#Oscars 45

[da-cti]

May I offer some shitposts in these trying times

[princemick]

OSCAR -- SATURDAY, BEGLIAN GP 2023

[blueberyboy]

Hiii hiii ik its been a while so have some shirtless hot podcast men

[ivystoryweaver]

As if I’m reblogging eye crinkle-less Oscar

[noxexistant]

ai-less whumptober; day twenty-two

@ailesswhumptober 22 — forced to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else, whipped, “Do not look away.” ↳ the refuge, circa 1895 word count; 1.4k

cw; abuse, torture, manipulation

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Morris had thought, when he'd entered Snyder's office, that perhaps the man was in a good mood. He'd smiled pleasantly at Morris, stood to greet him — all the usual hallmarks of a pleasant interaction. A good day. And they do have those, these brief moments that are just theirs, when Oscar is elsewhere and Snyder isn't busy and he can just speak to Morris. Tell him nice things. Be the only person in the world who's ever gentle with him.

But Snyder had asked about Oscar.

As usual nowadays, Morris doesn't know what his brother had done. But Snyder had tried to pry the information from him nonetheless, beginning by being soft. That gentle plying, voice hardly above a whisper. Thumb brushing Morris' cheek. But Morris had had nothing to tell him, as much as he wanted to. Despite every desire to be good.

The good mood hadn't lasted long after that.

For a while, Snyder had stayed with him, getting steadily more irate as he asked his questions over and over. The first hit had come, and Morris had repeated that he doesn't know. The cane had come out then, and despite every lash carved across the backs of his hands, Morris had no more to offer.

"Kneel," Snyder had finally spat, and Morris had. Lowered himself immediately, unhesitatingly, to his knees against the winding shapes of the deep red Oriental rug spanning most of Snyder's office, and he'd waited.

Waited for the guard to go and collect Oscar.

It's instantly clear Oscar thinks it's a betrayal. He must know what he's done, even if Morris doesn't, so he enters the office tense and freezes when he lays eyes on his brother already on the floor. A fire in his eyes that asks, What did you tell him?

As if Morris had anything to tell.

"Oscar," Snyder says, entirely less pleasantly than he'd said Morris' name upon his entry. He says Oscar's like it tastes sour on his tongue, something rotten like the food he serves them. "I had hoped, I must say, to get this part done without you. It always goes a lot faster, you see, without your lies in the way. But apparently you've influenced your little brother."

Oscar's eyes dart to Morris again, and then back to Snyder.

"He's keeping your secrets."

Morris watches his elder brother swallow. He's still stood by the door. Could run.

"Mo doesn't know anythin'," he says, voice quiet. Guarded. The way he always talked to Da. "I didn'…I ain't tell him."

Morris can't see Snyder's face from this angle. But he watches anxiety settle into Oscar's, a sort of realisation as he watches however Snyder's morphs.

Dread, Morris manages to name it.

"Well," Snyder breathes. "Morris will just have to help us in a different way."

He turns the cane over in his hands. It's his favourite — one of the thicker ones that's not too thick to cut, bound at the handle with fine, dark leather to ensure it's a pleasure to wield. It has Snyder's initials at the base.

And hurts like hellfire when it's brought down without warning against Morris' clothed back.

Morris cries out, the breath sucked from his lungs in an instant, and almost loses balance from his knees with how his back arches against the pain. Chin raises to the ceiling, eyes screwing shut, but burning tears still immediately manage to escape. He hears Oscar cry out too, but can't make it out through the blood rushing in his ears.

"—conventional punishment," Snyder is saying, as Morris' hearing slowly fades back in, like he's surfacing from underwater. "Perhaps this might motivate your honesty."

And then the cane is cracking down again. And again, again, in quick succession now, and Morris goes blind with it.

Everything goes white, his hearing crackling again to static, his skin burning all over in a wave that spreads from his back and engulfs him. He feels his fingertips tingle, numbing, thinks he hears himself screaming.

Finally, Snyder pauses. The noise comes back with a crack this time, instantaneous, and Morris feels hyperaware. He can feel every fibre of the rug against his cheek — when did he fall? — and every deep inhale Snyder is taking, the deep breathing of exertion.

He can hear Oscar's breathing shaking.

"This ain't fair," Oscar says, like it isn't the first time he's said it. Today, that is. Morris has heard him say it countless times throughout their unfair lives. "He ain't—he ain't do nothin', you can't punish him for me—"

"For a boy seemingly undeterred by whatever violence I inflict on him," Snyder says, soft, like he's getting in Oscar's face, "What other choice do I have?"

