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Stop, they're watching.

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Portrait!! I hope I don’t do too many portraits.. I need to draw bodies more smh

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"oh my god that's so fucked up" I say like I'm not extremely horny about it

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a little doodle i'll maybe clean up one day but probably not

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If you share an uber with your bff and don't post a picture on Instagram, did it really happen?

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Daniel Ricciardo talks in the Paddock during previews ahead of the F1 Grand Prix of Australia at Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit on March 12, 2020 in Melbourne, Australia.

Photos by Bryn Lennon - Formula 1 via Getty Images

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In Brazil, I had what you could safely say was a cruddy qualifying session, managing eleventh on the grid. I was slightly cheered up by seeing a cute dog on the journey from the circuit back to the hotel.

Jenson Button, "Life to the Limit", ch. 57.

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Pt.4 (out of the 20) Albono :)

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HOUSE OF GUILT George/Alex, George/Toto, 13K, rated E (ch 2 of 2)

“So what’s he like?” Alex asked. “Toto?” George asked. The lift ride was only two floors; not enough time to really explain—anything. The impossibility of capturing Toto in normal language. He tried to think of something that might be useful to Alex in the interview. “He’s very particular.” “Hm,” Alex said. He was already smiling when George looked over at him, and said, “So he’s a prick.”

☽ happy birthday month to my beloved kay @onadarklingplain!! ♥️ a scholar, a genius, an artist, an amazing friend and human being, and the george/toto trailblazer this fandom needs

☽ compete!

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alex_albon: Thai Sweet Chilli🇹🇭🌶️

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Hey ho! Challenge time - open your Spotify Daylist, find the 17th song on the list and write a quick drabble based on the 6th line of lyrics🎵

Send this to 5 friends and feel free to change the song or lyric number 🖋️ have fun!

(here’s a gracie abrams-inspired maxiel drabble set post-brazil gp this year)

Daniel wonders sometimes if it all went wrong when he left Red Bull. 

He doesn’t like to think like that normally, tries to repeat what his therapist always tells him—he made the best choice based on the information he had at the time. He has to give his past self some grace. It is what it is, as Lando would say.

But Daniel watches Max win in Brazil, an unreal drive from seventeenth to first, and Daniel’s not there. Daniel’s halfway across the world, sprawled out on his parents’ sofa in Perth, sipping a beer, one arm slung behind his head. Max climbs out of the car and punches his fists into the air, his race suit soaked with rain, and Daniel’s not there. Daniel watches Max hoist the trophy above his head, mouth open on a hoarse scream of victory, and Daniel’s not there.

Daniel’s mum wanders into the living room, carrying a load of washing. “How’d your boy do?” she asks.

Your boy. Daniel knows his mum doesn’t mean anything by it, but it makes something hot and possessive flare in his stomach. Makes him think of Max at eighteen after Max’s first win, blinking up at Daniel with wide, bright blue eyes, all his features too big for his face and still the most beautiful thing Daniel had ever seen.

Daniel forces himself to smile. “Yeah, good,” he says. “Really good.”

His mum wanders off to do the wash and Daniel stays where he is, watching the post-race press conference, watching Max practically glowing with victory.

He’s beautiful, Daniel thinks. Even now, after everything, he’s still the most beautiful thing Daniel’s ever seen.

—

Daniel spends the rest of the day busying himself around the farm. He stacks bales of hay and checks on the tomatoes he’s been growing in the back garden, goes to visit the alpacas. It’s good, being outside. Feeling the sun on his face and remembering that there’s a world beyond an F1 track.

But as Daniel scatters feed for the chickens, he can’t help but wonder if Max missed him. If Max was standing on the podium and looking out into the crowd, hoping to find Daniel there.

It’s a stupid fantasy. Max hasn’t missed Daniel in ages. Not the way Daniel misses him.

—

In bed that night, Daniel reckons the worst bit about it all is that he doesn’t have any right to miss Max. Daniel’s the one who left.

To be fair, Daniel hadn’t known he was leaving, exactly, when he’d signed with Renault. He’d known he was leaving Red Bull, but Max—Daniel let himself believe that there was a way he could keep Max.

But Daniel hadn’t understood what he was to Max. Or maybe he hadn’t let himself understand. Maybe he’d refused to look at it straight on, had tried to convince himself that the way Max looked at him—like he would do anything Daniel asked, like he would kill for Daniel if Daniel told him to—didn’t mean anything.

They’d been in Daniel’s bed in Monaco, Max’s face and chest flushed a brilliant pink, his hair sticking up every which way, his skin slick with sweat. He’d been unbearably, impossibly gorgeous, and he’d been Daniel’s.

Daniel fucked Max a second time and Max begged, in his hoarse, raspy voice that made Daniel insane, that made Daniel want to shove his phone in front of Max’s mouth and record it so he could listen to it all the time, listen to the way Max said please and Daniel and so deep, Daniel, fuck. Listen to the frantic, high noises Max made as he came.

After, Max had been soft and sweaty and pink, smiling up at Daniel lazily, his stomach still coated in come, and Daniel had said, “I’m going to Renault.”

