#National Actors Day
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WHAT THE STARS ARE SAYING
Check out why so many famed actors use Backstage
Trusted since 1960
Founded in 1960, Backstage has a storied history of serving the entertainment industry. For over 60 years Backstage has served as a casting resource and news source for actors, performers, directors, producers, agents, and casting directors.
Over that time, Backstage Magazine has also appeared on numerous TV shows, such as âMad Men,â âEntourage,â âGlee,â âOprah,â NBC's âTodayâ show, Comedy Central's â@Midnightâ, NY1's âOn Stage,â and âSaturday Night Live,â as well as multiple mentions on shows like âInside the Actorâs Studio,â âGirls,â and appearances in films such as â13 Going on 30,â the Farrelly brothers' âStuck on Youâ and Spike Lee's âGirl 6,â and even a mention in Woody Allen's short-story collection âMere Anarchyâ and Augusten Burroughs' novel âSellevisionâ â and Backstage has received accolades from multiple Academy Award-, Emmy-, and Tony-winning actors and directors. (Plus, the hit musical âThe Last Five Yearsâ even includes Backstage in its lyrics: âHere's a headshot guy and a new Backstage / Where you're right for something on every page.â)
CAITRĂONA BALFE
ACTRESS
"I still get Backstage emails 'cause I still subscribe to Backstage. [Backstage is) kind of the Bible in the beginning, which is amazing. Samuel French and Backstage go hand in hand, you know? You go there for your plays when you're in classes, and then you get your Backstage."
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Brianâs Note: The following story originally appeared in April 2015. Most recent update is December 2020.
The Gorgeous Determination of CaitrĂona Balfe
CaitrĂona Balfe is on the move. That's been true most of her adult lifeâ especially the 10 years she was modeling for Victoria's Secret, Dolce & Gabbana, and othersâbut as she sits on the rooftop patio of a West Hollywood hotel in mid-March, she mentions that she's pulling up stakes from Los Angeles.
"It just feels silly to have an empty place for 10 months until I figure out what I'm doing with my life," the Irish-born actor says. "I've rented the same place for the last four years and now I have to give it up." Her apartment is being razed to put in condos, but her departure from L.A. is extra poignant considering this is the city where Balfe journeyed when she decided to put aside that successful modeling career and focus on the vocation she'd always wanted: acting.
Photo: Luc-Richard Elie
"I've moved so much since I was 18," she says. "I mean, l've lived so many places. New York, I lived in for almost eight years [while modeling], and that's been the longest of anywhere since I left Ireland. But L.A. is where I came and said, 'OK, this is what I wanna do with my life.' "
She refuses to think of her move as a permanent one, though. "I'll be back," she declares, "but it feels really sad. My little apartment, it's got so many memories."
Balfe's sadness is no doubt mitigated by the fact that part of her need to move is due to the precipitous rise in her fortunes. She'll soon be flying to Scotland to shoot the second season of "Outlander," which returns to Starz April 4 to conclude Season 1.
When last we saw Balfe's Claire, the resourceful British nurse who comes home after World War |I only to be inexplicably teleported into the 18th-century Highlands, she was half-naked with a knife to her breast. Don't worry: Claire will get out of that scrape, but more perils await-to say nothing of the emerging multi-era romantic triangle developing between her, the Scottish warrior Jamie Fraser (Sam Heughan), and her 20th-century husband, Frank Randall (Tobias Menzies), who wonders where she's gone.
Based on the much-beloved Diana Gabaldon novels and developed for television by "Battlestar Galactica" rebooter Ronald D. Moore, "Outlander" is an ostensibly lush period-piece-within-a-period-piece drama that's consistently richer and thornier than its romance-novel trappings suggest. And much of the credit goes to Balfe, who had managed small parts in films such as âSuper 8â and âNow You See Meâ before landing the central role in this adaptation.
In person, Balfe is far less imposing than the steely Claire, who has to weather the dangers of being a woman in sexist, violent Scotland in the 1740s. Cast late in the preproduction of âOutlanderââMoore has mentioned in interviews how hard it was to find the right Claireâshe didnât have time to consider what the role would do to her life. âIâm so bad on social media," she confesses on this warm afternoon, nestled underneath a cabana. "I had set up an account on Twitter maybe a year or so before I got this job and had, I thought, a lot of followers â 250 or something, and most of them are my friends. Within about a month or two, it was thousands of people â and my phone, I didn't know how to turn off the alerts, so it was just going all the time. That was the beginning of the awareness."
Growing up in the small Irish community of Monaghan, Balfe had considered acting from an early age. ("I was devastated that I wasn't a child actor," she says, smiling. But after traveling to Dublin to study theater, she changed course once she received an offer to model. It wasn't a secret passion of hers, but who turns down a trip to Paris? "My parents felt that I should finish college," Balfe recalls, "but l'm slightly headstrong, so l took their advice and I completely ignored it."
Over the next decade, she lived in France, Italy, Germany, and Japan, her modeling inexperience hardly a detriment. "You'd be amazed how little information or training goes into it," she says. "When I first arrived in Paris, I was told to take a bus to the office. I left my suitcase â I barely spoke any French â and someone took me across the street, helped me buy a Carte Orange. They printed out five addresses that I had to go to that day, and then they sent me off." She still remembers at 18 riding the subway alongside 16-year-old aspiring Russian models, who knew no French or English, homesick and sobbing their eyes out. "That was just the way it was," says Balfe. "You become pretty tough. When I went to Japan, it was similar: They would drive you to their castings, but the minute you got a job, it would be like, 'Here's an address, here's a map. Good luck.' They don't have signposts in English in Japan, so the map and the address are not always very helpful."
Hear Balfe recount her early misadventures in modeling and you can't help but think of Claire, who's equally thrown to the wolves once she arrives in the 18th century amid people wary of the English in general and assertive women in particular. "Honestly, l've been in so many situations in my life where you just are completely displaced," Balfe says. âYou have to adapt very quickly and figure it out. I definitely think that informs Claire a lot. It helped me understand her."
Did moving to Paris at such a young age teach Balfe that she can cope in any circumstance? "I think I didn't really realize that until many years later," she replies. "I have a great knack of not thinking about things and just going for it. You learn the hard way sometimes that you're able to get through, but sometimes it's quite tough when you're in a situation where you don't know anyone and you're trying to find your way around cities. But if an opportunity presents itself and it seems like a good idea, l'm just like, 'OK, let's do it, then I'll figure it out.'â
The decision to reconnect with her acting ambitions was conducted just as boldly. Ready to quit modeling, she moved to Los Angeles because a writer she was dating lived there. He was the only person she knew, but she had read a Vanity Fair interview with Amy Adams in which she said she trained with Warner Loughlin. "I could walk to that place from my ex-boyfriend's house," she says, "so l was like, 'Well, I'm gonna go there because I can't really drive. I started from scratch. I didn't have any managers, I didn't know any agents, I hadn't acted in almost a decade." But she just kept taking classes, moving from Loughlin to the studios of Sanford Meisner and Judith Weston. "I think when I first got here, I had a nice little air of delusion: 'It's gonna work out,'" she says with a laugh. âYou just don't know how."
And then came "Outlander." By email, Moore admits that he didn't know Balfe's work until her audition tape came unsolicited to his office from her agent. Once she was chosen for Claire, he made it clear how demanding the job would be. âI told her in our first meeting that this was going to be an even bigger responsibility and workload than the normal TV lead," he writes. "Because the story was being told from Claire's point of view, Cait was going to be in every scene, every day for months, which is an extraordinary amount of work, far beyond what most actors are ever asked to do."
Moore's warning didn't faze Balfe. Writes Moore, "After she met with the president of Starz... and it was clear that she was going to land the role, I walked her to the elevator and just before the doors closed on her, I said 'Your life is about to change forever,' and she gave me a grin that was both thrilled and slightly nervous. I never saw her hesitate after that."
She's never hesitated before. As Balfe prepares to say goodbye to L.A. (for now, she thinks back to her early days in the city, trying to convince casting directors that she was more than just a model. "I went on many, many, many, many auditions that were Hot Girl No. 2 â you wanna shoot yourself," she says, laughing. "But, you know, I'm very lucky that l was even getting those auditions in the beginning. And it toughens you up. At least for me, to have that fuel to prove people wrongâit definitely spurs me on and makes me wanna work harder." Then she smiles conspiratorially. "And shove it to them."
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Remember⌠I told her in our first meeting that this was going to be an even bigger responsibility and workload than the normal TV lead. â Ronald D Moore
#Tait rhymes with hat#Good times#National Actors Day#8 September 2024#Backstage#April 2015#Story last updated December 2020#Instagram
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Today is National Actors Day â¤ď¸
Time to celebrate actorsâ talent and dedication. And we celebrate Domhnall every day đĽ°
The Kitchen Los Angeles premiere, August 2019 (New in Hq)
#domhnall gleeson#the kitchen#national actors day#premiere#los angeles#la#red carpet#gabriel oâmalley#ginger men#fave actor
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NOT ZADDY TONY GOLDWYN AT THE DEMOCRATIC NATIONAL CONVENTION?! đđĽ°
#tony goldwyn#democratic national convention#dnc#dnc 2024#day 1#kamala harris#scandal#fitzgerald grant#actor#politics#with his ole fine ass#bae#because tony#zaddy#tony tuesday
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I missed #nationalblackcatappreciationday đ
So, of course I had to make it right. đ¤đââŹđ¤
#vincent price#black cat#cat#cats#kitty#kitty cat#kitties#kitten#kittens#photo#photos#photo edits by me#national black cat appreciation day#hes so cute with the kitties#Peter Lorre#bicon#horror#old horror movies#classic horror#tales of terror#edgar allan poe#vintage#movie#actor
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HsĂť KuangHĂ n 訹ĺ
柢
Men's Uno HK - Feb. 2023
#hsu kuang han#greg hsu#marry my dead body#someday or one day#taiwanese actors#taiwanese drama#twdrama#men's uno#Taiwan's 'National Boyfriend'#ĺć°çˇĺ#not#cdrama
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âWeâre in this together. How can I help you?â
Aaron Pierre and Jayme Lawson as Malcolm X and Betty Shabazz
Genius: MLK/X (Feb 1.)
#if no one else will promote this EYE WILL#jayme lawson#aaron pierre#malcolm x#betty shabazz#genius#genius: MLK/x#martin luther king jr#Martin Luther king jr day#black love#relationships#tv shows#natgeo#national geographic#black actors#black actresses
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HAPPY NATIONAL ACTOR'S DAY!
Here's some Clopin Trouillefou pictures because he is to celebrate with me! đđđŹ
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Celebrating because being a theatre actor is no easy feat. Those who say it is, will get a good smacking. Our profession is complicated too, thank you very much.
Mabuhay mga artista ng bayan!!
#the hunchback of notre dame#happy national actor's day!#mabuhay mga artista ng bayan!#clopin trouillefou#clopin
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#jim howick#bbc ghosts pat#biscuit day#national biscuit day#six idiots#them there#actor#bbc ghosts#ghosts bbc#him#dip it again
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On this National Coming Out Day, we remember Dick Sargent.
While listeners of our podcast may recognize him as Deputy Larry from The Beast With A Million Eyes, heâs most famous for playing the husband on the last 3 seasons of Bewitched.
Citing the high suicide rates of young gays, Sargent publicly came out in 1991 to serve as a âretroactive role model.â When his health began to decline from prostate cancer, he remained in solidarity with those in his community suffering from HIV/AIDS.