Distantly, Morris hears a cabinet open and close. Recognises the sound. Braces for the next hit, but it isn't enough when it comes.

It's one of the real thin canes now. The ones that recoil like a whip, tear straight through clothes and skin. He can feel the warm blood immediately soaking through his threadbare shirt, winding through the fibres. It's nauseating, he wants it off.

He hears Oscar inhale shaky like a sob. Hears Snyder breathe a laugh.

"Up," Snyder orders. "I told you to kneel. Kneel, and I'll remove your shirt for you."

The ground has never felt so comfortable. Morris could sleep here, if only Snyder left him right now, cheek pressed to coarse…wool? What are rugs made of?

He's dizzy. He forces himself upright, pushing himself up on shaky arms until he gets his knees under him, keeps his legs on either side of him like leverage as he sways.

"Do not look away," Snyder spits, and for a moment Morris thinks he's talking to him again. Doesn't know what he's supposed to be looking at. But then Oscar breathes all shaky again as Morris' shirt is wrenched upwards over his head, and he realises. Oscar's looking at him.

He feels blood run down his back.

"Need I remind you, Oscar," Snyder says, tossing the shirt aside, "That you could put a stop to this at any moment? You need only confess."

The cane comes down again, direct against scarred bare skin this time, and it tears without encumberance. The blood runs with no fabric to soak it up, crawling down Morris' back like sweat. Or maybe that was sweat. Reminds him mostly of the bugs out in the bunk room, the way their little legs feel crawling against his skin. Oscar hates them — most of the boys do — but Morris thinks they're cute. He'd once broken a boy's nose for killing one.

"Please," Oscar sobs. "This ain't fair."

Morris is shaking, he realises suddenly. That all-consuming trembling that comes from punishments like this, all the fear and pain mixing up and making all of him stop working. His hands and feet are numb, his brain feels numb, eyes and ears not really paying attention to what's going on anymore. Trying to shut down until it's over.

It must work, because Morris comes back to himself beside Oscar in their bunk. He's crying, he realises. In so much pain it's blinding, white hot all up his back. He feels carved open, something Biblical, some divine punishment he must've earned the wrath of God to deserve.

He coughs, bile rising in his throat.

Oscar coughs too, but his is more of a sob. He's got a calloused hand, shaking, resting real gently on the base of Morris' back.

"I—I—" he's whispering. He's crying. "I couldn' tell him, Mo, you know I couldn' tell him. He woulda killed me, I—'s'all I could do, to jus—to keep quiet, let you take it. I—I could'na—"

Somewhere, deep in Morris' chest, there's another fire that's burning — the licking flames of rage, righteous fury at Oscar making the call to let Morris be punished. Deciding it's better than Oscar suffering, because Oscar always decides that. Says he's older, has to look after Morris anyway, so he has to watch his own back. Says Morris would be useless on his own.

This ain't fair.

But, as Morris is, words seem a million miles away. Impossible to find, let alone to form. His tongue is dry, throat raw. Morris is exhausted.

Oscar is being gentle. His hand is warm against Morris' bruising skin.

Maybe Morris can be mad another day. Tell Snyder something he does know about Oscar.

He falls back into unconsciousness against the bare mattress.

[mofsblog]

Unironically went "YES.... YESS..!!! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS !!!" out loud when he said that. Anyways, WOOO first explicitly and canonically non white speaking character let's fucking go 🎉🎉

[lighthouseshepard]

thinking about him (oscar)

[cogentranting]

No one told me that Guillermo del Toro is making a Frankenstein adaptation coming out next year, starring Oscar Isaac as Frankenstein and Jacob Elordi as the Creature. I am dubious but intrigued.

[denimbex1986]

'Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal might just be the most emotionally devastating couple you will see on screen this year. In the sensational All of Us Strangers, Scott plays Adam, a lonely screenwriter living in a near-empty London tower block. When he meets his neighbour, Mescal’s Harry, the two begin a tentative love affair, finding solace in each other’s arms. It is a film that deals with all manner of high-intensity emotions – grief, parental love, seclusion, loneliness, bullying, coming out. The protagonists’ sexualities are an intrinsic part of them and their story – but so are many other things.

“There is a gay storyline at the centre of it that we thought would appeal to LGBTQ audiences,” says Scott, who grew up believing he would never play lead roles because he was gay.