Daniel wants to bang his head against a wall when he remembers the way Max’s body went stiff at Daniel’s words, his face shuttering. All the hard-earned softness, the gentleness Daniel had spent months trying to coax out of him, exiting him like a switch being flipped.

“You are going to Renault,” Max repeated, voice flat.

Daniel let out an awkward laugh, and it was so obviously the exact wrong thing to do, had Max shoving Daniel off him and scrambling off the bed, frantically wiping the come off his belly with a towel.

“Max, wait, we can still—”

Max looked up at him and Daniel could see the tears in Max’s eyes, the tremble of his bottom lip. It made Daniel want to tug Max back into bed, pull the sheets over them and keep Max there, fuck racing, fuck Red Bull, fuck Renault.

But when Daniel reached a hand toward him, Max flinched, letting out a high, hurt whimper, all the more devastating for how similar it sounded to the noise he made when he came.

“I would never have left, Daniel,” Max said, his voice throaty and fucked out, shaking with unshed tears. “I would never leave, you know this, and still you—”

But Max had left Daniel’s flat, then, the door slamming behind him on the way out. Daniel knows, though, that Max only left because Daniel left first.

—

Daniel spends the next day driving dirt bikes around the farm, doing stupid, reckless shit. His mum asks him if he’s doing alright and he gives her a big grin, saying, “All good, yeah.”

Racing down one of the long, endless roads near the farm, orange dust kicking up behind him, Daniel can’t stop picturing Max next to him, whooping as he speeds past Daniel, looking over at Daniel with one of his huge, crinkly-eyed smiles that show all his teeth. Maybe, if Daniel had stayed—

He made the best choice based on the information he had at the time. 

And maybe he always would’ve ended up here, alone, eventually. Maybe there was nothing he could’ve done. Maybe he was always going to leave Max, somehow, always going to disappoint him. Maybe he would’ve crashed out at Red Bull, maybe he would’ve left and it wouldn’t have been his choice. Maybe he was always going to end up racing down a dirt road, alone, with no one around for miles, in love with nothing except going as fast as he possibly can.

—

There’s a car parked in front of the house when Daniel gets back. An innocuous-looking Toyota Prius, green paint covered in a film of dust. Daniel assumes it belongs to one of his parents’ friends.

He pulls off his helmet and shakes the dust out of his hair, knocking the dirt off his boots as he climbs the stairs.

“Daniel.” A throaty, raspy voice.

Daniel’s head whips to the side and Max is there, sitting in a rocking chair on Daniel’s porch in khaki shorts and a white t-shirt, blinking up at Daniel with wide eyes.

Daniel blinks back, opening and closing his mouth several times, but no words come out. Finally, Daniel manages, “What’re you—Max, what?”

“I came to see you,” Max says simply.

“How did you—the race,” Daniel says, because the race ended maybe twenty hours ago, and it’s not a short flight.

“I got on the plane right after the race, of course,” Max says. He pushes to his feet and stands there, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “I wanted—” He trails off, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. When I was in the paddock after, I tried to find you, and then I remembered that you were not there, and it was—” Max swallows and drops his hand, meeting Daniel’s eyes. “I missed you.”

Daniel makes a wounded noise, heart stuttering in his chest.

Max sounds devastatingly, impossibly young as he asks, “Did you miss me?”

Daniel considers lying, for a moment. Giving Max a broad smile and telling Max that he doesn’t miss him, that he doesn’t miss any of it. Doesn’t miss racing or Red Bull or having Max in his bed.

But he says, voice rough, “Yeah. Yeah, I fucking—” His throat goes tight and he has to look at a spot above Max’s head. “I’ve missed you for six fucking years, Max.”

Max’s eyes go even wider, lips parting. “Oh.”

Daniel still isn’t sure what Max wants out of this, isn’t sure whether Max has missed Daniel the way Daniel’s missed Max, but he needs to find out. If there’s a chance—

Daniel nods toward the door. “Want to come in?”

“Yes,” Max says, nodding. “Yes, I—always.”

As Daniel holds the door open for Max, feeling the heat of Max sliding past him into the house, Max smelling of the same body wash he used back when they were together at Red Bull, Daniel can’t resist brushing a hand against the small of Max’s back. Max’s breath hitches and his cheeks go pink, eyes flicking to Daniel’s.

When Daniel walks into the house and sees Max waiting for him right inside the door, feels Max push him against the wall, Max’s plush lips brushing against his, Daniel wonders if that’s the thing about leaving. Sometimes, if it’s right, you can always come back.

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He is so beautiful I can’t....

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Qatar GP 2021: Post-Qualifying interview

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lando

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☆ maple's f1 bullet journal pages ☆

includes:

all races in chronological order

a sun/moon indicating whether it's a day or a night race

each country's national/state animal(s) + flower

boxes to fill in, including personal memories for each track, race highlights, top 3, and notes

& more!!

1/2

hi everyone! so, for the new season i have created bullet journal pages to document every race. so here they are!! they are absolutely free to use; just don't claim to have made them yourself 🥰

this is part 1; part 2 will include races 13-24‼️‼️

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There's nobody for miles Carlos, I promise

Ao3

Reblogs are appreciated if you're so inclined!