shorts tight around his hairy things. It’s making Max feel like a bit of a nonce. “I meant me. Not exactly on Mia’s Christmas card list these days.”

”Shame that, always thought the French chocolate was pretty fit.”

Oscar hums, and pulls himself up into the tree properly, stupid McLaren brand K-Swiss catching on a knot in the wood to propel him up. Classic Oscar, Max thinks, retreating from the situation. 

Still, he hadn’t, had he? Last night.

Max has had a lot of time to ponder, to reflect, the way his therapist is always telling him to. This morning he’d stayed under the duvet, drinking cups of tea, until he was certain he couldn’t feel the ghost of Oscar’s hand on his cock anymore. Every time he let his mind wander back to the car, he’d feel himself chubbing up, which is a bit awkward when your Mum’s hovering, trying to ask how your birthday drinks were.

“You were back late,” she’d asked, using that airy voice she puts on when she’s acting like she doesn’t care, but actually really wants to know. “Who was the mate then? A girl?”

“Jesus, Mum,” he’d said, felt his cheeks get warm, a shivering sweat on the back of his neck, because she wasn’t wrong about why he was late back. It was exactly what she’s implying just… with Oscar. With a guy. “It wasn’t like that.”

“D’you remember,” Max starts, leaning back against the trunk, glancing into the branches and nearly getting an up skirt off of Oscar, his shorts billowing now he’s not straining to climb. “That time they made us fly out of fucking Luton to get to Barcelona? Put us on a fucking minibus from Enstone and Zhou puked ‘cos it smelt so bad?”

Oscar sticks his head out the tree, his stupid flop of a fringe falling over his eyes.

Max should’ve kissed him, last night. He’s been thinking about it all day, thumbing the corner of his mouth and wondering how Oscar’s bunny teeth might feel against his tongue. 

“Yeah?” Oscar asks, and Max forgot that his story was supposed to have a point, he’d just wanted to say something really, anything. 

“Fucking worst airport in the UK, Luton,” Max continues, and now he’s the one rambling, suddenly nervous ‘cos he’s leaning against a fucking tree in a secluded corner of a park, trying desperately to give off the vibes that he’s interested in a snog, even if their mouths do taste of curry flavouring. “Man’s might as well be flying from a train station, and not like King’s Cross or summin’, I mean like, fucking Henley station.”

Oscar lands on the ground next to him with a thump, standing up tall and throwing his head back, hair flicking like he’s a Disney prince, and Max doesn’t often think about fancying guys, beyond knowing he likes a rough palm on his dick, but Oscar.

Yeah, he fancies him. 

“Stansted’s pretty shit too, I reckon.”

Oscar’s breath ghosts over Max’s face as he starts comparing the pros and cons of “London’s” worst airports. Max hadn’t realised quite how close they’d ended up when Oscar had jumped out the tree. He’s stood with this strong stance, legs either side of Max’s crossed ones, and if he leant in, he could box him up against the trunk. His skin tingles with it.

“Are you going to kiss me then, or are we just chatting?” 

Max cringes a bit at his own voice. He doesn’t sound as confident as he wants to, and Oscar looks a bit startled, tripping over his complaint about the security scanners. It’s all a bit vulnerable, really, saying this kind of shit.

“Only, I’ve not got all evening, have I?”

It’s a lie, he’s got all week. All year.

Oscar doesn’t crowd into him like he thinks he might, like Max would if he was putting the moves on someone shorter than him. He rests a hand gently on the bark, and the other slides onto Max’s jaw, tilting his head up as Oscar leans in, a soft press of dry lips. When he pulls back, Max licks his, trying to make up for the snags, and then Oscar goes for it. Slips his tongue into Max’s parted mouth, and the hands Max had left hanging awkwardly at his sides take on a life of their own, sliding up the back of Oscar’s t-shirt, over the strong muscles that make his thighs weak. Across the park, there are noises of people going about their day, children screaming in the play area, dogs barking, the thwack of a football on the messy grass of the pitches. None of them know, Max thinks madly, about what’s happening so close by.

“Alright?” Oscar asks, pulling back, his eyes a bit wide, and Max remembers suddenly, all that shit Oscar had said about fancying him for years. It’s overwhelming, when you get something you want that much. Max remembers the first show run in the Renault, Christian and him bouncing off the walls, shitting themselves they’d fuck it on the roundabout. In the car, it had all melted away in the adrenaline, and it was only afterwards Max realised he hadn’t taken time to really appreciate how it felt.

He doesn’t want Oscar to feel like that.

“Should be me asking you that, shouldn’t it?” Max sees the way Oscar blinks, and he has a flash of discomfort in his stomach because oh, Oscar’s asking that because he thinks… the gay thing. Right.

Max doesn’t know how to say it, how to explain he’s done this before, and he’s wondered before, but he’s never looked at a boy like he’s looking at Oscar, calloused thumb against his jaw. A dawn of something new, like entering a new world in a game, stepping through a portal blinking at the light flooding the screen.

“Yeah, mate,” Max says, and when he looks inside himself, he’s surprised to find so little anxiety, for once. “I’m alright.”

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“Nice job, dude!”

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oh MAN

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mclaren The purest show of trust in Lando… 😳💉 @ZBrownCEO

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another oscar eras tour outfit would be the one where it's just a black t shirt saying 'karma' (for karma is my boyfriend ofc) and u know lando would think it's the cleverest and funniest joke EVER 🥹

yesss i see the vision! it's like his basic sponsor t-shirts but make it swiftie ✨​ lando's wearing a custom bodysuit bejewelled to the MAX and he's in a black tee, like every other night out they have. PERFECT, no notes. He'll hold her during ATW 10 minute version and she'll be sooooo smug about how much she loves him, sigh.

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I’m the anon who said about Eras tour nd I had to show you the delicate bracelet I made!! (obvs, I have never been chill about Jump Right In) I was always gonna do one for the song but I decided last minute it needed a lil papaya. Can’t wait to give it to some random in Edinburgh ✨

omg I love this!!!! the little stars are so cute. i have ordered some extra beads (because i used up too many making indycar bracelets earlier this year lmao) and will make a lil papaya delicate in your honour 🫡​

enjoy your show, i hope you get a surprise song you want yaaaay!

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tagged by the fabulously deranged @freeuselandonorris to post your wallpaper, your homescreen, last song you listened to and a pretty picture 💕

1) always and forever main grandstand at cota with @goingxmissing. her lil face cheers me up every day!!!!

2) homescreen is us with logan at the williams pop up and the second page you can actually see our faces because it’s not covered by my 10,000 apps. feel like this is oddly exposing lmao, flightradar front and center, spoons app at the top of the food section, my own boobs as a featured photo lmaoooo

3) today was a commute day and i like to do the bridge at least 3 times on the motorway, only half of the time thinking about how much I don’t like Carlos Sainz (jk sort of)

4) the view from our balcony in Palermo last weekend because I may not have liked the city but I did love this view very much.

tagging @omigodyall @481boxboxbaby @piastriachios and anyone who wants tooooo!!!