“But we’re dealing with lots of different forms of love. I don’t think people give a f**k about what sexuality they are when they respond to this film. It just wouldn’t be true to say that it’s just gay people [who] respond to this film. People get it. They get it and I love the fact that people are talking about love and they’re talking about emotionality and they’re so moved by it.”

“I think the least groundbreaking thing about this film is actually the sexuality,” agrees Mescal, who pinpoints the more universal emotions, such as loss, as the real heart of the movie. “That to me is remarkable and groundbreaking.”

Scott and Mescal are sitting together in an overly beige hotel suite. Scott, 47, is dressed in a white Lacoste jumper, while the 27-year-old Mescal is more casual still in a white T-shirt. They are relaxed in each other’s company, and spent the weekend in their homeland for the Irish premiere. “It felt cathartic,” says Mescal. “A great celebration of the film.”

Scott has been nominated for a Golden Globe for Best Actor and is delighted by the reception the film has been getting. “Genuinely wonderful,” he beams.

All of Us Strangers is the brainchild of writer-director Andrew Haigh, who previously proved his talents for shedding light on human frailty with the gay one-night-stand tale Weekend (2011) and 45 Years (2015), which starred Charlotte Rampling and Tom Courtenay as an elderly couple whose relationship quietly implodes in the run-up to their 45th wedding anniversary.

Haigh clearly has an eye for formidable on-screen pairings. “I don’t think [Scott] has had a lead film role like this,” the director tells me. “And so that kind of excited me… I love the idea of taking someone that you might not have seen do something and then seeing them do it.”

He cast Mescal after seeing him playing the quiet, lost student Connell in the 2020 TV phenomenon Normal People. “It was clear that his star was on the rise.”

Since then, Mescal has been ­Oscar-nominated for 2022’s father-daughter indie Aftersun, proving Haigh’s intuition was spot-on. “It’s like he’s been blown out of a rocket into stardom.”

Despite all its immensely human themes, All of Us Strangers is also a ghost story. As Adam attempts to write about his childhood, he starts to revisit his family home and encounters his mother and father (Claire Foy, Jamie Bell), who are delighted to see him. Except something is amiss. They look straight out of the 80s –which they are. Both died decades earlier in a car crash when Adam was 12 – he is now, somehow, communicating with their ghosts. It seems he has the chance so many wish they had: to say things to loved ones after they are gone. One of those things is that he is gay. It is one of the film’s most touching scenes, as he explains, unashamedly, with Foy’s prissy suburban housewife shocked by the revelation.

Both Scott and Haigh are gay, and while the scene elicits laughter at her outdated views, it must surely speak to their own experiences.

“I remember growing up in the 80s, and it was a very rough time to be gay,” says Haigh.

“Back then people did not like gay people. And families did not like the idea of their children being gay. So I think it’s really important to remind us that that’s how the world used to think.”

As Adam’s visits continue, we see how his parents, as he ­imagines them, soften and accept him. We also see how much regret they bear that they did not do this when he was a bullied child, crying in his room. To borrow from the Frankie Goes to Hollywood song that features heavily in the film, it is a hymn to the power of love.

“I think it’s about the idea that you have to let love in,” says Scott.

“You can survive, and you can trap yourself and lock yourself away. But you’ve got to let it in. Because [otherwise] what’s the point of having the privilege of breathing in this world?”

True enough. But it is also a film about isolation and the way, especially in big cities, we can cut ourselves off from those around us. Like the characters, “I’ve lived in an apartment block that felt like I had no connection to my neighbours”, says Mescal.

“I have too,” nods Scott. “Also, not to be cliché about it, but both of us are Irish. And there is a – what’s the word? – friendliness that’s part of our culture. You see people on the road and you wave at them. You say ‘Hi’. It’s quite chatty, I suppose. London, it’s four times the size of the population of Ireland. I’ve certainly had a thing where I think I’m going to try to make friends with the person – or at least acknowledge the person – who works in my local supermarket that I see every day. For me, that’s kind of important to establish community.”

Their Irishness bonded Scott and Mescal, but there is an effortless, easy-on-the-eye chemistry between them that goes beyond a common nationality. Haigh says they were trying to get across a plethora of different things – “intimacy and tenderness and compassion… and sexiness”.

“I had an unjustified confidence in the fact that Andrew and I would get on professionally,” says Mescal. “And personally, I think that’s ultimately what people are saying when they describe chemistry. Chemistry is kind of like this magic word. Does it look like those two people like and love each other?”

