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antimonyandthyme · 6 months

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martian; retirement (as told by oscar)

They do a massive barbecue at the end of Seb’s visit. Mark’s steaks have been soaking in some special homemade marinade for precisely six hours. He’s got enough potatoes to feed a farm.

He forgets the salad.

“You forgot the salad,” Seb says. He sounds absolutely delighted. He’s sounded this way ever since Mark picked him up at the airport. But even more so at the moment. “All that talk about this being the best meal I’ll get this side of town, and you forgot the salad.”

“He’ll never let me live this down,” Mark says.

“I won’t,” Seb confirms.

Oscar owes it to Mark to help, just a little bit. “Isn’t there a Woolworths just around the corner?”

Mark’s face does something very funny. It takes a moment for Oscar to realize Mark’s sulking, like he’s genuinely upset he has to get salad from a store. Like it’s not going to be good for Seb or something. As if Mark could put a burnt steak in front of Seb, and Seb wouldn’t eat as if his life depended on it. How do you go from crashing into each other to this?

Seb checks Mark in the hip, and pries the tongs out of Mark’s unwilling hand. Oscar watches as their fingers tangle, not so briefly, before they separate. “I won’t let the meat burn, I promise.”

Mark sighs, and goes to grab the car keys.

“Do me a favour,” Seb says, “accompany him for me, will you? Don’t let him get lost at the salad bar.”

“Do my best,” Oscar says. Something in Seb’s tone makes Oscar look. Really look. At Mark standing in front of the chilled chafing dishes containing coleslaw and mixed greens.

At Mark staring right past, lost in thought.

Oscar reaches for a takeout container, and ladles a heap of Caesar salad in. Decides to get a little fancy and scatter some goat cheese atop. He clears his throat, and Mark nearly jumps.

“I’ve had this before,” Oscar tries. He’s gunning for it blind here. “Totally decent salad. I’m sure Seb wouldn’t mind.”

Mark lets out a small chuff of laughter. “You could give him a slice of toast and he’d thank you for it.”

“Okay,” Oscar says. He clicks the tongs in his hand for something to do. Ting ting. Then he reaches for another takeout container, and spoons the Thai salad in. The more the merrier, Seb would agree. “So why—?”

“I keep trying to convince myself this wouldn’t be the last I see of him for awhile.”

“It won’t,” Oscar protests. “He’s retired now. He has more time.”

“For his bees, and the sailing, and the exploring, and the whatever that comes after retirement. So what should I say? Stay here instead?”

There isn’t an answer for that. Oscar can’t pretend he’s ever wanted that of someone. Maybe someday. Maybe never. Seb and Mark don’t seem to be enjoying it. The wanting that of someone.

The containers are getting ridiculously full. Mark doesn’t reach for them yet. So, delicately, Oscar sprinkles a layer of sesame seeds on top.

“We’ve been apart so often,” Mark says, unprompted. “We’ve had our own schedules most of our lives, and this isn’t any different. I know I’m being silly.”

“You’re not,” Oscar says. It doesn’t feel strange, saying that to someone he looks up to in every which way possible. Someone in charge of his future. He wants that devastation wiped off Mark’s face. “I’ve seen how you look at each other.”

It’s how Mark’s gaze is turned upwards whenever Seb’s telling a story, like a plant searching out the light. It’s how Seb’s eyes dance across everyone in the room before landing on Mark. Floating away, then settling back. Floating away, then settling back again. It’s never grandiose declarations like, Stay here with me forever. It’s the drifting, through landscape after landscape, and the returning each and every time.

“Maybe,” Oscar says, “if you asked.”

“If I asked, he would.”

Which is why Mark will never. Oscar knows that much about love, at least. Something about letting go. He snaps the lids of the containers shut. Mark trails after him, and only shakes out of his stupor when Oscar tries to pay for the salads.

Seb greets them at the door with an anxiousness Oscar’s familiar with. Tongs in his hand, Ting ting.

“Did you get lost?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Oscar says. Next to him, Mark stiffens. “Do you know how many varieties of salad Woolworths has?”

Mark presents the containers to Seb with a flourish. Their fingers overlay. Oscar imagines pressing his own hands on top, like Stay, stay.

Stay if you know what’s good for you.

“Oh my god,” Mark says.

The barbeque smells as if it’s caught fire.

“You like your meat well done, right?” Seb looks hopeful. He also looks like he’s on the verge of panic. Like the brief moment away from Mark had done him in. Made him forget his name, and all that comes with it, reputation and inheritance and legacy.

