#f1 ask games

[paddockpatrol]

I was tagged by @jammeke 💙

Who is your favorite driver?

Max, Max, Max, Super Max, Max super, super...

Do you have other favorite drivers?

Alonso on the current grid. Mini-me loved Häkkinen

Who is your least favorite driver?

On the current grid, I have no drivers I dislike. 2000s Schumi was my pantomime villain. I've only ever genuinely disliked Mazepin.

Do you pull for drivers or teams as well?

Drivers mainly. My current relationship status with Red Bull: complicated

How long have you been into f1?

💀

What got you into f1?

Dad. Cannot remember a race Sunday without F1, or at least checking what happened, which is why I have watched for such a long time (though i have had spells in which I watched a lot less and would only keep up with results and highlights).

Do you enjoy fanfic/RPF?

In small doses

How do you view new fans?

Brilliant!!!! I love in particular the increased diversity. I used to be the freak with the niche obsession and couldn't talk to many people about it. Has that ever changed!!

If you could take over any team which one and why?

VCARB, so I could change the name back to Toro Rosso

Are your friends and family into f1?

Some. Enough to have people to go to races with

Are you open to talking to other fans/making friends?

Yes, but I am very careful because I was burnt severely in another fandom years ago to the extent I left Tumblr for a while, so don't give that trust quickly. Don't let that stop you from sending a message though!

I tag @f1-obsessed333 @33max @grogumaximus @puzzlebean and everyone else!

[effwon]

Based on what you know of me and/or my vibes, what F1 driver (current or past) do you most associate me with/think I am most like? Bonus points for WHY.

[blorbocedes]

true hate's kiss for brocedes

Toto calls just as Lewis is about to go film a vine with Kendall Jenner.

"Lewis, we need you back at the office. We have a, erm, delicate situation."

"What do you mean?"

"As you are aware of the generous Petronas sponsor gift - the cursed spindle - that sits in our factory."

"The cursed spindle which sends you to sleep for millennia, yeah."

"Well, it appears Nico has accidentally made contact with the spindle, and subsequently fallen into a deep slumber. If this is not rectified immediately, he of course cannot race this weekend."

Lewis tugs at his collar. He'd much rather be on a yacht in his free time than make the drive all the way to Brackley just to help out Nico.

"Yeah, so call his wife. True love's kiss and all that."

Toto pauses for a second. "Ah, Lewis. This isn't a cursed spindle from fairy tales," he says in a condescending tone, "Only a kiss borne from true hatred will wake him."

Oh.

If Nico sleeps through the weekend, that's Lewis' championship secured. He's sure if he was ahead in the points, Nico wouldn't wake him if the situation was reversed. Maybe. He just might, just to hold it over Lewis' head.

Lewis stops himself from saying he can't kiss him because he's a man. It's 2016, and homophobia is totally cringe. So instead, he opts for the safer: "I can't be going around kissing married men! A bunch of people hate Nico, just get one of his haters or someone from Sky Sports."

It is a part of their sport, with adoring fans comes also passionate haters.

The phone is wrestled from Toto, and the German voice of Vivian speaks through. "Lewis, I swear to god if you do not get your ass back right now to kiss my husband. I still have all the negatives from the parties from my Nokia digital camera."

Lewis winces thinking of his mid 2000s fashion. Well, that's permission from the missus.

At Brackley, Nico's on a bed breathing steadily. He totally looks like he's just asleep. Lewis isn't sure they're not pulling an elaborate prank on him.

"We'll, uh, give you some privacy." Toto closes the door where Vivian and other Mercedes employees were watching.

Nico's lips are the slightest touch of red from where, presumably, Vivian had already tried her true love luck. This better be worth it.

Lewis breathes in. Imagines Nico telling the press he didn't really lose the championship because he didn't get a fair shot, because of the curse. Implying slyly that Lewis' title is illegitimate, in that annoying know-it-all way he could spin things. He imagines Nico never waking up, forever frozen like this. It would probably make the work environment better. Never have to ignore each other over breakfast, awkwardly hold the elevator when they leave their Monaco apartment at the same time, never spend race weekends trying to stick the knife into the other, metaphorically.

Wake up, motherfucker, Lewis thinks, no love lost between them. Wake up so I can fucking beat you.

And not for the first time in his life, Lewis brushes his lips against Nico's.

Nico gasps, opening his eyes.

[starlightiing]

🤎 landoscah?

🤎 multiple kisses / kisses all over / kiss after kiss - Landoscar

Hi anon! Sorry to make you wait overnight for this one. I hope you enjoy it! <3

Lando wakes up to a flurry of affection against his neck. His eyes flutter open in a confused, groggy daze as his brain struggles to interpret his surroundings. His hotel room comes into focus, followed by the quiet sound of the television that he had forgotten to turn off before he passed out last night.

The final thing he registers is the warmth of soft kisses trailing along his jaw and down his neck. Huh.

"Mm, Osc?" he mumbles softly, as his consciousness begins to catch up with his waking brain. "That you?"

"Good morning." Oscar says in response, and his voice is barely above a whisper. Lando feels Oscar's lips moving against his neck as he speaks, and a quiet whimper is held at the back of his throat. "Did I wake you up?"