âI don't have AIDS. I am HIV-negative. But if I did I would wear that badge as proudly as everybody else who has it."
#dick sargent#national coming out day#queer elders#gay elders#queer history#gay history#gone but not forgotten#lgbtq#queer#gay#beast with a million eyes#the beast with a million eyes#bewitched#gay actor#hiv#aids#tw aids#tw cancer#cancer mention#aids mention
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As well as the voice work for which he's probably best known, David Graham also made fairly regular onscreen performances in all manner of old TV, particularly in the first half of his career.
Also, a lesser known role of his - and one seen by millions of people - was as the face (and voice, of course) of Big Brother in Apple Macintosh's iconic 1984 advertisement;
#david graham#rip#the saint#the avengers#doctor who#crossroads to crime#1984#that ad is a part of pop culture history; I'm guessing a fair amount of tumblr's userbase is too young to know about itâ hell i wasn't born#in 1984â but the ripples of that ad were still being felt when i was young. not perhaps the first major Event ad (I'd Like to Buy the#World a Coke predates it by more than a decade) but this was still unproven ground in terms of scope (the budget was nearly a million#dollarsâ it was directed by Ridley damn Scottâ it was a one minute ad during Superbowl xviiiâ the most expensive commercial airtime#available) and in presentation (the high concept; the fact that the ad was shown nationally just once and never repeatedâ adding to its#mystique). there's some debate about exactly how much it costâ actuallyâ but that money wasn't being seen by the actors involved#(Graham probably made $25 a day for his work on one of the most famous commercials of all time)#variously considered a groundbreaking move towards highbrow advertising or the most soullessâ faux intellectual example of insidious#capitalism in action; regardless it was a Real Moment and i doubt many people realise David was the face of it
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everyone here was soooo excited because a national channel was going to bring back this iconic tv series, directed specifically to the youth, from our childhood and adolescence that we are so nostalgic about after 11 years for them to disappoint us all with the trailer because it looks like elite 2.0
#they ruined morangos com açúcar i dont think you guys understand#this was supposed to be a clichĂŠ show with bad acting about students and dramas at school not a fucking disappearing mystery show#with parties and sex and whatnot đ#they're making it release in 10 episode seasons like streaming shows too.... that's not morangos!!!!! anfngngnbg#the vibe is so different that it actually makes no sense why they would try to tie it with the other seasons plot and actors shsjshs#yes morangos had your occasional topics of teenage pregnancy and queerness and all that jazz but it was actually explored well#the way they're making girls kiss and parties happening and everything of those sorts in the new season is literally like any of those#spanish teenage shows with too much sex scenes and it's embarrassing actually.#the essence of our national tv is getting lost because they want to do stuff that 'sells' except morangos never sold because it was trendy#or even good because the acting was honestly not great. it was literally our company and part of our routine all year around almost#it was the show we would arrive from school to watch before dinner every day#we watched them experience the school year at the same time we did and on holidays there was a special summer edition#it was a whole thing that this new version isn't.#it was a novela directed for the youth and not whatever show they're trying to make and i'm so mad#i actually wanted to see it. morangos was special to so many of us everybody knows the songs everybody loves the artists that came from#that generation we all grew up watching it.... literally.#and capitalism strikes again đ#the auditions were a joke too. they announced auditions for anyone who would like to because another thing about morangos is that it was#a talent factory it gave opportunity to newbie actors and pushed their careers and the new season has a bunch of already renown actors and#actresses and they didn't even care to hide how fake and rigged the public auditons were lol#anyways never building expectations about anything ever again this actually broke my heart man agjshs#i'm gonna mourn this listening to d'zrt 4taste and just girls â
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i think we as a society should band together to figure out how to make blue contacts⌠better.
#like i appreciate the fact that they are remaining true to the characters eye color#but blue contacts just make actors look deadeyed#this is one of the greatest problems facing our nation today#i think that this is something we could solve!!#science performs miracles every day!!#how about this one???#(jokingly)
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So last night at the Democratic National Convention, Kamala Harris pulled off, in my opinion, the most glorious flex in all of American politics. It was petty as fuck and I am here for it:
Harris, in a Show of Force, Holds a Large Rally 80 Miles From Her Convention
Choosing Fiserv Forum in Milwaukee [the smaller venue used for the Republican National Convention] as the venue for Ms. Harrisâs rally also served as an intentional rejoinder to Mr. Trump, who has fumed over the size of her crowds since she replaced Mr. Biden on the Democratic ticket. The campaign said about 15,000 people attended the rally in Milwaukee, and the 23,500-person convention hall in Chicago was packed.ďżź
Someone on Reddit then linked to the Kamala HQ video of her brief Coming To You Live From My Rivalâs Venue acceptance speech for the Democratic nomination. And Redditors pointed out that you could actually see the juxtaposition, and the sold-out crowds could see each other, and it was beautiful.
Posters on r/politics constantly say to any positive discussion, âNone of this matters if you donât vote.â While this is true, the constant doomer nihilism of âNone of this mattersâ pisses me off. I know theyâre afraid people will get complacent. Theyâre afraid people will see, for example, pictures of these massive crowds and think, I donât have to leave the house. I donât have to vote. Everyone else will get this. But thatâs not what I think when I see news like this. It DOES matter. I was always going to drag my carcass out to my polling station in a blood-red state, whether I have to use a cane or not, whether the Electoral College even gives a shit about my vote or not, but this is exciting. Whenever I see Kamalaâs packed, enthusiastic crowds, I think, This is a movement forward and I get to be part of it. We are gonna run up the popular vote as a statement that will make bad-faith actors think twice before meddling, and we are gonna flip some battleground states. We are gonna nail down the electoral votes, and I am going to sit there and watch on TV as they certify the electors in December, and then I am going to sit there and watch them officially count it out like they did on January 6, 2021, and I am going to know that I was part of that.
Itâs not about getting complacent. Itâs about feeling the agency and possibility that we can actually get this done. Itâs about saying, I get to do this, even if itâs just one ballot, one I Voted sticker, one day. Weâre gonna get our first female, first South Asian American, and second Black president into that office. The enthusiasm is our running rebuke to that fucking guy, and weâre gonna get the numbers as even Republican politicians turn on him and support Kamala Harris. And any time someone tells you that being hopeful is getting complacent, come back and look at those crowds. Or better yet, get hyped up by Michelle Obama:
youtube
Hope is energy, not complacency. We can do this.
#kamala harris#michelle obama#yes of the two obama family speeches this IS the one Iâm posting#she got up there and Told It#us politics#video#dnc 2024
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La Regina
Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics
Charles Leclerc x Schumacher!Reader
Summary: a girl raised at her fatherâs knee goes from rising star to princess to queen (or in which becoming a legend runs in the Schumacher family)
You bounce excitedly in the passenger seat of your papaâs car as he pulls into the parking lot of the karting track. At 5-years-old, youâre too young to race officially, but he promised to let you drive some practice laps after the scheduled competition today.
âRemember, Maus, listen closely to the instructors and stay safe out there,â Michael says, ruffling your hair affectionately before getting out.
You scramble out after him, having to jog to keep up with his long strides across the parking lot. You reach to take his hand, but freeze when a small crowd starts converging around your papa. Men in bright vests are rushing over, cameras flashing rapidly.
âWhoa, whatâs going on?â You ask, startled by the commotion.
Before Michael can respond, a curly-haired woman thrusts a baby into his arms. âOh my god, can you just hold her for one second? I need a picture!â
Your papa looks bewildered but graciously cradles the infant, giving an awkward smile as more and more people start shoving pieces of paper and pens in front of him.
âExcuse me, please, I have my daughter with me today,â he tries saying over the chaos, but no one is listening.
You shrink back, overwhelmed by the pushing crowd and flurry of voices pleading for autographs and photos. Where did all these people come from? This has never happened before when youâve gone karting with your papa.
Sensing your unease, Michael gently passes the baby back to its mother and kneels down in front of you. âHey, itâs okay, Maus. Why donât you wait for me over there?â He gestures to a bench off to the side.
Part of you wants to cling to him, scared of all the strangers crowding around so aggressively. But you also donât want him to have to worry about you on top of everything else. You nod bravely and make your way through the throng to the little bench, watching apprehensively as your papa tries politely handling the requests.
After what feels like forever, the crowd finally starts dispersing, though a few linger behind like stubborn cats begging for scraps. Michael shakes the last few hands and accepts some papers to sign before gratefully escaping over to you.
âIâm so sorry about that, Maus,â he says, looking apologetic as he plops down on the bench. âI didnât expect such a scene on whatâs supposed to be our fun day.â
âItâs okay, Papa.â You lean against his side, still a bit rattled but comforted by his familiar warmth. âWho were all those people? Why did they want your ⌠uhh âŚâ You canât quite remember the word for the scribbles people ask famous people for.
âAutographs,â Michael supplies with an amused chuckle, wrapping an arm around you. âAnd they wanted photos too, I suppose. Iâm ⌠well, Iâm quite a famous racecar driver.â
You cock your head, trying to process this concept of your papa being some kind of celebrity. As far as youâre concerned, heâs just your goofy, loving dad who takes you karting and makes the silliest voices for all your stuffed animals at home.
âReally? Like the famous famous people on TV?â Youâve seen the paparazzi swarming the actors and musicians during awards shows, but youâd never imagined that could happen to your own papa.
Michael nods, drawing you closer with a squeeze. âYes, somewhat like that, though itâs a bit excessive at a small karting event.â He laughs again and brushes some of your wayward hair from your face. âBut youâre right, to you Iâm just Papa. I donât expect anything more from my favorite Maus.â
You beam at the affectionate nickname, all the earlier stress melting away. Who cares if strangers want your papaâs autograph or photos? All that matters is you two spending the day together like always.
âCan we go get our karts now?â You ask eagerly, bouncing a little on the bench. âI want to show you how fast I can go!â
âOf course!â Michael jumps up and scoops you into his arms with a playful growl, making you shriek giddily. âMy little speed demon is going to leave me in the dust.â
He swings you up onto his shoulders and you cling on tightly as he strides toward the pit area. A few more people spot him and make a move closer with cameras and sharpies extended, but seem to think better of it when they see you perched up high.
The two of you spend the next couple hours karting together, trading places taking warm up laps and cheering each other on. At one point, a young attendant working the pit area approaches Michael somewhat nervously.
âUm, excuse me, Mr. Schumacher?â Heâs clutching a crumpled baseball cap in one hand, ducking his head shyly. âIâm just such a huge fan, would you mind taking a photo and signing this for me after your session?â
Your papa smiles kindly at the young man and takes the cap. âNot at all, no problem.â As the attendant walks away, looking elated, Michael turns to you with a wink. âSee? Thatâs how you politely ask for an autograph.â
You giggle and mime zipping your lips. âDonât worry, Papa, I wonât let the fame go to my head when Iâm a famous racecar driver too someday.â
Scooping you up once more, Michael presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. âThatâs my girl. Now, last few laps â letâs see who can go the fastest without ending up in the grass!â
As evening starts falling, the two of you make your way back through the now nearly deserted lot after returning the rental karts. Most of the other karters have cleared out, leaving just you two strolling unhurriedly back to the car.
âWell Maus, despite the, uh, overexcited fans, Iâd call this day a success,â Michael says, swinging your joined hands idly. âWe both had our fun on the track, and I think you handled that crowd back there like a champ.â
You smile up at him, still so proud just to be his daughter. âI donât care about all those other people, papa. As long as I have you, thatâs all I need.â
Stopping beside the car, Michael crouches down and cups your face in his calloused racing palms, looking at you with such fierce adoration.