That gaze of Seb’s again, darting away, lingering on Mark, darting away, lingering on Mark once more.

“One forgets the salad, and one forgets the meat,” Oscar says. He kinda wants to yell at them for being idiots. He’s almost embarrassed for them both. Mostly, he’s just hungry. “The two of you deserve each other.”

But Mark’s laughing now, and Seb’s joined him, shoulders shaking. Oscar grumbles and goes to rummage around the kitchen for something edible. No one has ever said ex-Formula 1 drivers were smart. They’ve spent too long driving around in circles to understand that the quickest way from point A to B is a straight line.

Hah. That’s a good one.

There’s linguine in Mark’s cupboard, and two tins of unopened tomato sauce. Nothing goes better with potatoes than even more carbs.

“Expired in 2021,” Seb reads.

“I don’t care,” Oscar says fervently. “Can I leave the boiling of water to you, or will you burn that too?”

“I like him,” Seb says to Mark brightly. Mark gives Seb a look, watery and resigned and so fucking fond. “You’ll continue giving him a hard time for me, won’t you?”

“Do my best,” Oscar says.

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #martian #from a third person's pov #brought to you by that gifset #you know that one #that one where they look like kids at christmas waiting for each other #head in my hands #happy martian monday

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cedobols · 2 years

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can he please have diff teammate. he doesnt like his

#my art #mark webber #sebastian vettel #martian #what started as a simple here-comes-the-breakdown sketch. now a treat for all you sebmarkers out there #sorry for being absolutely useless lately. i cant do much else but apologise then continue to disappoint 👍 LOL #happy martian monday

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ivettel · 2 years

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⟶ F1 fans will remember Turkey [2010] and the infamous coming-together between Seb and me as we tussled for the race lead. […] Seb retired on the spot and spent some time making weird gestures meant to indicate it was all my fault. I managed to limp back for repairs, rejoin the race and claim third place. Immediately after parking my car I had to go into the mandatory FIA press conference before I had any contact with the team; I dealt with the questions as straightforwardly and professionally as I could, went back to the paddock – and found that I was being blamed for what had happened. The post-race debrief was interesting: we were minus one driver as Seb had been excused from attending! To this day I still don’t know why he missed the debrief, which is the essential conclusion to a race weekend. It’s a time for everyone to face the music from the various departments and that includes driver performance. I don’t think team management was particularly happy with either of us. After all, we had committed the ultimate sin in motor sport – colliding with your teammate.

F1 SUMMER BREAK EDITING CHALLENGE ↪ favourite controversy moments: Sebastian Vettel & Mark Webber collide during the 2010 Turkey GP

bonus: "It’s probably the first time in my career that I’ve had a problem with a teammate, in terms of—well, when so much was at stake. But hopefully it’ll be water under the bridge by the end of the year."

#sebastian vettel #mark webber #f1 #f1edit #turkish gp 2010 #crash tw #.mine #f1 summer break editing challenge #they're so messy #LMAO #happy martian monday #q only live once

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baiuzennsenn · 4 months

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Mirror - Alpha male: Roger the kangaroo won't let sanctuary staff take the stuffed toy away from him(Mercury / Alice Springs)

I see no difference

#Martian #happy martian monday #post for fun

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transbrucewayne · 4 months

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#happy Martian Monday to those who…uh. are in different time zones!#no caption. the post is self explanatory #Martian #my post #f1 #mark webber #sebastian vettel #Martian Monday #sebmark

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fortheloveofaussiegrit · 4 months

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✗ this is like all the things you can fit inside a memory

#happy monday!!!#.mw gifs #mark webber #seb/mark #sewellove gifs #sv #sebastian vettel #martian

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avida-heidia-5 · 7 months

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I went down a bit of a Martian rabbit hole today and came across these pictures of Sebastian Vettel congratulating Mark Webber for winning the 2010 Monaco Grand Prix.

Uhh…let’s just say I went a teeeeeny bit feral. *glances guiltily down at my broken fingernails* Oops…! 😳

Look at these pictures and tell me they don’t look like they were about to kiss each other right there and then. I DARE you!

Apologies if these images are all out of order. That’s just how I ordered them! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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hungriestheidi · 7 months

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[when you told us our glances, soft, timid, and mild,] by wallada bint al-mustakfi

#happy martian monday y'all !#sebastian vettel #mark webber #sebmark #martian #f1 edit #f1edit #myedit

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hurricane-heatt · 3 months

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all of my friends think i’ve gone crazy…

Sebastian sinks his head further into his sweating hands. “Shut up. Seriously, Lewis, he’ll hear.”