"Don't think so." Lando replies, turning his head slightly to look over at Oscar. The warm kisses have ceased, and Oscar is now laying with his head propped up on his arm as he looks up at Lando. There's a soft smile that curls the edges of his lips ever so slightly, but it's enough to get Lando's heartbeat running a tick faster. "But don't think I didn't feel you eating me up like I was breakfast."

Oscar laughs at that, something breathy and sweet that makes Lando's skin tighten with goosebumps all up his arms and around the back of his neck. "I would hardly define my affections as 'eating you up' but, I suppose you've caught me red-handed."

"You're damn right I have. And straight to prison with you, then. Any last words?"

Oscar grins up at him, his eyes full of light and love, and Lando can't help thinking that this man beside him is the most precious and treasured thing in the expanse of the universe.

"Yes, actually. I'm guilty as charged and hold no remorse for my crimes. Also, I will commit them again."

Oscar's lips are back on Lando's neck before Lando can even register the looming threat in his declaration. Instinctively, he tilts his head back to allow Oscar better access - and that whimper he had held back so expertly earlier comes parading out between his lips.

"Not faaaair," Lando whines, feeling the flicker of his pulse beat against the press of Oscar's lips, "You're a dirty criminal with dirty tricks. This is cheat-"

Lando's words are cut off as Oscar's gentle kisses change direction. Suddenly, instead of the warm barrage against his neck, Oscar's lips are pressed fervently against his own. Lando's voice trails off into a hum of surprise, but he reaches up to cup Oscar's face within both of his hands and he kisses back like his life depends on it.

And for all he's concerned, it absolutely does.

[i-am-church-the-cat]

send me an f1 ship and i will categorize it as

makes sense, compels me

makes sense, doesn't compel me

doesn't make sense, compels me

doesn't make sense, doesn't compel me

based on this post

[settsplitt]

💕 kissing somewhere other than lips - landoscar!! (kiss over the carotid pulse in the neck? c: )

@starlightiing hi Jess!!!! This one really got away from me honestly....i have no idea how it ended up being 1.2k lol. But i really hope you like it!!!

Oscar looks good in his swim trunks.

Lando can’t help but think so, staring at him as he shakes the water out of his hair. He has a towel slung over his shoulders, blue and white stripes covering the pale skin of his shoulders, obscuring his full chest from Lando's view.

But the view is still pretty fucking good. Water drips down his legs, leaving swirling patterns through the hair on shins. His shorts cling to his thighs, showing off the cut of muscle above his knee. They hang low, exposing the softness of his abs and stomach, the curve of his waist. He looks good. 

His eyes land on Lando, where he’s sprawled out on the white couches that line the starboard side of the small yacht. He looks him up and down, like he’s considering him. Lando smiles.

“Good swim?” he says, as he leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He squints against the afternoon sun as he looks back up at Oscar. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, pulling the towel off his shoulders and wrapping it around his fist. He towels off his legs, balancing on one foot and then the other, reaching all the way down to the droplets that have collected on his ankles.

It should look goofy. Hell, it probably does. But all Lando can focus on is the flex of his thigh as he balances, the long line of his shoulder as he reaches down to get at his toes. 

He’s like a drooling dog staring pathetically at dinner.

His eyes follow his movement as he straightens back up, chest fully exposed and shining in the sun. The towel is dropped to the ground at the periphery of Lando’s vision, delicate pale fingers letting it go slowly.

He must’ve missed something Oscar’s said, because when his eyes finally wander up to his face his eyebrows are raised expectantly. His mouth curls up at the corner. He's definitely caught Lando looking.

Lando hums questioningly, prompting Oscar to repeat himself. He tucks his chin into his hand and watches him from beneath his eyelashes as his mouth begins to move. 

“I was just saying, would be better with you out there with me,” he casts his gaze over the water, mouth still curved in a half smile. Lando shakes his head.

“No. Uh-uh. I told you, something touched my foot yesterday. I'm not getting in that water again,”

Oscar laughs at him. His face cracks open on a smile and he laughs. Lando almost died in the ocean and he’s laughing. This is not acceptable behavior. 

Lando jumps up from his seat on the couch, springing himself across the few feet of slippery deck to where Oscar's standing. He grabs Oscar's shoulder for leverage and uses his other hand to cover his mouth. Oscar tries to lean out of the way, ducking his head from side to side, but Lando catches him anyway. 

“You fucking Muppet! It's not funny,” he says, but he’s giggling himself too, words coming out jumbled and unserious. Oscar continues to laugh at him. 

He lets his hand fall against Oscar's chest as he catches his breath. Oscar’s chest is warm beneath his hand, just barely wet with seawater, droplets glistening against his pale skin. He drums his fingers against his bones, listening intently to the sound his skin makes against Oscar's. He looks up again.

Oscar meets his eyes. He’s not laughing anymore. His mouth is hanging slightly open, soft breaths spilling out between his teeth. His eyes are open wide. Lando knows that look.

They shouldn't. Not here, this close to the coast and the harbor and probably a thousand cell phone cameras that could capture any moment between them. 

But Lando wants to. And he can tell Oscar wants it too.

He doesn't hesitate before he pushes his face forward into Oscar's neck, rubbing his nose along the curve of his neck. He brings one hand up to Oscar’s chest, bracing himself against his body. 