âMaus, you have me, always. No matter what happens out there,â he gestures vaguely at the empty track, âWhen Iâm with you, Iâm just Papa. My greatest accomplishment, my biggest award, is being your father. Verstanden?â
You launch yourself into his arms, hugging as tightly as you can. âVerstanden, Papa. I love you.â
âIch liebe dich mehr, Maus,â he murmurs, pressing his cheek to your hair. âNow, what do you say we go get some victory ice cream?â
As the two of you climb into the car, you canât keep the smile off your face, practically glowing with contentment. Sure, maybe your papa is some big famous racecar driver that everybody wants a piece of. But really, heâs just your papa â and youâre his whole world.
***
The ringing of the house phone cuts through the tense silence like a knife. You shrink further into the couch cushions as your mother rushes to answer it, shoulders visibly taut.
âHello? No, I cannot make any comment at this time. Yes, I understand there is interest but-â Corinna breaks off, rubbing her temples wearily. âPlease respect our privacy as a family right now. Thank you.â
She hangs up and leans against the wall, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. Before she can even draw a full breath, the phone rings again, shrill and insistent. With a muffled curse, your mother snatches it up.
âWhat? I told you, I cannot give any statements! This is a private matter. How did you even get this number?â
You watch apprehensively as she responds again, her voice rising in distress. In the days since your papaâs skiing accident, it seems like the entire world has been hounding your family, desperate for any scrap of information.
On the TV across the room, the endless cycle of news reports drones on lowly. Images of your papaâs broken, still body being rushed from the slopes into a helicopter. Flashing advancer texts speculating on his chances of recovery from the traumatic head injury.
It makes you feel ill.
Beside you on the couch, Mick sits blank-faced, looking nearly as pale and worn as your mother. At 14, he understands the gravity of the situation all too well. Your big brother has always idolized your papa, hoping to follow in his racing footsteps one day as well. The thought of him not being there to see the realization of that dream is devastating.
Gina is curled up in the armchair, her shoulders shaking every so often with muffled sobs. At 16, sheâs arguably been taking this the hardest of all you kids. She keeps her face stoically dry in front of your mother, but you can see how red and puffy her eyes are from constant crying.
As for you, at 11-years-old, youâre somehow both numb and feeling everything all at once. Part of you still canât fully process that this nightmare is real. That your hero, your papa, could be lying comatose in a hospital, hovering between life and death. The other part of you is overwhelmed in a tsunami of terror, panic, anger, sadness â any and every emotion crashing through you at all hours.
âKids, Iâm so sorry about this,â your mother says, defeated, as she rejoins you in the living room after ending her latest call. The bags under her eyes seem to have deepened further overnight. âI know this is incredibly difficult and intrusive. But your papa is ⌠heâs a public figure. People are concerned.â
âIncredibly insensitive is what theyâre being,â Gina spits, uncurling herself from the chair enough to shoot your mother a resentful look. âWeâre going through actual hell and all these people care about is getting a sound bite for the evening news!â
Corinna looks pained but doesnât rebuke her. âI know, liebling, I know. But your papa has millions of fans all over the world who have followed his career for decades. Whether we like it or not, they care about him ⌠and about us by extension.â
You think back to that day at the karting track all those years ago when you first realized your papa was what people called âfamousâ. How all those strangers clamored around him so aggressively just for a photo or an autograph. That level of fandom seemed exciting and novel at the time, when you were just a naĂŻve 5-year-old. Now you see it for how intrusive and violating it is, this sense of entitlement people have to the private life of a public figure.
The phone starts ringing again, shattering the fragile quiet. Your mother squeezes her eyes shut and makes no move to get it this time. After four rings, the call goes to voicemail. A moment later, the tinny sound of an Italian voicemail being left blares through the speaker.
âScusi, scusi, please, if there is any update on the condition of the great Michael Schumacher, any information at all! We are all holding vigils and saying prayers, but we must know how he fares! The world is watching and waiting!â
The words, pleading and demanding all at once, are like a slap across your face. The manâs voice is laced with such desperation, as if your papaâs life is mere entertainment to be consumedby the masses. You feel abruptly furious, incensed that a strangerâs morbid curiosity is given the same weight as your familyâs anguish.
âTurn it off,â Mick mutters through clenched teeth, hunching over on the couch. âJust turn it off, Mama.â
Corinna nods numbly and reaches to end the voicemail, her mouth set in a grim line. Buzzing fills the room again as the TV drones on, the reportersâ voices a dull roar that you can no longer discern actual words from as your ears ring with white noise.
The shrill ringing of the phone cuts through once more, like a record scratching in your brain. Your mother flinches violently, hands coming up to clamp over her ears as she squeezes her eyes shut, finally at her breaking point.
Unable to watch this torture anymore, you surge to your feet and storm across the living room. You rip the phone from its cradle and hurl it against the far wall, the plastic casing shattering loudly. The ringing blessedly ends, leaving only an eerie silence in its wake.
Mick and Gina stare at you with wide, stunned eyes. Your mother simply deflates, sliding down the wall to the floor as the adrenaline drains from her body. For several beats, no one dares breathe too loudly. Then, Gina starts to shake her head slowly, tears slipping free.
âBrava,â she murmurs, the barest hint of approval in her voice.
Your mother doesnât scold you for the outburst. She merely reaches out a hand, silently beckoning you closer until you slowly cross the room again and sink to your knees in front of her. She cups your face in her palms, her own cheeks glistening with fresh tears.
âYouâre right, liebling, youâre right,â she whispers brokenly. âThis is about our family, not ⌠not the world thinking theyâre owed something.â
She pulls your head against her shoulder and you cling to her tightly as she begins to weep in earnest, great shuddering sobs wracking her whole frame. Gina scrambles over and tucks herself against your motherâs other side, and soon all three of you are tangled in each otherâs arms, letting the tidal wave of grief crest over you.
Mick stays frozen on the couch, watching over your huddle with dark, haunted eyes. For the first time since this ordeal began, the four of you are united in simply feeling, truly letting yourselves shatter. No more putting on brave faces or pretending to be okay â from this moment, you can finally grieve as a family behind closed doors, blockading out the rest of the cruel, prying world.
Later that evening, after crying yourselves into an exhausted stupor, you drift up the stairs and sequester yourself in your bedroom. You bypass the framed photos of your papa on your nightstand, the sight of his bright smile and twinkling eyes too searing at the moment. Instead, you sink to your knees in the middle of the floor and clasp your hands tightly, bowing your head to murmur desperate pleas.
âPlease, please let my papa be okay. I donât care about all his fame or the stupid reporters. I just want him to get better and come home to us. Heâs not just the famous Michael Schumacher to me. Heâs Papa. Heâs my whole world.â
The words spill out in a torrent, all the fear and longing youâve been bottling up for the better part of a week erupting forth. You plead to any higher power that may be listening, bargaining away your future, your dreams, anything â as long as your papa pulls through this nightmare.
How many times had you taken for granted those moments of him just being your dad â making you pancakes on Saturday mornings, dozing on the couch during family movie nights, playfully tossing you into the pool when you grew too whiny in the summer heat? Youâd give anything to have those simple, precious daddy-daughter moments back.
âThe world can have his trophies and titles,â you whisper fiercely, tears slipping free to patter on the carpet. âI donât care about any of that. I just want my papa. Please, please bring him back to us.â
You curl in on yourself, forehead pressing into the floor as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. All the adoring fans, the fawning media, the hangers-on clamoring for a piece of his glory â they only know the manufactured public persona of Michael Schumacher, legendary racer and famous celebrity. But to you, heâs always just been the quiet hero tucking you into bed at night, the gentle presence reading stories in funny voices, the mighty protector pulling you in for all-encompassing bear hugs.
You miss that wonderful, silly, tender father more than anything in the world. You donât give a damn about his racing accolades or his fame. You just desperately need your papa back home where he belongs â with his family, the people who loved and treasured him most as simply Michael.
Just Michael. Your one and only papa.
The raw ache of that longing consumes you utterly. You lay there amid the fading light from your bedroom windows, dreams and memories of your papa flickering behind your eyelids as you plead to any benevolent force that may be listening. All you want is the chance to make more joyful memories with him, to hear his rich laugh, to keep basking in his unconditional love for years and years to come.
Please, you beg the universe silently, one last time. Please let this nightmare end. Donât let the brightest light in my world be extinguished before its time.
Let me have my papa back.
***
A tense hush has fallen over the dining room table, the clinking of utensils against plates the only sound cutting through the thick silence. Gina avoids everyoneâs eyes, pushing food around her plate listlessly. Mick stares down at his half-eaten dinner, jaw working like heâs chewing over something weighty. You pick at a bread roll, too knotted with anxiety to muster much appetite.
Your mother is the one to finally break the stifling quiet, clearing her throat. âKids, I know these last few weeks have been ⌠incredibly difficult for us all.â
You risk a glance up at Corinna. Her eyes are tight at the corners, her mouth a taut line. Just like all of you, the constant vigil at your papaâs bedside, combined with the relentless badgering from the media, has clearly taken its toll.
âBut we have to keep trying to be a family, yes?â She reaches across the table to grip your hand. âWeâre all Michael has right now. We have to ⌠to stick together for him.â
You nod numbly, swallowing hard around the lump in your throat at the reminder of your papaâs unchanged condition. The waiting, the not knowing if or when heâll wake up, is a special kind of torment you wouldnât wish on anyone.
Mick abruptly shoves his plate away, the porcelain scraping loudly across the wood. You all flinch a little at the harsh sound.
âIâve been thinking ...â he starts, then seems to reconsider his words, shoulders tightening fractionally. âWell, Y/N, you know how I ⌠how I race under Mamaâs last name?â
You frown slightly, uncertain where heâs going with this. âBetsch, yes. Because you wanted to make your own name without the expectation and pressure of being Michael Schumacherâs son.â
He dips his chin once, looking almost pained. âExactly. And I think ⌠I think maybe you should consider doing the same.â
The words sit heavy and convolulenting between you all like a sack of wet cement. You blink dumbly, hardly comprehending what heâs suggesting at first. When the implication hits you, you actually recoil as if heâd slapped you across the face.
âWhat? No. No, absolutely not, Mick. How can you even say that?â
âY/N, just hear me out,â he pleads, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. âWith Papa ⌠with what happened, the paparazzi and the fans, theyâre going to be watching our every move even more than before. Especially you since youâre planning to continue competing-â
âDonât you dare make this about his condition,â you spit, fury thrumming through your veins like struck lightning. âAnd of course I plan to keep racing â itâs what Papa would want! Iâm not going to hide from his name like itâs some shameful thing!â
Gina is watching the exchange with wide, startled eyes, her food forgotten. Mick runs an agitated hand through his hair, shaking his head firmly.
âItâs not about hiding or shame, itâs about protecting yourself! Donât you see how crazy things have gotten? All the reporters harassing us, the fans leaving awful messages online hoping for updates ...â
He leans forward, expression almost desperate. âIf you race as Betsch, you can compete without having that extra spotlight. You can just be a normal kid on the track without people peering in.â
Heat rushes up the back of your neck in waves of humiliation and rage. How dare he insinuate that inheriting your papaâs legacy is some kind of burden to be shrugged off? That the name Schumacher is a burden to bear rather than a badge of honor?