Harry tenderly bathes Adam at one point; in another scene, they take drugs in a gay club, with Adam gently requesting Harry take care of him.

“Chemistry is so situational,” says Scott, whose equally charged chemistry with Phoebe Waller-Bridge when he played the “hot priest” in Fleabag brought him further into the mainstream in 2019.

“The imagination of the audience creates chemistry. If they like us as actors, they’re going to have an excitement about putting those two people in the same room. There’s a lot of different things, as well as our relationship, that dictates it and then you work on the actual physicality. But chemistry isn’t just about sexual chemistry. It’s about loads of different forms of chemistry.”

Encouragingly, Haigh reports that there was no “pushback” on any of the film’s more explicit sex scenes. “Everybody was very supportive about how to tell the story,” he adds.

“I do think it does show progress [in telling queer stories]. This isn’t a tiny film made for $500,000. This is a slightly bigger film. And I do think that we have progressed to a stage where we can tell these kinds of stories; whether they become massive blockbusters, of course, is a different matter, because of course they won’t. It’s not Barbie; it’s a different type of movie.”

Sadly, the Academy failed to nominate All of Us Strangers for any Oscars this week. Nevertheless, Mescal feels it is important even to be in the conversation.

“Films of this scale and size are so important to me,” he says. “[There] should be space for more films like this. If we need to free up more space by getting rid of ‘X’ film or ‘Y’ film every year, I think that would be a good compromise. Audiences actually love being challenged. I don’t think they want to go to the cinema and be thinking about what time it is or what their Facebook or Instagram feed is doing.”

Both actors have big-budget projects up next. Mescal stars in Ridley Scott’s Gladiator 2, while Scott plays Patricia Highsmith’s charming serial killer in Netflix’s Ripley, due out in April. But it is films like this that seem to matter to him most. “Of course, we all love a bit of fast food,” he says. “I’m not saying there isn’t room for that. But if that becomes the pervasive thing we all consume, it’s just a little unhealthier.”

All of Us Strangers is “nutritious” by comparison. “This film, I have no doubt, will continue to connect with people for years. And that is genuinely thrilling.”'

[skittylight]

ornj meet up be like

"im technically 45!"

"jaune it's only been 5 years."

"well you see... what."

[leofrith]

oscarino got a new cat tree and he is being so so normal about it (prepared to Kill anyone who touches it)

[f1prompts]

Pairing: any

Prompt: Something building off of the meme that Oscar and Lando twin a lot. Maybe like they were created as assets, weapons, etc but have recently escaped/been rescued and adopted by a rag tag team/family of other drivers on the grid. Maybe they help them get revenge on the people who made them.

DW: Brotherly/Platonic Lando & Oscar, found family, angst with a happy ending

If you’d like to fill this prompt, click here for our Fills FAQ 💖

[strawberry-finches]

LANDO NORRIS ON THE PODIUM LETS GOOOOO

[olokosomolo]

Ticks love the mall

• My Ticks are all my world.

• Even though they suck it hard sontine;.

• they give me life.

• Ticks are ticks because of their habits.

• some ticks are a very clean when they suckit, the others can spill my blood all over.

• Some I'll get attach to.

• Ticks makes my thick peak.

• In time they will gets satiate then they detach. • They would leave me with a scar.

• Some will leave me with a small scar, some would LY-ME a BULLS EYE.

• My Likened to whom it may concern everywhere.

• If you survived feeding one, u will survive them all & the-mall

[imaginaryf1shots]

Soulmate | Max Verstappen Ver.

WC: 4.1K

Max x journalist!reader

Summery: you live in a world where soulmates exist, and until you find yourself, you only see in black and white.

Warnings: none?

Masterlist

Max Masterlist

Lewis Ver. , Oscar Ver. , Charles Ver.

In a world where everyone is born seeing black and white, the promise of seeing colour is on everyone's mind. The key to unlocking the colours is your soulmate. Meeting their eyes will make you be able to see all the hues and shades of the world. Those who see colours describe it so beautifully. People usually discover their soulmates between the age of 18 and 25, some earlier and some later. However, some people start to lose hope when year after year passes and no colour is introduced into their lives.

You have lived your life hoping and believing that one day, a single glance will change your world. But as you've hit your adult years and not a single colour, you've lost hope, all your friends and family see colour already, even your 13 year old cousin. So you just came to terms with seeing life in monochrome. You just focused on your career, building it up and making something of yourself.