He runs his lips over Oscar’s skin, pressing his tongue against his neck. He tastes like salt water and lingering sunscreen. Oscar tilts his neck back slightly, allowing him better access to the cut of his jawline.

“We really shouldn't,” he says into Oscar's skin, teeth coming into contact with the curve of his jaw. Oscar lets out a small gasp and Lando takes it as an invitation.

He presses his mouth into the soft spot below his jaw, between hard muscle and the line of his vocal chords. He can feel his pulse beneath his lips. His pulse is hard and fast, lingering exertion from his laps around the boat. Or maybe from something else. 

He pulls his mouth away, glancing up at Oscar’s face. His eyes have fallen closed. His cheeks are pink. It could just be the sun. Or, again, something else. 

“Someone could see,” Lando says, mouth centimeters from Oscar's pulse point. He leans back in and runs his tongue over the fluttering skin. 

“D-don't care,” Oscar grits out, but oh, oh. Lando can tell he definitely does care, based on the way his pulse has quickened beneath his tongue. He scrapes his teeth against the spot, running his tongue against the sensitive skin to soothe it after.

Lando can feel the vibrations of Oscar’s throat as he lets out a moan, chest heaving beneath the hand Lando has placed across his ribs. 

He can feel his heart beating there, too. He hadn't noticed it at first, too caught up in the moment to feel the thump beneath his palm. He wonders what it would sound like if he were to press his ear to his bare skin, if the sound would be loud enough to vibrate his teeth, if it would feel as good as his pulse does against his mouth. 

As it is, he keeps his tongue pressed to his skin, mouthing at his pulse point with a renewed vigor. He braces his free hand against the other side of his neck, pulling Oscar into him, like he could dig any deeper into his skin with his mouth. 

He lets out a stuttered moan, and his hand comes up to grab at Lando’s against his neck. 

“L-Lando,” he stutters out, and when Lando pulls away he can see a pained look on his face, like he wants more. More that he can’t have when they’re in the open air of a yacht, less than a mile away from the most high profile place in the world. 

Ah, ok. Enough for now. He’ll just have to take him home later and finish things in his bed. 

He presses a final kiss to his neck before he separates himself from Oscar’s body. He wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand, eyeing Oscar up as he takes a step back.

He looks positively flustered. His entire face is red and his chest heaves up and down with every open-mouthed breath he takes. Lando diligently keeps his eyes above his waistline, but he’s pretty sure of what he’d find if he were to look. 

“So what d’you want for dinner?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Oscar chuckles to himself, like he’s just thought of something funny.

“Seafood?”

[imeriayapping]

Okay so here a list of all my fic ideas, please send ask's if you want to know more abt them! Some are fully written, some are just ideas, some have elaborate plot already and some i thought of just today lol

Secretly married loscar

Sailor Logan and syren oscar

Loscar where logan is helmet artist

Merlin au with reincarnations

Body swap soulmate au

Colton x logan university au

Colton x logan just vibing in f1 paddock and choosing to ne a bit silly

Lando + loscar where he falls in love bc logan is very attentive and it makes him pay attention

Loscar with soulmarks that get visible when they are touched by the soul

Loscar university au where logan is in frat house but oscar doesn't know that

A fic baced on Logan's "It's like we can't get away from eachother"

F1 driver logan x MotoGP rider oscar

Logan getting transparent with time

Brocedes parenting Logan

Brocedes and tattoos

[lottie1824]

what's the "papaya podcast"? :D

Hiii again 🧡

Oooh yes, another one of my long fics. So basically, Lando decides it is a perfectly acceptable idea to go and start an independent podcast without the permission of McLaren. And who better to drag into his shenanigans than Oscar

So the fic is basically transcripts of their podcast episodes where they get a lot of different guests on and talk about various things including adoption, hobbies and the red bull second seat (with Liam)

Thank you once again for the ask 🧡

Snippet of one of the chapters below the cut

OP: [Shaking his head and laughing] Anyway, they get competitive, I've lost count of the number of food fights that have happened because of them

LN: And you started half of them

OP: [Blushing] No comment

LN: Everyone thinks you're the innocent one when in reality you're tied with Max on how competitive you are [Pause] also the other half of them are started by Max

[its-all-papaya]

can we get a lestappen or a landoscar + 13? maybe after waiting for a long time? or after one of them thought the other had been injured? 👀

heyyyyyy bestie anon, I come with gift ! it didn't end up that desperate, but I started in a direction and loved it too much to abandon, so if you want, I'll write that injury landoscar for you down the road as an apology.

other disclaimers include: I do not speak any of these languages & I am not remarkably well-versed in lestappen lore. ALLLLL that being said, I am quite fond of this one.

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

13. desperately | lestappen | ~800

Charles thinks he’s been in love with Max since before he knew the word for it. He had amour and he had amore, but Max had neither of those. And by the time they both had love, there were too many other words between them in all their varied languages, a mess of translations.

Because before Charles had love, he had colère, fighting back from P7 after Max edged him off the track in France. There was envie, watching his childhood rival slide into the seat of an F1 car through the screen of his laptop, balanced on his knees where he sat on the floor of his bedroom. With Ferrari, there was frustrazione from the garage as Charles watched Max take the chequered flag in front of a backdrop that he’d been looking at for 23 years. It was Charles’ view before Max knew it existed, and that was devastazione, heartbreak.