âIâm not you, Mick,â you bite out, fists clenching beneath the table. âMaybe racing under Mamaâs name helped you deal with the pressure better and thatâs fine. But Iâm proud to be Michael Schumacherâs daughter! And if people canât respect that, if they think it means they own a piece of me, then they can go to hell!â
âLanguage!â Your mother gasps, both appalled and slightly impressed. But you ignore her admonishment, too fired up to rein it in now.
âWhat, you think pretending to be someone else is going to spare me from living in Papaâs shadow anyway?â You shake your head adamantly, leaning across the table towards Mick. âItâs not, and you know it. Even if I raced under a fake name, everyone is still going to know exactly who I am and make comparisons.â
Slamming your palms on the table, you surge to your feet, chair screeching harshly against the floor. All the pain and uncertainty of these past few weeks is bubbling over into bitter, biting words.
âSo why should I hide it? Why canât I take pride in my name and my heritage? Maybe itâll mean more scrutiny, but itâs a million times better than feeling like I have to be ashamed! Like I canât fully honor Papa and make him proud!â
Chest heaving, you stare down a wide-eyed Mick, almost daring him to challenge you further. He seems to read the conviction blazing in your eyes, features softening into chagrin.
âYouâre right ...â he murmurs with a wince. âYouâre right, Y/N, Iâm sorry. That was out of line.â
You hold his repentant gaze for a long moment before deflating back into your chair with a muted thud. In the ringing silence, you can hear your motherâs soft sniffles from the far end of the table. When you look over, she has her head bowed, hands pressed to her eyes as she cries quietly.
âM-Mama?â Gina ventures in a small voice, reaching across to grasp her motherâs wrist. âWhatâs wrong?â
Corinna lowers her hands, swiping at the tears streaking her cheeks. When she meets your bewildered gaze, her expression is a complicated brew of pride and heart-wrenching sadness.
âNothing is wrong, liebling,â she assures Gina with a watery smile, before turning back to you. âY/N, youâre so much like your papa, do you know that? So brave and determined ⌠so full of that same fighting spirit.â
She dips her chin, lips trembling faintly. âHe would be so proud to hear you defend his name like that. To see you ready to take on the weight of wearing it, regardless of what the world throws at you.â
More tears spill forth, but she brushes them away impatiently with the backs of her hands.
âBut liebchen, you have to understand ⌠Michael spent decades bearing that scrutiny and expectation. People analyzing his every move, always under a spotlight so harsh it burned. I never wanted that for any of you.â
Sliding her chair back, your mother crosses to kneel before you, cradling your face gently between her palms. Her eyes are shining but intensely serious, almost pleading with you.
âThe Schumacher name casts such a long shadow, one so great that your own light can be eclipsed before you ever have a chance to properly shine. I donât want you smothered by that burden, mein schatz. I want you free to make your own amazing mark on this world, completely unchained.â
You feel your throat grow tight at her words, the weight of them ringing so true and terribly sad. You reach up to circle your fingers around her wrists, holding her hands to your cheeks like vices.
âI know, Mama, I know,â you whisper roughly. âBut that light you want me to shine? Papa is the one who sparked it inside me in the first place.â
You meet her watery gaze steadily, willing her to understand the conviction taking root inside you.
âThe joy and passion I have for racing doesnât come from some anonymous dream. It comes from him â from the nights he spent giving me a play-by-play of his biggest victories, from the days we spent at the karting tracks making memories, from everything I want so desperately to honor.â
Leaning forward until your brows nearly touch, you let the pleasing words spill out directly from your heart.
âSo please, please donât ask me to race as anyone other than your daughter, yes, but also proudly as Michael Schumacherâs daughter. That name isnât a burden or a shadow to me. Itâs something I want to carry forward and make blaze even brighter.â
Your motherâs eyes slip shut as she draws in a shuddering breath. For a long moment, she simply holds your face cradled in her palms, seeming to bask in your impassioned words. When her eyes finally open again, they are overflowing with a fierce tenderness.
âOh liebchen,â she murmurs, voice thick with an odd mix of grief and wonder. âYou are your fatherâs daughter through and through. So determined, so unafraid to face the world head on ...â
She strokes her thumbs along the apples of your cheeks, swiping away the dampness there. âI only hope he knows just how brightly his fire still burns in you. How it is living on in the most brilliant way.â
Surging up onto her knees, your mother pulls you into a fierce embrace, tucking your head beneath her chin. You cling to her tightly, drawing strength from her warmth, her tireless support and love. Over her shoulder, you can see Mick and Gina watching silently, their own eyes overly bright.
When your mother finally leans back, cupping your face once more, her expression has regained some of its usual firmness and resolution.
âVery well, then,â she nods, offering you a watery but determined smile. âIf you truly feel ready to take on the world, to claim that name and legacy as yours, then we will face it together. As a family.â
She rises lithely to her feet, drawing you up along with her. Gathering Mick and Gina in with the sweep of her arms, she folds you all in her protective embrace, holding your foreheads together in the center.
âYou may be Schumachers, but that name does not define or limit you,â she declares, quiet but firm. âIt is simply one part of your identity, one piece of the incredible legacy you inherited. What you choose to make of it, how brightly you make that legacy burn, is up to you alone.â
She pulls back just enough to meet each of your eyes in turn, her own gleaming with resolute pride.
âSo let them watch, let them scrutinize and sneer and make their judgments. You will simply keep chasing your passions and living your truths. Yes, the world may know you as Schumachers, but you alone will define what that name represents, now and for generations to come.â
***
The roar of the engines fades as you cross the finish line, taking the chequered flag. The broadcast team erupts in excitement.
âUnbelievable! Y/N Schumacher has done it â the daughter of the legendary Michael Schumacher wins the Formula 2 championship in her rookie year!â
You can hardly believe it yourself as you start your cooldown lap, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The pit crew is cheering wildly, holding up the #1 sign. Your race engineer is on the radio, his voice cracking with joy. âYouâre a champion, Y/N! A first-year champion!â
âWhat an incredible drive from the young German. Shades of her father with that relentless determination and racecraft. Sheâs carried on the Schumacher name proudly.â
As you return to the pit lane, you spot Mick getting out of his own car. He has a huge smile on his face, eyes shining with pride. You take a moment to drink it all in as you bring your car to a stop and heâs the first one there, ripping off your helmet so he can hug you tightly.
âYou did it! Iâm so proud of you!â Heâs beaming as he pulls back to look at you.
âAww, Mick ...â You blink back happy tears, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what youâve accomplished. âI couldnât have done it without you pushing me every single race.â
Mick shakes his head dismissively. âThis was all you. You were the faster driver this season, plain and simple.â His face falls a little. âI really thought I had you there at the end, but you just wouldnât give up.â
You grin cheekily. âOf course not! Iâm a Schumacher â we never give up.â
âWhat a beautiful moment between the siblings. You can see the immense pride Mick has for his sister, despite coming up just short of winning the championship himself.â
The rest of the team surrounds the two of you, lifting you both up onto their shoulders as the celebrations kick into full gear. You lock eyes with Mick over the sea of smiling faces and he winks at you contentedly.
Later, after youâve returned to the garage, you find a quiet moment alone with Mick. He pulls you into another hug, this one more lingering.
âI really am so happy for you, Y/N. Youâve worked so incredibly hard for this.â Mickâs voice is thick with emotion.
You squeeze him tightly. âThank you, Mick. That means everything coming from you.â
He pulls back, cupping your face fondly. âI remember when we were kids, dreaming of following in Papaâs footsteps. And now look at us!â
You laugh, a few happy tears spilling over. âI know, itâs crazy! I couldnât have done this without your help, you know. Youâve been by my side every step of the way.â
âA storybook ending for the Schumacher siblings. Y/N cementing herself as a future star, with her older brother not far behind.â
Mick shakes his head adamantly. âNo, Y/N, this was all your talent and determination. I just got a front row seat to watching greatness in the making.â His eyes are shining with sincerity.
You throw your arms around his neck, struck by how lucky you are to have such an amazing brother. âI love you, Mick. Thank you for always believing in me.â
He hugs you fiercely. âIâll always believe in you. Youâre a champion now, but I know this is just the beginning for you.â
The team arrives then, champagne bottles in hand and ready to continue the celebration. You pull back and grin at Mick mischievously, cracking open the first bottle with a cheeky grin. âDonât worry, Iâll go easy on you ⌠for now.â
The bubbly liquid sprays everywhere as you both dissolve into laughter, reveling in this perfect moment of sibling bonding and love. Mick pulls you into a wet hug, so proud and grateful to share this with you.
âAnd an iconic image â the Schumacher children celebrating a Formula 2 title just like their father did in the upper series so many times before. A changing of the guard, with the name Schumacher set to dazzle racing fans once more for years to come.â
Later that night, after youâve showered off the champagne and slipped into comfy clothes, thereâs a soft knock at your hotel room door. You open it to find Mick standing there, shifting awkwardly.
âHey, youâve got a second?â His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, like heâs been crying.
âOf course, whatâs up?â You gesture him inside, concerned by his demeanor.
Mick enters slowly, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. He seems to be struggling to find the words.
You rest a hand on his arm. âMick, you can tell me anything, you know that.â
He nods jerkily, finally meeting your eyes. âI really am so happy for you, Y/N. You have no idea how much it means to me to see you accomplishing your dreams.â His voice catches with emotion.
âBut?â You prod gently.
Mickâs eyes water again. âBut ⌠itâs also really hard for me. This was my dream first, you know? To become a champion like Papa.â He swipes at the tears angrily. âAnd now youâve beaten me to it. Iâm just ⌠Iâm struggling with that a bit.â
Your heart clenches at his quiet admission. You pull Mick into a tight hug, rubbing his back soothingly. âOh, Mick ⌠Iâm so sorry. I never wanted to take that away from you.â
He shakes his head against your shoulder. âNo, no, itâs not your fault at all. You earned this, fair and square. Iâm just ⌠dealing with some complicated emotions, I guess.â
You push him back by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes intently. âMick, listen to me. You are one of the most naturally gifted drivers Iâve ever seen. This is not the end for you, not even close. Youâre going to be a champion too, I know it.â
Mick seems to deflate slightly at your words, the tension easing from his shoulders. âYou really think so?â
âI know so,â you state firmly. âWeâre going to take this to the top level together. And weâre going to make Papa even more proud than he already is.â
A slow smile spreads across Mickâs face. âTogether,â he repeats, reaching out to take your hand and give it a squeeze.
You squeeze back reassuringly. âAlways together. You and me, just like when we were kids. Weâre a team, remember?â
Mick nods, the brightness returning to his eyes. He seems lighter now, the melancholy cloud lifted by your words of encouragement.
On impulse, you throw your arms around him again, nearly knocking him over with the force of your hug. Mick laughs delightedly, squeezing you just as tightly.
âThank you, Y/N. I needed to hear that from you,â he murmurs shakily into your hair.
You pull back just enough to grin at him cheekily. âWhat are little sisters for?â
Mick lets out a surprised bark of laughter, warmth and affection shining from every part of his expression as he gazes at you fondly. âYouâll always be my little sis, champion or not.â
Itâs your turn to laugh, swatting at his chest playfully. âWell this little sis just kicked your ass this season, so show some respect!â
Mickâs eyes crinkle with mirth. âIâll remember that for next year, believe me.â
***
Itâs a crisp autumn evening at the Schumacher family home in the Swiss Alps. Youâre curled up on the plush couch in the living room, flipping through a magazine while your brother paces back and forth anxiously.