You've worked in a few sports before, football, tennis before you moved to motorsport, starting with NASCAR then Formula 2 and here you are now after two months in Formula 2 you've been promoted to Formula 1. The world of formula 1 is very fast-paced, and you find yourself deep in it, watching old races and interviews and races. The sport intrigued you, the races, the adrenaline, the drama.

Due to your easy going nature, and how you can get people comfortable, you've been made to interview the drivers for a new segment for F1TV, a room was giving to you on track and each week you sit down for a long interview with two drivers.

“I just don't understand. Why won't you try it?” You heard your mum's voice through your phone's speaker. Rolling your eyes at her words as you got ready for the day. “Don't roll your eyes at me.”

You sigh and wonder how she always knows when you do that. “Mum, I told you, I don't want to.”

“I just don't get why, I've heard of so many stories of people being happy after they try it.”

“Mum, please, I'm busy with work, I don't have time for any of this.” You exasperated.

“That excuse died a long time ago.” Your mum fought back.

“Mum, I love you, but you just don't get it, so please just leave me be.” 

“I only say this because I care about-”

“You don't understand, and you never well, okay, you found dad when you were 19, you've found him and you never had to go on dates for people who lost or gave up, and yes I kind of lost hope, I'm not getting my hopes up anymore, but it kills me, why do I not have a soulmate, everyone I know already found theirs and I hear about it all the time, I'm lonely, I'm extremely lonely, even when I'm out with friends when we have family gatherings I'm lonely, and I heat about colours and shades and all I see is grey, so don't try to enterfer anymore please, just let me be.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“I'm sorry, love.” Was all she could say in the end. “I didn't realise.”

“I know you didn't.” Your voice sounded defeated. “I have a to go, I'll talk to you later.”

“Okay, honey, talk to you later.”

Your conversation with your mother left you feeling down and unmotivated.

This weekend, you'd be interviewing Alex Albon and Max Verstappen. Alex came first, and you sat down in front of the cameras for the lengthy interview. The set was cozy, and Alex was a blast to interview. You talked about racing to his pets, to golf, to his dreams, and so on. Alex is funny and easy to talk to you, so the interview went smoothly, and he didn't stop talking, and it all just flowed easy between the two of you. Even with your bad mood, you still enjoyed your time, and your mood got better.

After Alex left with a quick hug, you were told that Verstappen would be coming a bit later than anticipated, so you'd have 45 minutes between the interviews. That time, you and the crew took a break and ate some food before you had to be ready once more for the reigning world champion. And right before he came in, one of the crew rushed in and went straight to you and the producer.

"Max is apparently in a very bad mood. The media panel today was a disaster." He told the two of you, your eyes met the producers in worry. You've seen interviews of angry Max, and you weren't looking forward to interviewing him, not after the morning you had.

"I thought we only had drivers without the panel for the week?" You asked, confused.

"I did, too. There must've been a mix-up either with us or his schedule." The producer told you. "What was he asked?"

"Uh, they asked about him not finding his soulmate, and if it's maybe a sign that he's meant to be alone." You and the producer gasped at the rude question, of course his mood was soured, you don't ask or speak about people who haven't found their soulmates like that, you knew the pain of not finding your other half very well, and it's always painful to constantly asked about if you found them. "They even asked if he thinks his mood will get better once he does and if he'll calm down."

"Wow, that's just, that's so rude." The producer said and looked at you. Everyone knows you haven't found yours as well. The producer gave you a smile and patted your shoulder. "Don't worry and just stay calm. Our questions aren't intrusive or uncatting. We don't have anything about his love life.”

“You're right.” You nod to yourself in encouragement.

Max walks in with his entourage, his press officer walks over to you and the producer, she tells you to just jump into the interview seeing as he ran late to come here and he has other things he needs to do after.

You glance at the driver as he gets mic-ed up. Max's presence was imposing, his haw was set, and his eyes were hard. You could feel his mood even from a distance. The producer hurried you along.

You sat on the comfortable sofa, you try out the sofas each week to make sure it's comfortable for the drivers, as the sport light was on you. You introduced yourself with a fake smile, glancing at Max for a second before looking at your notes.

"Good afternoon, Max." You started calming your racing heart by saying to yourself that this is just an interview. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with us today. How are you feeling about this weekend's race?"

"It's going to be a challenging race, but I'm confident." Max's expression remained guarded, but he responded as calmly as he could. "The team has done a great job, as we're well-prepared."