Laughs from around the table, from the booth that Sebastian’s friends have decided to take up. He won’t hear, but it’s a nice excuse. He elbows Lewis either way, spills a bit of his drink onto the table, where it’ll now lie sticky.

They’re situated at a quieter corner, and Seb sits right at the back, looking out onto the bar, where Webber is stood. He sips on a pint and keeps glancing to Seb’s table, keeping a ‘close eye from a distance,’ as agreed. It’s driving him nuts.

“No, honestly. You’re like Whitney Houston, and he’s Kevin Costner.” Seb raises his eyebrow at Jenson’s reference and his pointing back and forth. He’s red in the face, beside himself with the entire situation. “And-“

Oh god, now he’s singing ‘I Will Always Love You’ at the top of his voice. It’s not a good rendition. His friends roar and wolf whistle, and Sebastian wants to die a bit more at the sound. He laughs but it doesn’t quite come out right.

It’s at this entirely opportune moment that Webber tilts his head towards the table, and makes eye contact with Seb. He grimaces, gestures with his hands wildly at Jenson near falling off his chair in laughter, and Webber smirks, brings the glass up in a ‘cheers’ motion. Sebastian gives him the V’s, and he chuckles, turns his attention back towards the door.

With the crowd numbing to a blind, singular noise, Sebastian lets himself admire Mark Webber, just for a moment. There’s more references being made to 90s rom-coms that he doesn’t care to react to, so he lets himself look.

There’s the way he towers over most of the people around him, scrambling for a drink. There’s the way he stands, casual but there’s something ready, trigger happy under his skin.

There’s the way that he’s not built particularly broad, but considering what happened, there must be some strength under the plain black tees he chooses to wear, day in and day out. That’s what he’s there for, he supposes.

Sebastian lets himself reminisce upon it, on day old memories of Webber behind him, hand gripping his bicep, steering him forward towards a clearing in the crowd, away from flashing cameras and bumbling paps. Webber’s voice, assertive behind him, his other arm stretched out to push stray reporters out of the way.

Sebastian feels a little flustered all over again. Maybe he should cause a scene to get Webber’s hands on him again, his body so close; and other crazed thoughts by Sebastian, tipsy and surrounded by mocking squawks. He’ll use that as an excuse - he’s only a product of his environment, none of these ideas are his own, logical creations.

Again, Webber quickly looks up from across the room, straight at Sebastian, and he feels as though he’s been caught. Surely his talents stop at reading minds. He mouths, “You okay?” and Sebastian pauses, because he is a little overwhelmed. It’s a lot to lip read across a bar, though, so he just nods instead.

“You sure?” And he carries on nodding, gives Webber a little hand waving motion to read, ‘go away.’ He smiles and rolls his eyes, and again, his attention is back to the other patrons of the bar, scanning for potential threats.

What would it take for him to linger? Immediately, Sebastian feels like shaking the thought from his mind, as soon as it crept in. Stupid, romanticised thoughts of this ridiculous situation. It’s not valid representation of how he feels about it all, which is, very annoyed.

“Sebastian and, fuck, what’s his name again?” Jenson looks so excited by his next words that Sebastian worries he might wet himself.

“Webber,” Seb resigns, and gets ready for the children’s playground rhyme.

“Sebastian and Web-ber, sitting in a tree-“

Fucking hell.

#bad for business #scribbles #sebmark #happy martian monday! one day this will be a full fic #(lying)

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martianmonday · 1 year

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Q: Sebastian, are you starting to fear your team-mate more by the race? SV: Yeah, I’m not afraid of him. As far as I remember, he fell off a bike a couple of years ago or last year, so his leg is still a bit unstable, so I can always run away, plus I’m younger, so there are good chances for me.

Sebastian Vettel, 2010 Monaco GP post-quali press conference

#sdfkjdsjks tell em #sebastian vettel #martian #f1 #monaco gp 2010 #happy monday--scheduled

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antimonyandthyme · 10 months

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martian inception au

In Seb’s notebook, in his scratchy scrawl Mark has grown very accustomed to reading:

Side effects – no dreaming

That’s it, no dreaming. Seb doesn’t write, Failure differentiating reality and dream, because any dreamer worth their salt should know which boundaries they strictly do not cross. They create and shatter worlds in their heads and the one thing they give up is the ability to do this without being hooked to a PASIV. That’s not too bad, considering.

But if you bothered to flip the page:

Sub side effects

Entire paragraphs dedicated to specific complications for each role, extractor, chemist, architect, point man. Under forger:

Loss of self

The first time Mark realizes it’s happening, Seb walks by him in a dream. Seb walks by him and ignores him, as if Mark were merely a projection of the dreamer.