âWill you please sit down?â You ask, eyeing him over the top of the pages. âYouâre making me dizzy.â
Mick runs a hand through his tousled blond hair. âSorry, Iâm just ⌠worked up, I guess.â
You set the magazine aside. âAbout what? We havenât had a race in weeks.â
He stops his pacing to face you. âYou know the seasonâs almost over, right? And Haas still hasnât said anything about re-signing me for next year.â
âOh, Mick.â You offer him a sympathetic look. âIâm sure itâs just a matter of time. Youâve had a solid season.â
Mick flops down next to you, deflating a little. âI donât know. There are so many other options on the table. What if Haas decides to go a different direction?â
âThen youâll find another seat,â you say firmly. âAny team would be lucky to have you behind the wheel.â
He manages a half-smile. âThanks. I just wish I had your confidence sometimes.â
âWhat can I say?â You flash him a cheeky grin. âItâs a gift.â
The peaceful moment is shattered as both of your phones start ringing in unison. You exchange a puzzled look before digging them out.
âMy manager,â Mick says, furrowing his brow as he answers. âHello?â
You do the same, pressing the phone to your ear. âHey, Nicolas, whatâs up?â
For the next few minutes, you and Mick are silent, listening intently with rapidly changing expressions â yours elated, his crestfallen. When you finally hang up, Mick is staring at the floor, lips pressed into a tight line.
âWell?â He asks, voice tight. âDonât keep me in suspense.â
You take a deep breath, trying to tamp down your surging excitement. âFerrari wants me for next season.â
Mickâs face falls even further, if possible. âYouâre kidding.â
âI wouldnât joke about this!â You canât keep the grin from overtaking your features. âCan you believe it? Driving for the Scuderia! Itâs a dream come true!â
âYeah, for you maybe,â Mick mutters darkly.
You blink at his tone, smile fading slightly. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
He drags a hand down his face wearily. âHaas declined to re-sign me for next year.â
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. âWhat? No, that canât be right!â
âAfraid so.â Mickâs voice is flat, resigned. âThey said something about ⌠needing to bring in fresh blood or some bullshit excuse.â
You scoot closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. âMick, Iâm so sorry. Thatâs awful.â
âDonât be.â He tries for a nonchalant shrug, but it comes off as dejected. âAt least one of us is moving up in the world.â
âYeah, but at what cost?â You protest. âWeâre teammates! We were supposed to take on Formula 1 together!â
Mick snorts humorlessly. âLooks like thatâs not going to happen after all.â
An uncomfortable silence stretches between you. You open your mouth, searching for the right words of reassurance, but come up empty. How can you comfort him when your own dream has come true at his expense?
âHey.â Mickâs somber tone breaks the quiet. âIâm happy for you, you know. Really, I am.â
You meet his sincere gaze, feeling your eyes start to well up. âI know. But that doesnât make this any less shitty for you.â
He manages a rueful smile. âWhat can I say? Iâm a realist.â
âSo what are you going to do now?â You ask quietly.
Mick lets out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions. âKeep grinding, I guess. Look for another seat, any seat, even if itâs not in F1 next season.â
âYou canât give up on F1!â You protest instantly. âYouâre too good for that, Mick.â
âAm I, though?â He lets out a mirthless chuckle. âFace it, Y/N, youâve always been the better driver. This just proves it.â
You shake your head adamantly. âThatâs not true at all! Youâre every bit as talented as me.â
âThen why did Ferrari pick you instead of me?â Thereâs no accusation in his words, just weariness.
You falter, mind churning as you search for an answer that wonât come. âI ⌠donât know.â
âExactly.â Mick closes his eyes briefly. âMaybe itâs for the best. At least this way, one of us still gets to live out the Schumacher legacy and race for Ferrari. Carry on the family name, you know?â
âBut youâre a Schumacher too,â you say, feeling your throat start to tighten with unshed tears. âIt should be both of us out there, not just me.â
Mick reaches over to give your hand a comforting squeeze. âHey, donât cry about it. Iâll be okay, really.â
âHow can you be so calm about this?â You swipe angrily at the moisture gathering in your eyes. âItâs not fair, Mick. Itâs just not fair at all.â
He levels you with a look thatâs decades older than his years. âLife rarely is. You know that as well as I do.â
You fall silent, unable to formulate a response. Heâs right, you realize with a pang. The two of you, of all people, should understand that success and failure often go hand-in-hand, even for the most talented competitors.
Pursing your lips, you lean forward and pull Mick into a fierce hug. He tenses for a split second before wrapping his arms around you tightly.
âIâm still so proud of you,â you murmur into the crook of his neck. âNo matter what happens, youâll always be my incredible big brother.â
Mick lets out a shaky exhale against your hair. âAnd youâre the most badass little sister a guy could ask for. Ferrari has no idea what theyâre in for.â
You pull back just far enough to meet his eyes, emboldened by the warm affection shining in them.
âJust promise me one thing?â You ask.
He arches an eyebrow quizzically. âWhatâs that?â
A mischievous grin tugs at your lips. âThat youâre not going to take it easy on me whenever youâre back on the grid.â
***
You take a deep breath as you pull your sleek new Ferrari up to the iconic factory in Maranello. This place holds so many memories â some joyful, others bittersweet. Your father cemented himself as a legend here, and you canât help but feel the weight of that legacy on your shoulders now more than ever.
The door swings open and there stands Fred Vasseur offering you a warm smile. âY/N, welcome home.â
You return the smile, unable to mask the flood of emotions. âItâs good to be back, Fred.â
He gestures for you to follow him inside. âIâm sure this place brings back quite a few memories.â
âYou have no idea,â you murmur, taking in the familiar sights and smells. The rosso corsa that coats every surface, the scent of machinery and high-octane fuel ⌠itâs intoxicating.
A tiny you runs through the hallways, giggling madly as your frantic mother tries to catch up. âMick! Y/N! Get back here this instant!â
Mick peeks out from behind a workbench, sticking his tongue out at Gina, who playfully swats at him. You spot the perfect hiding spot â a massive green recycling bin tucked in the corner ...
âY/N? Are you still with me?â Fredâs voice breaks you from your reverie.
You shake your head. âSorry, got a bit lost in thought there. This place just ⌠feels like stepping into the past.â
Fred nods knowingly. âI can only imagine. But today is about your future with the team.â He leads you through the winding corridors, pointing out various departments. âOver here is aerodynamics, that hallway takes you to the design labs ...â
âCome out, come out, wherever you are!â Your fatherâs voice echoes down the corridor, his tone playful but tinged with desperation. You stifle a giggle from your hiding spot as his footsteps draw closer.
âMichael, any luck?â Thatâs Paolo, one of the mechanics. You chance a peek and see half the team has been enlisted to search for you.
Your dad scrubs a hand over his face. âSheâs too good at this game. Shouldâve known better than to play hide-and-seek in a place this size.â
You chuckle softly at the memory, prompting a curious look from Fred. âSorry, just ⌠reminiscing again.â
He gives you an easy grin. âBy all means, feel free to share. Iâd love to hear some of those old stories.â
You take a breath, composing yourself before launching into the tale. âWell, there was this one time when I was maybe ⌠four or five? Mick and I were causing an unholy ruckus as usual, and Papa suggested a game of hide-and-seek to wear us out. Big mistake on his part.â
Fredâs eyes crinkle with amusement. âLet me guess, you proved to be a master hider?â
âYou could say that.â You grin mischievously. âI found this big recycling bin, crawled inside, and stayed completely silent while the whole team tore the place apart looking for me. Papa was just about to call in the overalls for backup when Paolo finally peeked in the bin.â
Fred throws his head back with a hearty laugh. âI can just picture your poor fatherâs face when they found you! He mustâve been both relieved and completely exasperated.â
You nod. âOh, he wore that particular blend of emotions often when we were young terrors around here.â
The two of you continue chatting amicably as Fred shows you around the various facilities â the simulator room, the engine workshop, even the gym and physiotherapy center. With each new area unveiled, another flood of nostalgia washes over you.
You and Mick sprint into the wide-open workshop, engines and miscellaneous car pieces scattered all around. Gina is closing in, her longer legs giving her an advantage.
âGot you now, you little gremlins!â She scoops Mick up with one arm, then turns her sights on you.
You let out a shriek of laughter, dodging around a massive piece of equipment as your mother joins the chase. âCome here, Maus! Itâs time for your nap!â
You shake your head furiously. âNo nap! No nap!â
Corinnaâs hand finally snags the back of your shirt, and you erupt into a fit of giggles as she pulls you into a hug ...
âThatâs some smile youâve got going there,â Fred notes with a wry grin. âI take it another happy memory?â
You give an embarrassed laugh. âYeah, you could say that. Just ⌠remembering how this place used to be our personal jungle gym. Mick, Gina, and I would run absolute loops around Mama while she tried to wrangle us for nap time.â
Fred chuckles fondly. âI can picture three tiny terrors leaving chaos in their wake.â His expression softens. âIt must be incredibly special to be back here after all these years. To follow in your fatherâs footsteps like this.â
You swallow hard against the swell of emotions. âItâs ⌠overwhelming, if Iâm being honest. But in the best possible way.â You glance around at the familiar setting with new eyes. âThese halls practically raised me. And now ⌠now I get to write my own chapter here.â
Fred gives your shoulder an affectionate squeeze. âYouâve got a long road ahead, but I have complete faith youâll make us all proud, Y/N.â
You straighten your shoulders, giving him a determined nod. âIâm ready.â
As you follow him further into the factory, you canât help but revel in the rush of coming full circle. Yes, this team, this place, is indelibly woven into your childhood. But now ⌠now itâs time to create new memories.
To race.
To win.
To become a legend.
***
The crowd outside the Ferrari headquarters swells as you emerge from the famous red doors for the first time as an official Scuderia Ferrari driver. Shouts and cheers erupt from every direction, fans pressing forward eagerly with pens and photos clutched in their hands.
âOver here, Y/N!â
âUn selfie, per favore!â
âCan you sign this for my daughter?â
You plaster on a polite smile, trying to graciously oblige as many autograph and photo requests as possible. But the throngs only grow more insistent, hands grabbing at you from all angles as the crowd closes in. Your heart races and you feel yourself starting to panic at the lack of personal space.
âPer favore, let her breathe!â An insistent voice cuts through the commotion in lightly accented Italian.
The crowd parts slightly as a familiar, lean figure pushes through â your new teammate. His green eyes meet yours with a reassuring look as he plants himself firmly by your side.
âGive her some space!â Charles barks out in English this time. âShe canât breathe!â
You shoot him a grateful glance as the fans reluctantly take a step back. Charles gently takes your arm and pulls you out of the scrum.
âSorry about that,â he says with an apologetic smile, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. âI know how intense they can be around here.â
âNo, thank you,â you reply earnestly. âI was about two seconds away from an anxiety attack.â
Charles chuckles. âWell, we canât have the new driver cracking under pressure on day one.â
You make a face at his teasing remark. âWatch it, pretty boy.â
Laughing, Charles puts his arm around your shoulders in a friendly gesture. âCome on, I know just the place to escape the madness for a bit. Dinnerâs on me.â
He guides you across the plaza and down a side street to a cozy trattoria â Ristorante Montana, known as the unofficial âFerrari restaurantâ frequented by team members. As you enter, a stout woman with a warm, welcoming smile emerges from the back.
âAh, Charles! Welcome back. And this must be ...â Her eyes widen as they land on you. âOh, la piccola principessa is all grown up!â
Flustered, you open your mouth to respond, but the woman has already swept you up in a tight embrace.