"That's always good to hear." You replied, keeping your tone light. Maybe this won't be too bad. "This track has a lot of history. Do you have any special memories or moments here that stand out to you?"

"Definitely, this was one of the first tracks I raced in in Formula 1." Max's gaze softened, and yet again, your eyes just looked all over his face not meeting his eyes, even in monochrome you couldn't deny how good looking he is, you wondered what colour his hair is, it looks soft.

"It's a very demanding track, but once you get it right, it's very rewarding."

"That's wonderful." You nodded, feeling the tension ease just a bit. "Now, moving away from racing for a moment, how do you usually unwind during the season? Especially with such a long season, do you have any hobbies or activities that help you relax?"

As you asked the question, you looked up, meeting Max's eyes for the first time. In that split second, and as you blinked, everything changed. The world around you, previously in grayscale blur, just erupted into vibrant, breathtaking colour. Starting from Max's eyes, their shades the first thing you've seen, and moving to the color of his clothes, the sofa and everything around you, everything has come to life in a way you've never experienced before. Max's eyes warm and held an expression mirroring your own.

Max blinked, and in an instant, his stern an slightly annoyed façade/mood broke, a genuine smile that he never had before broke across his face.

"I-uh." He cleared his throat to try and regain some of his composure after the revelation he just had, both your eyes meeting and not straying from each other. "I enjoy spending time with my family and friends." He said, his voice softer, almost as if he was speaking to you alone. "I also spend a lot of time sim racing and gaming with my friends, a bit of FIFA here and there."

Like Max, you could hardly believe what had happened, fighting to maintain your composure, you continue a smile tugging at your lips. "That sounds like a lot of fun. Do you ever play FIFA with other drivers? I imagine it would get pretty competitive."

"Yes, we do, sometimes." Max chuckled, the tension between the two of you completely dissolved to the amazement of everyone behind the cameras. "It's always a good time, and it definitely gets competitive. We take it seriously, even though it's just for fun."

The crew keeps exchanging confused glances unaware of the profound shift that had occurred. You force yourself to focus on the next question, the vibrant colours making everything around you feel surreal.

“Speaking of competition, if you weren’t a Formula 1 driver, what other career path do you think you might have taken?” You asked, genuinely curious.

Max leaned back, considering the question. “I’ve always been passionate about sports, so maybe something related to that, like engineering or coaching. I enjoy working closely with a team and seeing how everything comes together.”

“That’s really interesting.” You said, nodding. “It shows how much you value teamwork and the technical aspects of the sport.”

“What about you?” Max asks, and you look at him confused. “If you weren't a journalist, what would you want to be?”

“Oh, since I choose sports and have been surrounded by it for years, I think I'd be a sportswoman.” You tell him with a smile. “You're lucky, I'm too old to get into karting.”

“Guess, if you were into karting, we would've met years ago.” You knew what he meant. You could've met your soulmate years ago if you'd been in karting. 

“I guess so.” You try not to think about the what ifs as you ask the last question. “One last question that we ask to every driver, what advice would you give to young aspiring drivers who look up to you?”

Max’s eyes met yours again, a spark of connection undeniable between you. “I’d tell them to stay focused and never give up. It’s a tough journey, but if you’re passionate and willing to work hard, you can achieve your dreams. It’s important to stay dedicated, even when things get tough.”

“Great advice, Max. Thank you so much for your time. It’s been a pleasure talking with you.” You concluded, barely able to contain the smile spreading across your face.

Max smiled back, the warmth in his eyes unmistakable. “Thank you. It’s been great speaking with you, too.”

The interview wrapped up, but as the revelation between the two lf you lingered you didn't want to leave, after so many years of guessing who your soulmate be and almost giving up entirely you didn't want to be apart from even for a second.

Max may seem tough to people, strong and determined, but he's spent nights dreaming of when he'd finally meet you. His thoughts lately have been of self doubt, maybe everyone is right, and the reason he hadn't met you yet is that he doesn't deserve you. He's too hot-headed, too aggressive. But here you are, proving him and everyone who doubted him wrong.

The crew, oblivious to the transformation, began packing up the equipment, their chatter and movements a blur in your colourful new world.

Max turned to you, his demeanour noticeably lighter, a subtle smile still playing on his lips. 

“I don’t have my phone with me.” Max managed to find his voice, his voice softer now, almost tentative. “Could I borrow yours for a moment?”

“Of course.” You replied, your voice trembling slightly as you handed him your phone.