Bewildered and irrationally hurt, Mark goes, “Seb?”

His voice is the safety click off a gun. Seb flinches and looks around wildly. Projections aren’t supposed to speak.

It takes a moment before Mark looks down at his hands, and realizes they’re the wrong ones. He turns his back to Seb, and changes to what he assumes—hopes—is the appearance he should be wearing.

“There you are,” Seb snaps. He only gets like this when he’s worried. “I couldn’t find you.”

Mark makes up some ridiculous excuse. Got turned around in the maze, or something like that, as if any of them would ever get turned around in a maze.

Seb looks at him. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep.

--

Ironically, it’s Seb who notices last. He’s not being careless. His faith in Mark is just so unshakable that he doesn’t look back when he hears the fall of Mark’s footsteps behind him. Among the hardest things to forge is a person’s gait. Distributing weight and sound according to the target’s walking habits is an intricate and tedious task. Seb can always tell it’s still Mark, even when he wears a different face.

So Seb doesn’t look back.

Jenson does, though. Coming out of a dream, all of them nearing the final kick, and Jenson looks back.

Mark is wearing a stranger as his skin.

Jenson waits until Seb’s gone on ahead. And then he punches Mark so hard Mark will probably feel it for a week in reality.

“Are you trying to break his heart?”

Mark looks down at his hands again.

“Get your shit together,” Jenson demands.

Mark shifts back, and when he wakes, he places two fingers on his own face, and is surprised to see them appear correct.

--

He forgets his totem once. Forgets it, because the last person he was forging doesn’t have one. So he leaves it behind when he goes to get groceries. Chocolate chips and bananas, because Seb wants to make chocolate chip banana bread.

When he gets back, Seb is waiting for him. He has Mark’s swiss army knife cradled in his hand.

Seb knows every stitch of Mark’s totem. Seb helped create Mark’s totem, reasoned that they could custom the knife so elaborately that no extractor would be able to recreate the exact version which belonged to Mark. Sometimes Mark thinks his totem is better off residing in Seb’s hands. These days he shifts so often he doesn’t need it any longer. In reality his hands stay the same. In dreams, his hands change shape and size and colour.

There, no totem needed. Seb doesn’t even need to worry.

“Mark.” Seb’s voice is wobbly. He’s gone and figured it out. Because of course he has.

Mark places the grocery bag on the table. The veins running atop his hand are as unfamiliar as the hundreds of dendrites splitting out from the Indus River.

“Side effect,” he says.

“No more jobs until this stops,” Seb says. Mark can hear him trying to be authoritative, brave. Seb comes close, and wraps Mark’s fingers around his totem. “Don’t ever leave this behind again.”

Seb’s hand above his. Mark tries to memorize the image, but he’s not sure if it’ll take. Almost trickier than an Inception.

--

Jenson puts his research skills into good use, and finds an island off the coast of Victoria that houses a population of zero. He arranges transport and food and beer to last Mark a month at least. Mark spends the first two days drinking his way through the supplies, and considers radioing Jenson to send more.

He holds up his hand to the sun. It’s gotten severely tanner. Jenson forgot sunscreen. But the shapes are good. The knuckles aren’t sewn together by someone playing at god. The angles won’t cut him open.

Mark drinks away the sting of abandonment. The team’s in Toronto for a job. He wonders who their forger is. He drinks some more.

In the third week he dreams.

Real dreams—they’re confusing. There’s no story, no plotline. There’s no job. There's no point. Mark’s falling down a chasm of mirrors. The faces reflected back are not his own. Mark’s smashing every mirror with his bare hands. Mark’s watching the blood run down in rivulets, real enough to taste.

On second thought, maybe these dreams are the ones that make the most sense.

--

Even after an alcoholic induced state lasting three and a half weeks, Mark’s still capable if he wants to be. He finds a way to get off the island. And then he goes to find them.

More specifically, he goes to rescue them from some botched mission.

“I leave for one month,” Mark says. He’s allowed to be dramatic, and a little smug. He pulls them out of the third layer, and then the second layer, and then the first. Each time with his own goddamn hands. It’s as if he has the strength to bend steel.

Seb doesn’t let go. Refuses to let go even as they exit the dream. Mark looks down at their joined hands. Seb’s hand fits perfectly in his, as it has always done.

Yeah. That looks just about fine.

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #martian #happy martian monday

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sewellove-deactivated9782 · 1 year

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