âRossella, youâre smothering the poor girl!â A elderly manâs voice calls out in amused rebuke.
âHush, Maurizio, and pour us some wine!â Rossella releases you and holds you at armâs length, beaming. âMichaelâs little girl, all woman now. Iâll never forget the first time your father brought you in here as a bambina.â
She gestures to a framed photo hanging on the wall of a much younger Rossella standing next to Michael, who is holding a grinning toddler â unmistakably you.
âHe was so proud,â Rossella continues misty-eyed. âJust like I know he would be of you today, following in your fatherâs footsteps.â
You swallow hard, touched by the warm welcome and memory. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Charles watching you with a soft smile.
Rossella shifts gears abruptly, all business. âNow, what will you two have? The usual for you, Charles? And for you, la principessa, I insist you try the gnocchi al ragĂş. Just like my nonna used to make it.â
As Rossella whisks off to the kitchen, Maurizio appears with a bottle of deep red wine and two glasses.
âTo new beginnings,â he toasts with a wink, pouring for you and Charles.
You raise your glass to clink against Charlesâ with a smile. âNew beginnings.â
Over pasta and wine, you and Charles fall into an easy rapport, bantering back and forth as the weight of the eveningâs earlier stress dissipates. You find yourself repeatedly distracted by the dimpled grin that lights up his face whenever he laughs at one of your quips.
âSo is this a regular hazing ritual you put all the rookies through?â You ask innocently. âGet them away from the crowds and ply them with wine so theyâre too drunk to be nervous on day one?â
Charles barks out a laugh. âYouâve found me out! Although I do seem to recall my own initiation being a lot harder. Maybe Iâm going soft in my old age.â
âOld age? Youâre what âŚ12?â You retort, eyes dancing with mirth.
The waiter arrives with the dessert menu, but Rossella shoos him away.
âNo, no menu. Iâm bringing you the tiramisu to share. My secret recipe.â
Charles groans in delight. âYouâre a legend, Rossella.â
She pats his cheek affectionately before disappearing again. A comfortable silence falls between you and Charles as you each take a bite of the rich, velvety tiramisu.
âMmmm, this is literally heaven,â you murmur happily.
Charles hums in agreement around another forkful.
Your eyes catch movement out of the corner and you turn to see Rossella returning, carrying a large framed photo under her arm. She sets it down on the empty chair next to you with a proud grin.
Itâs a glamor shot of you from a recent photoshoot for Vogue Italia â hair and makeup impeccable, lips parted in a secret smile as you gaze directly at the camera.
Rossella rests a hand on your shoulder. âFor me, bellissima? So we can hang la principessa right next to il padre.â
Touched, you take the proffered sharpie and scribble out a quick inscription before signing your name with a flourish at the bottom.
âGrazie mille,â Rossella breathes, throwing an arm around you to squeeze you against her ample frame. âYouâve made this old heart very happy tonight.â
When she finally releases you, you see Charles watching you both with a soft, almost wistful expression. You raise your eyebrows at him in question, but he just shakes his head with a smile.
As you and Charles prepare to depart, Rossella calls out once more. âYou come back soon, eh principessa? I have more pictures to collect.â
You throw her a wink over your shoulder. âDâaccordo, dâaccordo. Weâll be back soon!â
Out on the street, you pause, conscious of the evening rapidly drawing to a close. You turn to Charles, studying him properly for the first time. His deep green eyes crinkle at the corners as he meets your gaze.
âThank you,â you say sincerely. âReally. I donât know what I would have done if you hadnât swooped in to rescue me back there.â
Charles shrugs nonchalantly, but his expression is kind. âWe look out for our own in Ferrari. Thatâs what teammates are for, no?â
A beat passes, the momentary tension thickening between you. Then Charles seems to catch himself, clearing his throat.
âAnyway, I should let you get going before your handlers send out a search party. Need me to call you a car?â
âNo, no Iâm good,â you reply quickly, trying to mask your disappointment at the night ending. âMy performance coach has the car around front.â
You start to turn away, then impulsively pivot back. Rising up on your toes, you throw your arms around Charlesâ neck and pull him in for a brief, platonic hug.
âSeriously, thank you,â you murmur in his ear. âFor everything.â
As you pull back, your faces are just inches apart. Charlesâ eyes are warm, his gaze intense. For a dizzying moment, youâre certain heâs going to kiss you. Then just as suddenly, the moment passes and he steps back with a friendly smile.
âAnytime, princesse. Iâll see you bright and early next week for our first time running the SF-23 on the simulator.â
With a wink, he turns and saunters off down the street, hands shoved in his pockets in that effortlessly cool way of his. You let out a long breath, flustered and exhilarated all at once.
Your performance coach has indeed been waiting with the car, looking mildly concerned. âEverything alright?â
You flash her a bright smile, practically skipping to the car. âIt is now, Mara. It absolutely is.â
Your first day as a Ferrari driver was certainly more than you bargained for. But as you settle into the plush leather seats, you canât wipe the silly grin off your face. Something tells you this new chapter with the Scuderia is going to be an adventure â in more ways than one.
As Mara pulls away from the curb, you catch a final glimpse of Charles striding confidently down the street. Even from a distance, you can make out the dimpled smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
Leaning back against the headrest, you think back to the memory of his arm slung casually around your shoulders and sigh contentedly. Yes, you have a feeling this is just the beginning of whatâs shaping up to be a very interesting partnership with Charles Leclerc.
***
Sebastian looks over the wine list, pretending to be engrossed in selecting the perfect vintage as he peers over the top of the menu. His eyes are fixated on the entrance to the upscale Italian restaurant, waiting for Charles and you to arrive.
This had better work, he thinks to himself. The two of you have been making googly eyes at each other for months now, but are both too stubborn to make a move.
Finally, the hostess leads Charles and you into the dining room. Sebastian ducks down, pulling the brim of his fedora lower over his face and adjusting the fake mustache heâs wearing as a disguise. He watches as the hostess shows Charles and you to an intimate table for two by the window, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating your faces.
âThere must be some mistake,â Charles says, looking around in confusion. âI was under the impression we were meeting Sebastian here for dinner?â
You look equally perplexed. âThatâs what he told me too. He said to meet at 8 oâclock sharp.â
âWell this is just awkward,â Charles runs a hand through his tousled hair. âShould we wait for him or ...â
Before you can respond, the waiter arrives with a basket of bread and butter. âGood evening, my name is Gerardo and Iâll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?â
âActually, weâre still waiting on-â Charles begins, but the waiter cuts him off.
âAh yes, Mr. Vettel asked me to inform you that he will be unable to join this evening after all. A last minute obligation came up. He insisted I take excellent care of you both and that the evening is on his treat.â Gerardo smiles broadly. âSo what will you have to drink?â
Sebastian smirks to himself at his cleverly orchestrated ruse from his secluded table in the back corner. He watches with bated breath as a flustered Charles and you exchange an awkward look.
âIâll have a glass of Chianti,â you say finally, breaking the tension.
âMake that two,â Charles adds with a resigned sigh.
As Gerardo heads off to grab your drinks, an uncomfortable silence falls over the table. âYou know, we donât have to stay if you donât want to,â Charles says, ever the gentleman. âIâm sure thereâs been some misunderstanding.â
âDonât be silly,â you reply, offering him a warm smile that makes Sebastianâs heart melt a little. âIt would be rude to ruin the evening Sebastian so carefully planned, even if heâs not actually here to enjoy it.â
Charles visibly relaxes at your acceptance of the situation. âYouâre right, of course. If itâs a free dinner, we would be fools to turn that down!â
You both share a laugh, finally breaking the ice. Sebastian feels a swell of pride watching the two of you start to let your guards down around each other.
Over the next hour or so, Sebastian is delighted to see Charles and you become more at ease, trading jokes and stories over several delectable courses of pasta, veal, and freshly baked focaccia. Heâs never seen either of you look so lighthearted and carefree, nor has he witnessed two people connect on such an organic, genuine level before. Itâs positively magical to behold.
Gerardo arrives once more, this time bearing a decadent slice of torta della nonna for you to share for dessert. âCompliments of the house,â he announces with a wink before departing.
You immediately dig into the lemony confection with gusto. âOh my god, this is dangerously good,â you moan through a mouthful of pastry cream and flaky crust.
Charles tries and fails to stifle a laugh at your unabashed enthusiasm. âYouâve got a little ...â he gestures vaguely at the corners of your mouth.
âWhat? Where?â You ask, attempting to wipe the stray crumbs and smears of powdered sugar from your cheeks.
âHere, let me,â Charles says softly, reaching across the table with his cloth napkin.
Sebastian watches with bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest, as Charles tenderly swipes the napkin along your lips, his thumb grazing your cheek in the process. The moment seems to last an eternity, the two of you locked in each otherâs smoldering gaze.
Then, ever so slowly, Charles leans across the table towards you. Sebastian can scarcely breathe as he witnesses the magnetic pull drawing the two of you together. This is it, this is finally happening, he marvels silently.
Sebastian lets out an inadvertent yelp of glee and instantly slaps his hands over his mouth. A table of nearby diners turns to gawk at the strange mustached man.
âAhem, sorry! Hairball,â Sebastian rasps out in a terrible Italian accent. He slinks down in the booth, burning with embarrassment as the other patrons slowly turn away with disgusted looks.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charles and you also turn towards the commotion, the heated moment effectively ruined. Damn it, he was so close!
You and Charles eventually turn back towards each other, the awkwardness having returned. âWe should, uh, probably ask for the check soon,â Charles mumbles, unable to meet your eyes.
âYeah, Iâve got an early training session in the morning anyway,â you reply, the disappointment evident in your voice as you stare down at the table.
Inwardly cursing his rotten luck, Sebastian motions for the bill and slips his black credit card into the folder when Gerardo brings it. He knows the only way to redeem this night is to insist you and Charles stay for one more drink. Maybe add a little more wine confidence to help reignite that spark you both nearly combusted over just moments ago.
As Gerardo whisks away to process Sebastianâs payment, the older German steels his nerves. He removes his ridiculous disguise, straightens his tie, and makes his way over to your table with purpose.
âWell, well, what do we have here?â Sebastian asks with an exaggerated wink as he reaches you. âIt appears Mr. Leclerc and Miss Schumacher were stood up this evening. For shame!â
âAh, Seb!â Charles laughs in surprise at seeing his friend and former teammate. âWe should have known you were behind this madness.â
You roll your eyes good-naturedly. âYouâre a menace! I canât believe you tricked us like that.â
Sebastian claps his hands together and flashes you both a devilish grin. âWhat can I say? Iâm a hopeless romantic who cannot abide two clearly smitten people tiptoeing around each other any longer. Now, Gerardo is going to bring you the finest Barolo they have, on my dime, and you are going to remedy this sexual tension situation once and for all over another bottle or three!â
Charles opens his mouth to protest, but you laugh delightedly and nod towards Sebastian. âYou know what, I could go for another drink. What do you say, Charles?â
The older Ferrari driver seems to wilt under the weight of your brilliant smile, Sebastian canât fault the man for that. âAh, what the hell,â Charles shrugs, throwing his arm around the back of your chair. âLetâs see where this night takes us!â
Sebastian settles in, pouring you all generous glasses of the deep ruby wine when Gerardo delivers it. He may be getting on in years, but his matchmaking job has only just begun. One way or another, heâs determined to ensure his two protĂŠgĂŠs quit stumbling over each other and finally discover the romance thatâs been blossoming under their noses all along.