(Charles knows now that for Max, before there was love, there was pijn and there was snelheid and there was very little else.)

He’s known how to battle Max since before he knew English. He learned how it felt to overtake Max on track before he learned how to fit his mouth around the word - ‘overtake.’ Before he knew disappointment, before he knew victory, he knew déception, watching Max beat him and la victoire, beating Max.

In all of Charles’ memories, in each of his milestones, Max is there. In the pits, on the podium, thighs pressed together in the curve of the couch. For as far back as his memory extends, there has been racing boots and rubber, and around the apex of every turn, always there is Max.

Seven months after that afternoon in Monaco, Charles watches Max take the top step of a podium for the tenth time in a year and the hundredth time in his memory. He looks up at the boy he’s been battling nearly all his life and it’s the first time he’s seen him and thought fierté, proud.

Somewhere between that night in Abu Dhabi and two and a half years later in Imola, though, the weight of the world has switched shoulders. Charles has never been unburdened in F1, has never been light (if he’s allowed for a moment to be maudlin, he’ll admit he doesn’t know anybody who’s donned rosso corsa and come out the other side without an ache in their bones from the weight of it), but that has always been just another thing he shares with Max. He’s been comparing them one to the other for so long that it has become a part of his every weekend, like strapping his helmet, like saying his prayers. Max has never been soft, but his success has settled his fury, and when they interact now – more than ever – often he is doux, gentle. There are three World Championships between them and enough points that Charles doesn’t bother counting. He should look up the grid and feel jalousie, but instead he looks up from P3 through a mist of champagne and realizes the feeling (next to his motivation) is friand, fond.

Every weekend there is Max, and every summer there is Monaco. They occupy adjacent places in Charles’ chest: constant like racing, glittering like trophies. Always what he is chasing, always out of reach.

Only this summer, impossibly, there is no devastazione. There is no frustrazione. There is just vittoria, euforia, victory in Monaco.

He’s won, and it’s not a Championship but for now, for today, he can’t imagine winning anything that would matter more. Fresh out of the harbor, the Monégasque salt still stinging in his eyes, he thinks of every kilometer he’s ever driven, every podium he’s ever stood on, every moment he’s spent fighting for this, and always, toujours, sempre the person beside him. Monaco is Formula 1 and Monaco is home – a pair of associations that belong to the streets of Monte Carlo and only one other thing.

The champagne is sparkling in his bloodstream when he returns to the paddock, but it dims in comparison to the feeling he gets when he meets Max’s eyes. It is nothing to run to him and it is everything to reach him.

Max whispers words and they are English, but they could be any language and Charles would still understand. It is Abu Dhabi, it is Val D’Argenton, it is Monaco in Max’s gaze when his arms fit tightly around Charles. When Charles kisses Max, there are no words left. It’s desperation, it’s passion, it’s two decades in the making. It’s wet with Charles’ tears – relief like a victory lap – and it’s amour, amore. Charles’ hands bracket a face he’s spent his whole life watching and his mouth slides against a mouth he’s loved since before it could even speak to him. It is a long time until they part.

Charles thinks enfin, finally, and pour toujours, forever.

[alpinelogy]

🤍 sargebon ? ^_^

🤍 kiss at the wedding/milestone

Ajsjs I’m finally catching up on these (real not clickbait).

Started writing this way back when I first reblogged this ask game, procrastinated until the news dropped but i swear it was always this sappy. Not beta read, might go and clean it up later

sargebon, 0.9k, fluff without plot

The night has started to wind down a long time ago now, the first guests have started leaving hours ago, slowly trickling out one by one until now, where they are practically the only ones left still at the wedding, the last ones remaining. Only the two of them, now allowed to enjoy the aftermath, the after of it all.

They both have abandoned their suit jackets a while ago, neither of them in favor of wearing the rigid garment for longer than necessary. They both looked good in them, Logan more so than Alex but secretly, Alex suspects Logan would argue the opposite. Now however, both have long forgotten them, leaving them hanging over the backs of their chairs.

Logan is standing on the edge of the dancefloor, looking further out where the shoreline is barely visible in the clear, warm night. Alex thinks he looks ethereal, from another world, his head spins whenever he remembers that Logan said yes, that he smiled, laughed in joy and said yes months ago and then said it again today, this time a bit more collected and less caught off guard.

Not for the first time, Alex is reminded how horribly, sappily he is in love with Logan. He cannot bring himself to care, to be bothered by it. If today is anything to go by, Logan is just as in love with him as he is in love with Logan.

“Care for a dance?” Alex carefully wraps his arm around Logan's waist, pulls him closer. He is a solid weight against Alex, warm and familiar, someone that Alex has wrapped himself around a thousand of times before, curling up in the evenings, keeping close to retain at least a sliver of comfort, of warmth in the winter.

Logan laughs. A ringing sound, full of joy and love. Alex is smitten, even after all these years, “There is no music playing.” He argues. He isn't putting up a fight, he is not trying to argue with Alex, he is just being pragmatic, practical and organized.

“Doesn't mean we cannot dance.” Alex leans in to place a soft kiss on Logan's temple. He knows Logan was not arguing against him, that he was only being practical, that he can be easily swayed. Alex wants to sway him. They had their first dance, they danced afterwards, but this feels somehow different, more personal, more private. Just them.