He took it with a nod of thanks and quickly entered his number, calling his own phone to ensure that he'll be able to contact you after the day is over. When he handed your phone back, your fingers brushed, and an electric jolt shot through you, confirming the profound connection. As if the colours weren't enough, the electric feeling that went through you is a confirmation. Max left the room with a lingering look at you.

The crew, sensing something unusual but unable to pinpoint it, exchanged puzzled glances. One of your colleagues approached, and his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“What just happened?” He asked, his tone laced with curiosity. “Did you two know each other before?”

You struggled to keep your emotions in check, a smile fighting to break free. “No, we just...connected.” You said, unable to find the right words to describe the whirlwind of emotions and the explosion of colour that had transformed your world.

Max left the room and started to look around, as if he's seeing everything for the first time and in a sense he was. He took in the colours that have been described to him many times before, he looked to the sky and saw the blue everyone described, he saw a few trees and saw the green leaves and the brown trunk. Everything looked so different now.

The rest of the day you both got questions and buzzed looks from those working with you, both your moods are good and it's not wavering, it's not changing. The realisation of what had happened, of finding your soulmate in such an unexpected place, left you reeling.

Later, as the paddock began to empty and the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the vibrant landscape, as you stood and watched your first colourful sunset, you received a message from Max.

Meet me after you finish work. We need to talk.

Time could couldn’t go by fast enough, you kept looking at your phone waiting for Max to tell you where you'd meet  you had finished your work for the day, but work for F1 drivers take kuchen longer than yours. Every moment stretched into eternity as you waited for it to end. As you looked at the sun from the top of the FIA hospitality, you wished Max was with you enjoying your first sunset together. You dont know Max, you know if Max, but you've never met before today, but you feel like you do. It feels like everything is alright, like the world is finally tilted the right way, gravity is finally working.

come to redbull motorhome.

You made the jounry from the FIA building to redbull, right as you reached through building Max came out and gestured for you to come in, trying not to be seen by fans or cameras. He made you walk in front of him, his hand on your back as he guided you. You feel the heat, and even the electricity was evident through the layers of your clothes, you relaxed instantly to his toutch, leaning back into it. Max sighed. It felt like he could toutch you skin to skin, the feeling vibrated through him filling him up.

Max led you to his room. From the tours you've seen other teams do, Max's room looked the best. You both sat on the sofa facing each other. Your eyes were just taking the other in, Max's hair was ruffled, as if he ran his hand through it a lot. You took in his eyes, which you now know are blue, his nose the shape of his jaw, yhe frekle on his lips, you're trying to memorise him. Tattoo him into your mind.

Max took your hand in his, and you wonder if the feeling of electricity will remain forever or will it fade with time. You both close your eyes for a moment. 

“Did you have a good day?” You asked softly after you opened your eyes.

“It didn't start ikay, but there's something that made my day, my week, my life.” Max replied, his voice gentle. You couldn't fight the smile that took over your face. There was a moment of silence, each of you searching for the right words to express the whirlwind of emotions you were feeling.

“I can’t believe what happened earlier.” You began, your voice filled with wonder and disbelief. “I never thought... I had almost given up on finding my soulmate.”

Max nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Me too. I’ve been so focused on racing, I started to think that maybe it wasn’t going to happen for me. But then I saw you, and everything changed.”

You leaned closer, it wasn't a conscious decision, but you were feeling the warmth of his presence. “I’ve been living in black and white for so long, I forgot what it felt like to hope. And now, it’s like... like everything has come alive.”

Max squeezed your hand, sending a familiar electric thrill through you, a reminder of the bond you had discovered. “I know exactly what you mean. I’ve been so caught up in my career, I stopped looking for anything else. But today, meeting you... it’s like the world has finally made sense.” You smiled, your heart swelling with a mixture of relief and joy. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? How we can go from feeling like we’re missing something, to finding everything in a single moment.”

“I’m so glad we found each other. It’s like a dream come true, one I never thought I’d get to experience.” Max’s gaze softened, his eyes reflecting the same vibrant colors that now filled your world.

You squeezed his hand, feeling the connection deepening with each passing second. “I’m happy too. I was beginning to think that maybe it wasn’t meant for me, that maybe I’d never see the world in colour. But now, being here with you... it feels like everything was leading up to this.”

Max’s smile widened, and he leaned closer, his hand still holding yours. “I know we’ve just met, but I feel like I’ve known you forever. It’s like... like we were always meant to find each other, no matter what.”