Sipping his wine, Sebastian gazes at you and Charles, sees the tenderness flickering in both your eyes as you lean in closer together over the candlelight. He smiles contentedly to himself.
Mission accomplished.
***
The paddock is mostly deserted at this late hour, the muffled sounds of the teams packing up drifting in from the garages. You linger near the Ferrari motorhome, watching Charles sitting alone on a stack of tires, shoulders slumped. Heâs been increasingly withdrawn these past few days leading up to the Japanese Grand Prix.
You approach slowly, not wanting to startle him. âCharles? You okay?â
He looks up, managing a small smile when he sees you. âHey, mon amour.â
Thereâs a weariness to his voice that tugs at your heart. You take a seat beside him, letting your arm brush against his in a subtle show of support. âTalk to me. Whatâs going on?â
Charles is silent for a long moment, pulling his helmet off and turning it over in his hands. âItâs Suzuka,â he finally says, so softly you have to lean in to hear him. âBeing back here ⌠itâs difficult.â
Your brow furrows. Right, this is where Jules Bianchi crashed, his accident eventually proving fatal. Charles had been incredibly close with his mentor and godfather. âI canât even imagine how painful this must be.â You cover his hand with yours. âHaving to race on the same track ...â
âI relive that day over and over.â Charlesâs accented voice is thick with emotion. âI can still see the footage of his car slamming into the crane, like itâs burned into my mind. He was my friend, my godfather, like a brother to me. And now every year, I have to come back to this place that took him from us far too soon.â He squeezes his eyes shut, a stray tear escaping.
âOh, Charles ...â You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. His body is rigid at first before melting against you, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him tightly as his breath hitches with suppressed sobs, your own eyes stinging. How many times has he bottled up this grief, putting on a brave face for the world?
âIâm so sorry,â you murmur, stroking his back. âI canât imagine the pain youâve carried all these years. But Jules wouldnât want you torturing yourself like this.â You pull away enough to frame his face with your hands, meeting his reddened eyes. âHeâd want you to keep living, to keep pursuing your dream that he helped nurture. Heâd be so proud of everything youâve accomplished.â
Charles manages a watery smile, covering one of your hands with his. âYouâre right. Thank you, chĂŠrie. I donât know what Iâd do without you.â He leans in, resting his forehead against yours with a shuddering sigh. âI just miss him so much some days. Like an ache I canât shake.â
âI know.â You brush away the dampness on his cheeks with your thumbs. âBelieve me, I understand that ache all too well.â
A crease forms between Charlesâs brows as he regards you intently. âYour papa.â
You give a solemn nod. âEveryone talks about him like heâs gone. But heâs not, heâs still here, still breathing. Itâs just ⌠heâs not the same man I grew up with anymore.â You blink back tears of your own. âSometimes Iâll see flashes that remind me so much of how Papa used to be. And then that illusion is shattered and Iâm grieving all over again for the person he was.â
Charlesâ arms wrap around you fully, tucking your head under his chin. âI canât imagine how hard that must be. Seeing those glimpses of the man he was, only to have that hope ripped away.â He presses his lips to the crown of your head. âYouâre the strongest person I know.â
You let out a choked laugh. âYeah, definitely doesnât feel like it most days.â Pulling away, you try for a smile. âBut we Schumachers are fighters. We donât stay down for long.â
âThatâs my girl.â Charles grins, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. âIâm lucky to have you by my side through all of this craziness. I donât know what Iâd do without your support, especially this weekend.â
âAre you kidding?â You turn to fully face him, clasping his hands in yours. âCharles, youâve been my rock too, you know that? Signing with Ferrari this year, following in my fatherâs footsteps ⌠the pressure has been immense. But youâve never let me crumble under it. Youâre always there with a laugh or a hug or some silly joke to make me smile even on the hardest days.â
Charlesâs grin turns lopsided, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes your heart flutter. âWell, someone has to keep that ego of yours from inflating too much, future champion.â He leans in until his lips are a mere breath from yours. âBut in all seriousness, weâre in this together, okay? No matter what the future holds, Iâll always have your back.â
âI know,â you murmur, feeling his words like a soothing balm over the parts of your heart still aching for your father as you once knew him. âAnd Iâll always have yours. Weâre a team, on and off the track.â You close the distance between you, kissing him deeply.
Charles returns the kiss with fervor, his fingers threading through your hair to hold you close. The worries plaguing you both seem to temporarily fade into the background amid the warmth and solidity of his embrace. When you finally break apart, breathless, his emerald gaze holds an intensity that steals the air from your lungs in the best way.
âJe tâaime,â he murmurs, the endearment like a vow falling from his lips. âNo matter what happens out there tomorrow, or any other race day, that will never change. You and me against the world, princesse.â
You flash him a coy smile, feeling desire begin to simmer low in your belly. âIs that a promise, Mr. Leclerc?â
âMmm, I can make it one if youâd like.â Charles waggles his eyebrows, making you giggle as his hands roam freely over your back and sides, pulling you flush against him. His voice drops to a husky whisper. âMaybe I can find more convincing ways to pledge my devotion once weâre back at the hotel.â
âI definitely wouldnât be opposed to that,â you say breathily, leaning in to nip at his lower lip in a way that makes him groan. âThough if memory serves, I seem to recall you saying something about honoring the teamâs curfew tonight?â You trail openmouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw. âWouldnât want to be ⌠sleep deprived before the race.â
Charlesâs fingers flex against your hips as he lets out a shuddering breath. âYouâre really testing my willpower here.â
âPayback for all those times youâve tortured me.â You punctuate the statement with a sharp nip to the sensitive skin below his ear, making him jerk against you with a strangled sound. Pulling back, you smirk at the glazed look in his eyes. âWhatâs the matter? Cat got your tongue?â
He blinks slowly, then his gaze narrows in a way that makes heat flare across your skin. âOh, youâre going to pay for that later.â His voice is low, almost a growl that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.
âI look forward to it.â You lean in until your lips are nearly brushing his again.
âTease,â Charles accuses, though his kiss quickly swallows any further retort.
You lose yourself in the press of his mouth, the exploring glide of his hands over your body, the undeniable chemistry that still sometimes takes your breath away. When you finally break apart, gasping for air, you stay wrapped in each otherâs arms, foreheads resting together.
âThank you,â Charles murmurs after a long beat of comfortable silence. âFor always knowing how to pull me out of my own head. I donât know what Iâd do without you.â
âThatâs what partners are for,â you say simply, brushing back the silken strands of chestnut hair falling over his forehead. His eyes are so warm, so full of love and adoration, you feel it envelop you like a cozy blanket. âIâll always be here to lean on, just like you are for me.â
Charles catches your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. âAnd Iâm grateful for that every single day. Facing the good times and bad, together.â His thumb strokes over your knuckles. âI know Suzuka will never be easy, not with the weight of the memories here. But you make the burden feel lighter. Like no matter what, Iâll be okay as long as I have you by my side.â
You lean in, brushing a featherlight kiss across his lips. âAlways. No matter what the future holds, youâre stuck with me, Leclerc.â
A slow, utterly content smile spreads across his face. âI wouldnât have it any other way.â He steals another lingering kiss before glancing toward the pit area, where the last few stragglers are packing up for the night. âAs much as Iâd love to keep you all to myself, I suppose we should try to get some rest before tomorrow.â
Sliding off the tire stack, he offers you his hand, that warm gleam still dancing in his forest-colored eyes. âThough maybe we could indulge in a long, hot shower first? You know, to ⌠unwind after such an emotionally draining evening.â
You raise an eyebrow at his transparent attempt at nonchalance, but canât help a smirk from tugging at your lips. âWhy, Mr. Leclerc, are you propositioning me?â
âWould that be so terrible?â He tugs you into his arms, leaving a trail of teasing kisses along your jaw. âAfter all, we did have quite the ⌠charged conversation just now. Iâd hate for all that pent-up tension to distract us on track tomorrow.â
You let out a breathless giggle as his wandering hands and lips leave tingles across your skin. âWell, when you put it that way ⌠I suppose a nice, relaxing shower could be just what we need to clear our heads.â Looping your arms around his neck, you meet his heated gaze through lowered lashes. âLead the way, liebling.â
Charlesâ responding grin is nothing short of wolfish. âWith pleasure.â Scooping you up in his arms, he heads for the parking lot at a swift pace, leaving the weight of Suzuka and its ghosts behind for the night.
***
The roar of the crowd is deafening as you bring your Ferrari across the finish line, tires smoking from the incredible pace. Your race engineerâs voice crackles over the radio, congratulating you, but the words are drowned out by the thunderous cheers echoing around the Autodromo Nazionale Monza.
You can hardly believe it. Your first season with the Scuderia and youâve just won the Italian Grand Prix â on the hallowed ground that your father once ruled. The sea of fans decked out in red is a sight to behold, celebrating wildly as you complete the cool-down lap.
Pulling into parc fermĂŠ, you kill the engine, the high-pitched whine slowly dying away. Undoing the straps, you clamber out, still trying to process what just happened. This is really real.
âYou!â
The familiar voice makes you turn. Itâs Charles, beaming from ear-to-ear despite settling for second place today. He pulls you into a massive hug, squeezing you tightly.
âI canât believe you just did that! Amazing drive!â
You laugh, giddy with joy and adrenaline. âI still canât believe it either! Everything just ⌠clicked.â
âThatâs putting it mildly,â Charles chuckles, ruffling your sweat-damp hair. âYou were incredible out there. Absolutely brilliant.â
Hearing the praise from your boyfriend means everything. You know how hard heâs worked, how much heâs sacrificed to get this far. And heâs still your biggest supporter.
The two of you finally pull apart as the rest of the team makes their presence known, congratulating you with bearhugs and massive pats on the back. You did it â you brought the victory home for Ferrari at the Temple of Speed.
After the chaos of the post-race celebrations dies down a little, itâs time for the podium ceremony. You canât wait to stand up there, basking in the adulation of the wildly passionate Tifosi. As you make your way out with Charles and the third place finisher, the crowdâs cheers swell to a new eardrum-bursting level.
Climbing the steps, you take your spot on the top level, heart racing as you look out over the endless sea of fans. The air is filled with brilliant red smoke, passionate flag-wavers creating mesmerizing patterns. Youâve seen Grands Prix in Italy before, but being up here, having actually won â itâs on another level entirely.
Speeches are made, anthems are played, and then itâs time to crack open the podium champagne. As the bottles are picked up, a rolling chant starts building in the grandstands:
âLa Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!â
The sound shakes you to your core. Tears instantly spring to your eyes.
Charles, beside you on the second step, grins and nudges you. âListen to them! Youâve done it â youâve made them fall in love with you just like they did with your father.â
Looking down at him with misty eyes, you mouth, âThank you,â so overwhelmed that you canât speak. He slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. The two of you share a soft kiss as the chanting grows louder and louder.
As you pull back, gazing out over the surging tide of humanity, faces beaming up at you in adoration, it finally sinks in. This moment â winning at Monza for Ferrari, with Charles by your side, the Tifosi embracing you wholeheartedly â is beyond anything you ever could have dreamed.
The emotions pour out in waves of joy and pride and disbelief. You raise your bottle high, echoing the chants and cheering your heart out to the crowd. They roar back even louder, feeding off your energy in the way that only this group of diehard fans can.
Once the champagne showers subside, giddy fans whistling at you and Charles canoodling on the podium, itâs time to head back down. But the celebrations are just getting started. The team wants to keep the party going.