Again, Logan laughs and turns around to properly face Alex, “Okay.” He eventually says. His smile isn't the large, excited grin from hours ago. Now it is more muted, smaller, more genuine and honest, Alex knows fully well.

He slides his right hand into Logans, keeps his left hand where it was on Logans waist and slowly, carefully he leads them back to the center of the dance floor. It is slow, careful, neither of them can properly remember the steps, both of them only relenting to learn this dance after George ragged on them continuously for long enough that their determination to not learn weakened and waned until it was fully gone.

Still, even with their unskilled steps, Alex finds it stupidly, horribly romantic. The cicadas and the sea are the only two sounds accompanying them, their slow, out of tune and out of sync steps. Alex could not have imagined a better end to the day.

“I love you.” Alex close to whispers. He isn’t sure if Logan even heard him, he says it more for himself than for Logan, Logan has heard him say it a thousand times over, he promised Logan forever today and he plans on keeping that promise, “But you already know that.” He adds, almost self deprecatingly. He only barely holds back the awkward laugh that is threatening to get out.

Logan hums, Alex can feel the vibrations spread into his own body, “Still like hearing it though.” He heard then, he heard Alex’s confession. Alex doesn't mind, not really, he knew that Logan would most likely overhear, “Love you too.” He adds after Alex’s words properly sink in.

Alex’s heart clenches. He knows that, obviously he knows that, he has known that for years. It still makes something in his chest flip. The cold metal of Logan’s ring grounds him, makes all of this feel more real, more probable, more tangible. His own ring has already been a steady reminder. Logan's ring just solidifies it.

Neither of them say anything. They don't need to, not when Alex can feel Logan warm against him, barely suppressing a laugh, opting only for a muted, content smile.

One more spin and they stop, standing in the middle of the strangely empty dance floor. It is just them now, it has been just them for a while now, stupidly, horribly infatuated with each other. Alex would not have it any other way, can not imagine his life any other way, no matter how much he tries.

He cups Logan’s face, Logan leans into the touch. He strokes Logan’s cheek, runs his thumb along his cheekbone. Logan slowly closes his eyes, lets Alex do whatever he wants, trusts him because he knows what’s coming next.

They have kissed a thousand times before, several times today alone. It still feels like the first time, every time Alex pulls Logan closer to kiss him something always flutters in his stomach, something flutters and then settles down, content and happy, pleased, almost maybe a bit smug that he gets to kiss Logan whenever he wants.

They part. Logan smiles again, laughs, a ringing sound. Alex is horribly, awfully in love maybe.

[blorbocedes]

“My tongue still remembers the way you taste.” for our favourite kitten friends Norstappen? 🥺❤️

Even though cats only groom each other if they're friends, it can also be a sign of dominance. For this reason, if a cat is offended by the scent of another, he may do some light grooming just to get rid of the smell. (s)

"Lando—"

"No."

"Come on. Nobody will know, and it's none of their business anyway."

"I said last time was the last time, Max."

"But it will make you feel better. And we will both enjoy it. Don't you want to feel good?"

"..."

Lando finds himself curled up against Max in the uncomfortable sofa of his dressing room, back against Max's broad chest.

"I should've asked for mediums, should've known the fucking softs would disintegrate. Fucking threw it away." Lando squirms in Max's grip, body boiling from frustration.

"Mmm. You smell like dog." Max scrunches his nose, making an icked out face, eyes narrowed into slits. "And koala."

We don't all have the privilege of working in a feline only environment, Lando thinks rolling his eyes. Oscar smells fine, just a bit like eucalyptus and mildew sometimes.

Max is the Dutch lion, blonde mane and claws to boot. He never much of a chance to socialise as a kid, being as rare as they come. Lando's cat ears are of the house cat variety, and growing up in a litter of siblings he's all too well grown up under their ministrations. That's why Max took such a liking to him, felines gotta stick together, right?

Except it's embarrassing.

Max has taken to grooming Lando's twitchy ears, post races. Like he's his dad, or older brother. It's horribly condescending, and if anyone knew little Lando Norris gets his fur brushed by a rival no one would ever take him seriously again.

At the same time. It is really nice. They're the only two of their kind on the kind, and others just don't get it or chalk it off as some weird sex thing. It's no weirder than roughhousing or playing video games together.

"You made the right call. You knew. Cause you're great like that." Lando sulks. Max's barbed tongue is rough against his ear in a way that makes him feel fuzzy.

"You could have pitted a lap earlier. You were quite snappy on that turn." Max agrees.

Lando circles in on himself further, feeling small. He's limber like that, stretching and contorting into small spaces to hide. Max seems unaware, lifting Lando's shirt and exposing it to the cool air so he can knead circles into the soft flesh of his tummy. Only the slightest hint of his claws are out, poking Lando. He can feel the deep rumbles from Max's chest purring in contentment.

Getting biscuits made on, after he lost a race. Behind him is an apex predator, one with the jaw strength to break his neck, politely licking his ears while Lando's tail is trapped between their bodies, gridlocked.

Against his better instincts, Lando closes his eyes.

