(Affectionately also tagging @sphinxofgrease who asked me for the same ship xoxo)
Anyone who has been following me for longer than a day must know that I’m obsessed with their little silly dynamic. There is something so honest about them, the narrative that’s spun between them is so delicious I desire to shove my fingers into it and twirl it around a bit. They should be put in a glass still sticky from jam and shaken around a bit.
Over half of my time is spend thinking about how Esteban came into the sport and raced on the same grid as the greats - how he was young and foolish and so full of hope. How he adored Fernando since he was a child, how the battles between Fernando and Michael formed his adoration for the sport. It was Fernando himself who contributed to him forming a love for the thing that would later unite them.
And then, he was on the podium for the first time, and Fernando was looking up at him.
There’s something to be said about a photograph. Something about hands reaching out to grab the camera. A moment which needed to be remembered, even when the connection might be limited.
And the year after that they would be teammates... the boy who was young and who walked a tightrope between his talent and his financial security was put up besides the man who is so known for his cunning personality.
Esteban never backed down. The kid who laughed after he got shoved. The man who lost his seat and thought he would never race again was now suddenly in direct competition with a two times world championship winner.
I think a lot about the way Esteban never backed down, and how Fernando probably took one look at him and saw a resemblance. A sharp tongue and a desire to be the best. Willing to put the work in even when you come from anything but a respectable racing pedigree.
In the last two years, there have barely been any team orders. They’re allowed to race between the two of them, keeping up with one another for most of the time, because they know one another so well. They know exactly where the line is, where they can push and where they need to pull.
At the end of the day, they are the ‘all we need is one word to understand the whole story’ dynamic. The ‘the world might suck but it sucks a lot less when you’re here with me’ dynamic.
Conclusion?
Fernando gave Esteban confidence, a space to grow where he was safe. Esteban in turn gave Fernando the challenge that he always chases. The both of them compliment one another. And watching them commit crimes for the greater good has been an absolute pleasure.
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Sorry if this is annoying but do you perhaps have a picture of what the book looks like on the inside? I’m still confused on where the blank pages will go—wouldn’t it be, as you’re turning the pages, printed, blank, blank, printed, printed, blank blank printed etc?
11. What was your favorite book that has been out for a while, but you just now read?
i just finished a memory called empire by arkady martine (came out in 2019) and it's still a contender for book of the year for me. i already reserved the sequel at the library! incredible worldbuilding, loved the prose.
16. What is the most over-hyped book you read this year?
a court of thorns and roses by sarah j. maas was roughly about as bad as i expected it to be. lots of people recommended godkiller by hannah kaner and i thought it was pretty mid overall, the romance felt like even the author thought it was unnecessary but perfunctorily added it.
17. Did any books surprise you with how good they were?
maurice by e.m. forster!! i know it's a widely beloved book but holy shit is it incredible. the will darling adventures by kj charles are an absolute delight — so much so that i physically bought the first book.
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Sebchal - bodyguard au x I didn’t mean to turn you on!
oooooooo a good one!
i think for funsies i'd make charles the bodyguard and seb the one who needs to be protected. seb is still an f1 driver but maybe he's gotten hate for some of his activism, or just some crazy fans idk. charles used to kart but then gave it up either to support arthur in his racing career or maybe he had an accident idk up to you but he doesn't tell seb any of this then one day they're at a karting event that seb sponsors and he convinces charles to go karting with him. naturally charles is very competitive and he almost runs seb off the track! he goes up to seb after to apologize and seb is still sitting in the kart, so turned on he can't move.
Can I ask for a ficlet inspired by Spotify wrapped song #17 and mickolas?
oh my god naked in manhattan, chappell roan....... the gay coming of age of it all...................
"[beeeep]. hi, it's mick, I know you just landed, and I know you're probably busy, but, I would love to see you, so, call me when you can..."
Mick isn't expecting Lewis to call him back immediately.
"Do you have a guest bedroom?" Lewis asks. "There was a fuckup with my hotel reservation and apparently everywhere in the entire city is booked. I guess everyone else also flew in for the Met Gala..."