You nodded, tears of happiness welling up in your eyes. “I feel the same way. It’s like all the waiting. All the wondering was worth it because it brought me to you.”

He gently wiped away a tear that had escaped down your cheek, his touch tender and reassuring. “We have a lot to look forward to.” he said softly. “And I can’t wait to experience everything in colour, either you.” 

You leaned into his touch, your heart filled with a warmth you had never known before. “Me too, Max. I’m so grateful we found each other, even if it took a bit longer than we expected. It was worth the wait.”

He pulled you into a gentle embrace, the world around you fading into a blur of colour and emotion. For the first time in your life, you felt complete, the missing piece of your heart finally found.

As you sat there in his room, the noise from outside faddws away and a that mattered was that you found each other.

Later that week on Sunday, you find yourself in the media pen, Max wasn't on the podium after contact with another driver on track, Max wasn't amused, he hated losing, he was clearly not satisfied. The frustration was evident in his clenched jaw and the tense set of his shoulders as he made his way through the sea of microphones and cameras, his responses curt and tinged with irritation. The incident with another driver had cost him the win, and you could already sense the frustration simmering in the air.

Finally, it was your turn. As he approached, you could see the tension in his posture, the anger still simmering just below the surface. You offered a gentle smile, hoping to soften his mood.

“Hi, Max. Tough race today.” You began, keeping your voice calm and understanding. “Can you walk us through what happened out there?”

Max sighed, his expression strained but slightly less harsh as he met your gaze. “Yeah, it wasn’t great. We were doing well, but then there was contact with another car, and that threw everything off. It’s frustrating because we had a good chance of winning.”

You nodded, listening intently. “I can understand how disappointing that must be. Can you tell us more about the incident? What exactly happened?”

He glanced around, his irritation still evident but less intense than before. “He was going for an overtake, and I thought I had enough room, but we ended up colliding. It cost us a lot of time and positions. It’s just... frustrating.”

Your heart went out to him. You wanted to offer some comfort, to show him that you understood his frustration. Max was leaning his hands on the barrier so you subtly reached out and touched his hand, a gentle, reassuring gesture. He glanced down, surprised, and when he looked back up at you, his eyes had softened.

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Max.” You said, your voice filled with genuine concern. “It must be tough to end the race this way after all the hard work you and the team put in.”

He took a deep breath, his expression relaxing a bit more. “Yeah, it’s not the result we wanted, but that’s racing. We’ll learn from this and come back stronger. Thanks for understanding.”

You offered a supportive smile, your hand still resting lightly on his. “I’m sure you will. You’ve always shown great resilience. What’s the plan moving forward from here?”

Max’s mood seemed to lighten further, the tension visibly easing from his shoulders. “We’ll go back, analyze what happened, and make sure we’re better prepared for the next race. It’s important to keep looking forward.”

“Absolutely.” You agreed, your voice encouraging. “One setback doesn’t define you or the team. You’ve got a lot of races ahead, and I’m sure we’ll see you back on the top soon.”

He smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Thanks. It means a lot to hear that.”

As the interview wrapped up, Max’s demeanor was noticeably calmer. The frustration from earlier had dulled, replaced by a quiet determination. He glanced at you, a hint of gratitude in his expression.

“Thanks for the interview.” He said, his voice softer once the mic was out of his face. “And for... you know, understanding.”

You smiled back, your heart lifting. “Anytime, Max. I’m sure the next race will be better.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned to leave. Max will always be grateful for you. He's known you for a couple days, and you both spent all of your free time together and texting whenever you could. He felt like you understood the highs and lows of racing making him bind with you more. You understood sport and how everything can change in a second.

For now, the disappointment of the day was behind him, and the promise of future victories lay ahead. And in that brief, quiet moment, you had been able to offer a bit of comfort, a reminder that even in the toughest times, there’s always a reason to look forward.

Max accidently said he sees colour in one of the interviews a few months later, and so the hunt for his soulmate has begun. Thankfully, since you work in F1, you weren't suspected, and so you were able to keep your privacy. For a while.

During winter break, photos of you were released to the public, and the fans have gone wild. Every single interaction you've had was cut and edited. And the moment your eyes met went viral all over social media, in the F1 sphere and outside of it.

For you and Max, you're both just glad you finally found your other half. That you don't have to go through this world alone.

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Maintaglist

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03

[plus-low-overthrow]

PHOTO 45: Oscar Toney, Jr. - Is It Because I’m Black (Contempo)

rhym, Ultra Funk, Syl Johnson cover.