[logan-lieutenant]

for the hurt/comfort dialogue game - 6 and 21 for sargebon :)

MY FIRST PROMPT!! im so excited!

may have gotten a little carried away with this just a little. no beta we die like fourth of july at silverstone. TW for mental health

“Did you miss me?”/“You’re a terrible liar.”

When Alex emerges onto the roof deck of the hotel, he almost expects Logan to not be there.

Not that he thinks Logan would lie to him. But when Logan had finally picked up the phone after a day of missed calls and one-sided texts, the conversation hadn’t started well.

”What,” he’d snapped on the second ring. “This better be good. If you call me one more time I’m blocking you.”

Alex had been taken aback, flinching in place like a chastised kid. Logan’s tone was defensive, nearly a snarl; all the menace was aimed at Alex, but Alex had still felt more worry than fear. He’d seen Logan once since the crash, on his way back from medical. And then nothing.

”You didn’t answer me,” he’d said after a delayed moment. “I was worried about you. I didn’t see you since the cr– since practice. I was freaking out, okay?”

Logan a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “You saw me get out of the car. I got cleared by medical in, like, two minutes. There are probably ninety people who could’ve told you I was fine.”

And Alex had bitten his lip against the sudden urge to yell into the phone, because that wasn’t fair. His pent-up frustration and fear and distress wasn’t Logan’s fault.

Instead he’d looked around his empty hotel room, paranoia coiling around his spine, and lowered his voice: “James barely even talked to you. Why would I trust anyone there if you were actually fine or not? The way they didn’t let me see you?”

”Wait, when?”

”All day! Jon was practically yelling at me!” Alex did shout then. He didn’t mean to, but the words tumbled out of his mouth with heavy and unrelenting force, like a weight he could barely lift. He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes, willing Logan not to hang up. “I just wanted to see,” Alex tries, then his voice was too quiet. He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to see for myself if you were okay because, Logan… it looked bad. Really bad.”

Logan took a deep breath and let it out slowly, static crackling through the speaker. “It wasn’t that bad,” he mumbles. “I walked it off.”

”Don’t try that with me,” Alex said. “I can hear it in your voice.”

”You don’t hear shit,” Logan retorted, but there was no heat behind his voice at all. He just sounded tired, and in pain.

Alex ignored the weak deflection. “Where are you right now?” he asked. “I know it’s late, but–”

”I’m on the roof,” Logan had told him, and that in and of itself was surprising. That Logan would answer him so quickly, and without any snark or rebuttal. That he’d answer at all. Alex thinks of the endless weeks of summer break, the endless silence between them.

”Okay,” he said. “Wait a minute, I just need to get something warmer on.”

The roof deck is large, with sweeping canopies and dead firepits, so many couches and chairs that in the dark he feels like he’s in a cushioned maze. Still, it’s almost completely empty, so it doesn’t take long to find Logan.

Alex joins him at the railing, panes of glass separating them from the dizzying drop below. He takes one look over the side and his stomach rolls; the glittering city lights and streaking cars blur together in a smear of vertigo. He white-knuckles the railing.

Logan had been impossible to read when Alex first joined him, but as Alex stumbles he reaches out and puts a steadying hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Woah there,” he says. “You can’t go over the edge, you’ve got a race tomorrow.”

His words sound like they should hold something sharp– resentment, jealousy, some bitter and unforgiving edge. But instead his eyes are smiling and he’s laughing around his words. The glow from the city underneath paints one half of his face in gentle gold, the rest of it purple from the nighttime shadows. His hair is wild from the wind, whipping around his eyes. He takes his hand off Alex’s shoulder to push his bangs away from his face.

Alex is wishing he’d worn something with a hood. The wind stings his cheeks and makes his eyes water. He shuffles forward, curling his shoulders in, and manages to put his hands back on the railing without collapsing. “Wind’s still crazy,” he mutters.

”You didn’t have to come up here.”

”No, no,” Alex backtracks, all but stuttering. “I wanted to be here.” He hears the desperation in his own voice, the eagerness to contradict, and cringes. Does he always have to sound so obvious?

Logan turns to face him. He has to lift one hand to the right side of his face to keep his hair back, and now his entire face is in shadow. Deep blue shadows hide his eyes. His lips look almost purple in the darkness. It makes Alex want to be closer just to see his face.

”What,” Logan begins, and Alex doesn’t see but hears the slant in his smile. The cocky way he tilts his head back, the way he lets his laughter slip into his voice. “You missed me that bad, huh?”

Alex is unexpectedly flustered. He looks away without meaning to, but that means he turns his eyes right into the gusting wind, and the stinging is sharp and immediate. “Ah,” he grimaces. “I can’t see.”

”You wouldn’t last a day in Miami.”

Alex is trying to protest that he’s lasted a day before, more than a day, admittedly without any storm activity on race weekends but his hastily formatted argument falls to pieces when Logan steps back to take off his hoodie.

His shirt rides up as he does it. Alex absolutely does not stare.

Logan tosses it at him. “Put this on,” he says. “I can’t talk to you while you’re losing a fight with the elements.”

Alex grumbles his protests but puts the hoodie on anyway. It’s warm with Logan’s body heat, a tender relief from the cold. It feels like being embraced. He sighs contentedly.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Logan taunts. “I’m gonna want that back.”