When Seb told Mick that Lewis was coming to New York for the week, and that he should get in touch, this hadn't been what Mick expected. He'd just hoped for a chance to get coffee and talk about getting involved on the business side of one of Lewis's diversifying-the-karting-pipeline projects.
"I have a futon," Mick confesses. He would have felt wrong spending too much of his family's money on rent, when he could have just been living in the NYU dorms. "That I would sleep on, I mean. Shit. Sorry. I wouldn't make you sleep on a futon. Jesus."
Lewis laughs through the phone. "Are you calling me old?"
"There's no right answer to this question," Mick says diplomatically. "I'll text you my address."
Lewis shows up two hours later--the JFK traffic--with five suitcases. "Sorry about all the bags," he says, almost sheepish, as Mick carries them two at a time to his third-floor walkup in alphabet city. The weather is sweltering, unseasonably warm for the first weekend of May. The heat of summer is already baking into the pavement and the humidity that's going to linger until September--Mick learned that lesson last year--is already consolidating.
"Met Gala, I know," Mick says. He's just a little bit out of breath. "Seb told me. It's tonight, right?"
"Tomorrow," Lewis corrects. He clears his throat. "I actually didn't have anything planned for tonight, if you wanted to hang out. I mean, I don't mean to crash your party, if you've got somewhere to be, but if you're free..." he trails off. "Nobody I wanted to see is coming to the Met Gala this year."
Mick is weirdly grateful for the sting of Lewis's admission. He'd have rather killed himself than have Lewis hang out with him out of a sense of pity or obligation. A lack of better options? That, he can work with.
"We could get a drink," he says.
The end up at the Coal Yard, a dive bar Mick discovered in his first weeks in the city that fit his three criteria for a local: close enough to his apartment to be convenient, far enough from his apartment to confuse stalkers, and dark enough that nobody there ever recognizes him. They don't recognize Lewis, either, he realizes as Lewis orders both of them a round of whiskey shots and beers (the $10 Wednesday night deal). He smiles, wondering when that last happened.
Lewis holds Mick's gaze as they toast their whiskey shots. "Seb taught me about the German rule," Lewis says, before he throws it back. Mick almost coughs whiskey up his nose. "What is it, seven years of bad sex?"
"I wouldn't think bad sex would be a problem for you," Mick says. He licks his lips, tastes the alcohol on them. He reaches for his beer to chase with.
"You'd be surprised," Lewis says. "What about you? Still with the same girlfriend?"
Mick dumped her six months ago, but he's surprised Lewis even remembered that he'd been dating anyone. "Nah, we broke up," he says.
"Oh, I'm sorry about that," Lewis says. "The long distance too hard?"
"It turns out I actually prefer men," Mick admits.
Lewis eyes him again, carefully. "I didn't realize."
Mick shrugs. "I didn't want anyone to," he says. "I haven't actually even told Seb yet. Fuck, don't tell Seb, he'll never forgive me for telling you first."
"I'm flattered, man," Lewis says. "But I'll admit that I'm a little surprised I'd be the one you'd trust with this."
Another shrug, this one involuntary. "It feels easier to be honest about stuff in New York. I don't know. It's a different world here, away from racing, in a city where people are just living their lives. It makes me wonder what I was so afraid of."
"It sounds nice," Lewis says. "You look happy. Is there a special gentleman caller we can blame for that?" He makes a pretentious hand gesture as he asks, and Mick giggles.
"No, my interest in men is, thus far, purely theoretical," he says. "There's a lot of guys who are kind of weird about guys who have never done anything with a guy before, like they either don't want to bother teaching you what to do, or they're really, really keen to teach you what to do, which is even worse..."
"What would you want to learn how to do?" Lewis asks.
Mick feels his face flush. "Well, you know, the usual stuff," he says, then reminds himself that he's Michael Schumacher's son, and once was a professional race car driver, and doesn't have to be afraid of saying words out loud. "I'd like to learn how to suck a dick."
"The bathrooms of this place are in the back, right?" Lewis asks.
The subject change catches Mick by surprise, and he has to take a second to process. "Yeah, back that way," he says, cocking his head.
Lewis takes a long swig of his beer. "Meet me in the handicapped stall of the men's room in two minutes," he says.