Alex pulls the hood up, and the sounds of the city at night fade away. The shrill rushing of the wind quiets and the clearest sound in the air is Logan’s voice.

“’ll give it back,” he promises. “Are you sure you’re okay, though?”

Logan tilts his head down and crosses his wrists over the bar. “I’m cleared to race tomorrow.”

”That doesn’t answer my question.”

”You’re not gonna let this go until I tell you, are you?”

“You know me too well.”

Logan scoffs, then closes his eyes like he’s given up. “There’s some bruising on my ribs and my shoulder that’ll take some time to heal. And I did something to my wrist getting out, but I can still steer, I’ll just ice it after the race.” He looks down at his right hand and turns it over, fingers curling slowly into a fist, then releasing. “That’s all.”

Alex waits.

“That’s all,” Logan insists. “I saw the footage. It looked worse than it was.”

“It looked pretty bad,” Alex whispers, and he doesn’t mean for it to come out as a whisper– a broken, unstable hush– but his voice won’t resolve. “I was scared.”

”I’m sorry.”

”Don’t be sorry.” Alex lays his hand over Logan’s outstretched wrist, and it shocks both of them.

Logan stares at Alex’s hand, lips parted, eyes still in shadow. Alex holds his breath, waiting to be shaken off, pushed, slapped. But Logan only stares.

Alex takes his other hand and slides it carefully under Logan’s, stabilizing the wrist. Alex has the sleeves of Logan’s hoodie halfway over his palms, but even through the fabric he can feel how cold Logan is. He steps closer.

“You didn’t get out of the car,” Alex says.

Logan tries to draw his hand away then, rolling his shoulders, but Alex doesn’t let him. He holds Logan’s hand tenderly but firmly, lacing their fingers together. Logan watches him do it without resistance, his face impossible to read, but his head is tilted just slightly in Alex’s direction.

”There was fire.”

”I got out.”

“Not when you should’ve. George told me. You just sat there. In the middle of the track. Burning…”

Logan squeezes his eyes shut, clenches and unclenches his jaw. “I didn’t know.”

”Logan, you’re a terrible liar.”

Logan lifts his head and looks steadily at the horizon, swallowing hard. As he turns back to the light, Alex can see the shine in his eyes. “You know,” he murmurs to the city. “Even before I hit the grass I knew, I just knew I was gonna lose it.” He pulls his free hand in and taps his fingers restlessly against the railing. “And then it all just–” he raises that arm and flings his hand out, miming a shunt. “It all just happened so quickly, I remember hitting the wall the first time and the car was in the air and I just thought, ‘This is it.’ This is the end.”

Alex tries to speak, but suddenly he can’t breathe. This is the end. He feels like razor blades are sinking into his throat, the concept whirlpooling in his head like the vertigo. He tries to close his eyes, it the burning afterglow of the city flashes behind his eyelids like fire. He holds Logan’s hand a bit tighter, needing to reassure himself that he’s actually there.

Logan winces, and Alex eases up a little. Logan doesn’t pull away.

“And then it wasn’t,” Logan continues. He pushes out the sentence in a stuttering breath, and the broken smile on his face clearly means he’s trying to laugh, but the sound is jolted and unnatural and he gives up. “And I just sat there like, No, this can’t be right. Like maybe I just had to wait for it.”

“No,” Alex chokes out. He looks at Logan through his tears, willing the other man to turn, to look at him, to give him the mercy of eye contact. He stares helplessly, but all he sees is Logan’s blurred profile. “Logan…”

Logan ducks his head again. “It wasn’t,” he mumbles. “I mean it wasn’t, like, over for me. I told you. I was fine.”

”If you’re waiting in a track when your car is on fire, you’re not fine,” Alex counters fiercely. It’s dark, but his tears are obvious in his voice, the way the words come out strangled an painful. He doesn’t care. “It wouldn’t just be the end for you. You know that, right?”

“What do you mean?”

Alex pulls his hand away so he can grab onto his hair, pulling in frustration. “You think we’d be fine?” he shouts. “You think everyone else would just move on after a fire like that? You think you can just leave?”

Logan finally turns to him then, but Alex isn’t done.

“We were scared. Fucking hell, you nearly gave George a heart attack. We thought something was wrong. We thought you weren’t gonna make it out!”

“But I did. It’s fine.”

“IT’S NOT FINE!”

Logan reaches out with his good hand and gingerly pulls Alex’s fingers out of his hair. Alex’s hands are shaking; Logan laces their fingers together, drapes their hands back over the railing. “Hey,” he whispers. “Calm down, okay? You sound like you care more than I do.”

“I think I do,” Alex spits out.

“Alex…”

“You can’t fucking leave.” It sounds like a demand, it sounds like a plea. And in a way it is; he’s begging Logan to understand, to show some regret, to somehow prove the danger is really over. “Please, Logan… it would kill me.”

Logan says nothing, just stares back. The wind ruffles his hair. He licks his lips.

”You can’t leave,” Alex insists. He’s repeating himself. He’s a broken record, but he can’t pull any more coherent thought together. The only thing that exists in his mind is the paralyzing urgency to make Logan understand. “Promise me that won’t happen again.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “That I won’t crash again?”

“You know what I mean.”

Logan looks down at their joined hands. “I don’t know why you care so much.”

It’s Alex’s turn to roll his eyes, putting as much exasperation in his heavy sigh as possible. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

Logan laughs bitterly. “What? You’re confusing me, man. You say you care, and then you’re yelling at me, you wanted to make sure I’m fine but you don’t believe me when I tell you I am? Like, jesus christ Alex, what do you want from m–”

Alex has heard enough. He steps forward and takes Logan in his arms.

Logan flinches at first, hands raising almost defensively, a shudder racking his body.

Alex is patient. Logan feels so cold and small in his arms; he’s never felt their height difference more. He runs his fingers through Logan’s hair.

Logan folds all at once, dropping his head onto Alex’s shoulder and staggering to the point where he almost topples them both. Alex stabilizes them as Logan grabs him around the ribs, hands crossed over the small of his back, holding too tight like he’s afraid Alex might let go at any moment.

Alex lets Logan hold him, hurt him. Logan’s shaking in his arms, hitching in breath, nearly choking. Alex holds him through it.

“I got you,” he soothes. “I got you. You’re not going anywhere.”

[schumi-nadal]

Silly and Random Ask Game - Formula 1 Edition

If the drivers had to compete in a race with bumper cars (hello Spanish GP's FP3!), who would be the last one on the track?

Which driver would you trust if you wanted to hide a body?

Who would get lost on a road trip and who would rescue him?

Which driver would always forget where they parked their car at the airport after a race weekend?

Which driver would be the best singer at a karaoke?

If the boys had to compete in an Olympic sport, which sports would each your favorite driver excel and fail miserably in?

What would be the intro music for your favorite F1 team?

If could design your favorite driver's helmet, what would you draw on it?

What is the ship you love but that nobody likes?

If you were a team principal, which team would you choose?

If you were a team principal, which drivers + reserve driver would you choose?

If you had to choose a country where there has never been a Grand Prix... Which country would you choose to add a race to the calendar?

Which circuit would you remove of the calendar?

Not so silly and random but... Who will win the championship this season?

So... Senna or Schumacher?

If you could bring one retired driver back, who would you choose?

If you watch F2 and F3, who is the next driver who will come in F1 someday?

Which driver would be the best motoGP rider? The worst?

Which driver would be the best tennis player? The worst?

What is your favorite "Formula 1 and other sports crossover" pairing?

[skitskatdacat63]

2011 Japan Post-Qualifying

[kylekirkwoods]

if you’re still taking requests for the headcannon ficlet

Gewis where lewis is possessively jealous of George

send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons a short ficlet about it possessive lewis is soooooo important to me. idk if i really hit the jealousy part, but i hope you enjoy this anon :D (also they fuck nasty after this btw)

the club is crowded and loud, bass pounding against george’s skull. trying to get from their table in the back to the bar has been awful, people bumping and pushing into him, trying not to trip on feet. when he gets to the bar, elbowing in between other patrons, trying to get the bartender’s attention, he notices the guy on his right checking him out.

“hey, beautiful, you come here often?” he asks. george glances at him quickly before trying to flag the bartender down again. the guy is tall, but not taller than george, bulky and sweaty under the bright, strobing lights; he’s not unattractive, per se, but george has no interest in anything he has to say.

“let me buy you a drink,” he continues. despite george angling himself completely away, the guy can’t seem to catch the hint, leaning closer. the bartender has finally acknowledged george, so he’s just hoping he can get their drinks quickly and go.

“no, thank you,” george says, polite but firm. he shifts a bit further away and is extremely grateful for the interruption of the bartender asking for his order. now all he has to do is hold on a few more moments for the drinks to be made.

again, the guy moves closer to george, forcing him to bump into the couple on his left side. george sends them a quick smile in apology, but he doesn’t know how much more obvious he can make his disinterest towards this guy. what, does he need a bright neon sign above his head, stating “not interested. please go away”?

right as the bartender passes the drinks across the bar top, george feels an arm snake around his waist and slip into his shirt. he’s ready to deck the guy, before he feels the comforting cool of lewis’s rings against his skin.

“is there a problem here?” he asks. george can hear the steel underlying lewis’s soft voice, cutting through the heavy bass despite not being all that loud. the guy, finally, gets the hint that george is decidedly not interested and leaves, and george slumps back against lewis.

“we’re leaving,” lewis says.

“what? but i just got alex his drink.”

“he’s fine. we’re going home.”

george can recognize the tone of lewis’s voice, the slight waver that betrays his anger. he knows how lewis gets when someone else touches what belongs to him. lewis is always deeply apologetic and embarrassed in the aftermath, but george likes belonging to lewis, he always has. and he can see how the rest of the night will play out pretty clearly, a future of vibrant bruises and bite marks on any bit of unblemished skin.

“alright,” george says, letting lewis drag him through the crowd towards the exit. he’s sure the rest of the group won’t mind having to close out his tab.

[liesmyth]

 💀 my fandom is having Discourse that looks like it's about Nuanced Academic Topics but is actually more about the fact that one group of fans has been into this stuff for a long time and does fandom and blogging in a more old fashioned way, while the other group of fans is newer to the text and used to twitter/tiktok fandom norms. it's like watching two different cultures fight about which way of cooking flatbread is better. just eat your food! it's good food!!

is this anything