On the drive over to Maranello, you find yourself sandwiched in the backseat between Charles and your race engineer, Ricky. Everyone is grinning like maniacs, high on the thrill of victory, singing drinking songs at the top of their lungs.
âSolo per lei! Principessa di Monza!â Ricky bellows, gently elbowing you. The rest join in, filling the car with the chant of âOnly for her! Princess of Monza!â You canât stop giggling, leaning into Charles, deliriously happy.
Once you finally roll up to the factory, the party spills out of the car and into the streets. The entire workforce has turned out, waving huge Ferrari flags, beating drums and sounding air horns in celebration. Youâre immediately swarmed, being passed from hug to hug as champagne is sprayed in joyful arcs.
They finally manage to sweep you, Charles, and most of your garages inside the factory, where long banquet tables have been set up in the main hall. An enormous cheer goes up as you enter, sparkling wine sloshing from hastily poured glasses all around you.
The meal that follows is a total blur â amazing food, flowing alcohol, raucous toasts, and the happiest pandemonium youâve ever witnessed. You keep getting tugged from conversation to conversation, everyone wanting to hear how the race played out from your lips. Charles sticks by your side the whole time, looking on with sheer pride.
At one point, you end up going shot for shot with Fred Vasseur, the team principal pouring vodka like his job depends on it. âLa mia principessa!â He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy. âYouâve made us all so proud today!â
He hoists his glass. âTo our Princess! The Princess of Monza!â
The chant starts up again all around you. âLa Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!â
You beam at them all, squeezing Fredâs hand. No words can describe this feeling, being embraced so completely by your team â your family. This is what youâve dreamed about since you were a little girl. Following in your fatherâs footsteps, bringing glory to Ferrari, carrying on the legend.
The party rages on long into the night. At some point, you lose track of time completely, delirious with exhaustion from the whirlwind of emotion.
You come around for a moment, blinking in the dim glow of the factory lights. Thereâs quiet rumbles of laughter around you, echoing off the walls. Looking around blearily, you realize youâve been tucked into a makeshift bed fashioned from a pile of Ferrari t-shirts, nestled in one of the car assembly spaces.
Charles is there too, cradled against your side, one arm wrapped protectively around you. The rest of the team â your PR officers, engineers, mechanics, everyone â is strewn about in similar nests, all of them totally conked out.
With a contented sigh, you snuggle deeper into Charlesâ embrace, feeling his lips brush the top of your head. This bizarre, wonderful scene seems to encapsulate everything about being part of the Ferrari family. Itâs chaotic and overwhelming and unlike anything else in the world.
But most of all, itâs home.
As you start to drift back to sleep, savoring the lingering scent of champagne and motor oil, one final chant echoes in your head:
La principessa di Monza.
La principessa di Ferrari.
***
11 Months Later
The last few laps feel like theyâre happening in slow motion. Every turn, every gear shift, every tiny input to the steering wheel is magnified tenfold as the circuits count down. The pressure is immense, but youâve been here before. You can do this.
âStay calm, stay focused,â your race engineerâs voice crackles over the radio. âThe calculations look good. Just bring it home steady.â
Nodding to yourself, you downshift entering the stadium section, the roar of the massive crowd surrounding the AutĂłdromo Hermanos RodrĂguez swelling in your ears. This is it â your chance to join the likes of motorsportâs greatest heroes by winning the Formula 1 World Championship.
Your first victory at Monza, being crowned the âPrincipessa di Ferrariâ by the adoring Tifosi, was a dream come true. But this ⌠this is what youâve worked towards since you were old enough to understand what your father achieved. To etch your name into the history books forever.
The laps tick by agonizingly. Every time the pitboard comes into view, your heart rate spikes. But youâve got a comfortable gap to second place, managing the race perfectly. Just a few more corners now.
âFinal lap, final lap,â your engineer calls out. âLooking brilliant. Stay comfortable and youâve got this!â
You suck in a deep breath to steady your nerves. Out of the sweeping Curve 3 and onto the pit straight, the crowdâs thunderous cheers are reaching fever pitch. You can see the seas of red-clad fans absolutely losing their minds, knowing the woman they idolize is about to achieve immortality.
Crossing the finish line, you finally let out the breath youâve been holding for what feels like ages. The emotion is overwhelming â a combination of pure elation, disbelief, and total exhaustion.
You did it.
World Champion at last!
You cruise around, yelling unintelligibly into the radio as the celebrations kick off around the circuit. Thereâs confetti in the air, smoke flares going off in brilliant shades of red, and a full-throated roar that could probably be heard all the way back in Europe.
Pulling into parc fermĂŠ, you switch off the car, letting the weight of the moment sink in. Tears of joy prick at your eyes as the magnitude of your achievement hits home. Ever since you were a little girl, running around watching your papa, this has been the ultimate dream for you.
And now, itâs finally happened. Youâre a World Champion. Just like him.
The first person to reach you is Charles. He comes sprinting over from his own car, bounding past the marshals without a second look. One glimpse of the huge smile plastered across his face is all it takes for you to dissolve into giggles and delirious tears.
âYou did it! You brilliant, brilliant woman, you did it!â He shouts, grabbing you up in his arms and spinning you around in a whirlwind hug.
âI canât believe it, Charles! It felt like a dream ⌠like it wasnât really happening!â
Youâre both laughing and crying at the same time, drunk on the euphoria of the moment. Clutching each other tightly, you press your foreheads together, trying in vain to compose yourselves.
âIâm so proud of you,â Charles murmurs, gazing at you with adoring eyes. âYou worked so incredibly hard for this. You deserve everything.â
Surging forward, you capture his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. For a few brief moments, the two of you are alone, lost in the depth of your emotions and your all-encompassing love for each other. Nothing else in the world matters but this perfect second frozen in time.
You finally break apart, breathless, when the rest of the team sweeps in to congratulate you. They swarm around in a laughing, whooping mass, jumping up and down, hugging, chanting your name over and over.
âTo our champion! The Queen!â
The cry comes from Antonio, one of the veteran mechanics whoâs been with the team since your papaâs days. He clasps your hands tightly, gazing at you with pride.
âSei la regina! The Queen of Ferrari!â He hollers over the raucous din, tears shining in his eyes. âJust like your father, youâll reign forever!â
Your eyes start brimming over again, overwhelmed. The tears roll down your cheeks, smearing streaks of sweat and grime from the race. But you canât stop beaming.
All at once, the rest of the crew picks up on Antonioâs declaration. Their cheers and chants coalesce into one booming refrain:
âLa Re-gi-na! La Re-gi-na!â
The sheer adulation washes over you in waves, every face beaming up at you in utter reverence. You find yourself struggling to take it all in. In a few incredible seasons, youâve elevated yourself into the realm of legend in their eyes.
Charles wraps his arms around you from behind, steadying you as your knees start to go weak. You can feel his smile radiant against your neck as he cheers and whoops right along with the rest of them.
âYou hear them?â He chuckles, kissing your temple. âItâs all for you, mia regina! My Queen.â
Hearing your love, your partner, your other half call you that sets off a fresh round of giggles and sobs. Turning in his embrace, you loop your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply.
When you finally part, you look out over the still-roaring crowd, many of them carrying elaborate signs with intricate drawings depicting you as a regal sovereign. Some have fashioned ornate crowns out of random merch and foam, holding them high. Others set off flares and smoke bombs in Ferrari red.
For a moment, their euphoric cheers fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears. Closing your eyes, you let the enormity of the moment wash over you, embracing the pride and humility and disbelieving joy.
This is your coronation. The new ruler of the Scuderia â la regina di Ferrari.
âLa Regina di Ferrari! La Regina del Mondo!â
You can only chuckle in disbelief, Antonio and Ricky carefully taking your hands to hoist you up onto their shoulders in throne-like celebration. Charles is right by your side, standing vigil as your King Consort.
As the party spreads out around you, confetti and smoke filling the air, you look out across the ecstatic crowd. All you see are fervent faces, worshiping you as their new Queen of the World.
Itâs a delirious scene that you never, ever couldâve imagined. And yet it feels so natural, so right. Like you were born to be in the center of this storm of jubilation. This is your true home.
And now, youâve taken your rightful place as its ruler.
Mexico City burns long into the night in tribute to the newly-coronated Queen. Tomorrow, the party will likely continue all the way back to Maranello. But in this moment, youâre lost in the swirl of ecstasy, allowing yourself to be swept up in the currents of adoration.
La Regina di Ferrari.
La Regina del Mondo.
***
Eight Years Later
Jules can barely contain his excitement as you and Charles help him into the little red race suit. Heâs practically vibrating with energy, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.
âEasy there, petit coureur,â Charles chuckles, ruffling Julesâ hair affectionately. âWeâll get you suited up and on the track soon enough.â
âIâm gonna beat everyone!â Jules declares confidently. You canât help but smile at his enthusiasm.
âThatâs my boy,â you say with a wink. âJust like your Papa and me.â
Charles grins and pulls Jules into a hug. âWeâll see about that, wonât we? Todayâs just for fun though, remember? No official points or anything.â
âI know, I know,â Jules says impatiently. âBut Iâm still gonna win!â
You laugh and swing him up into your arms, peppering his face with kisses until he squeals with delight. âWhatever you say, liebling. Now letâs get you out on that track!â
The three of you make your way out to the karting circuit, hand-in-hand. You can already see a small crowd starting to form along the fences, phones and cameras at the ready. A familiar scenario, even at such a low-key local event.
âMama, Papa, look!â Jules points excitedly. âThose people want to take pictures!â
âThatâs right, schatzi,â you say gently. âYour Papa and I are pretty well known in motorsports.â
âLike movie stars?â His eyes go wide.
Charles laughs. âSomething like that, I suppose. More like ⌠really famous racecar drivers.â
âWhoa ...â Jules seems to be processing this new realization. âYouâre the best ever, right? The bestest?â
You share an amused look with Charles. âWell, weâve had our fair share of success,â you hedge.
âYour mother is a multi-time World Champion,â Charles says proudly. âAs am I. We did pretty okay, I think.â
âWoooaahh!â Jules looks absolutely awestruck, like his little mind has been blown. Itâs both adorable and bittersweet â your own child, only just now grasping the level of your accomplishments and fame.
The crowd has grown considerably by the time you reach the pit area, people pressing against the barriers in hopes of getting a glimpse of the royal family of Maranello. A small team of event staff try valiantly to keep order, but itâs a losing battle.
âExcuse me! Y/N! Can we get a photo?â
âCharles! Over here, please!â
âOh my god, is that little Jules? Heâs so cute!â
Jules clings a bit closer to you and Charles, startled by the commotion. You pull him protectively against your side.
âItâs okay,â you murmur. âJust some fans who are excited to see us.â
Charles gives the crowd a regretful smile and a small wave before ushering you both past the security team and into the pit area. The calmer, more controlled setting seems to ease Julesâ nerves.
âWhy were all those people yelling and taking pictures?â He asks with a small frown.
âLike I said, weâre pretty famous racers,â Charles explains patiently. âA lot of people know who we are and want our autographs or photos with us.â
âLike celebrities!â Jules says, the admiring light returning to his eyes.
You laugh and ruffle his hair again. âSomething like that, yeah. Your Papa and I have had a very successful racing career over the years.â
âThe best careers,â Charles amends with a wink at you. âMultiple world titles each.â
âWorld titles?â Jules looks utterly baffled by the concept. âLike ⌠the best in the whole world?â
âExactly,â you confirm, feeling that familiar swell of pride. âWe were the fastest drivers in the world, for a few years at least.â
âWhooaa ...â Jules seems torn between awe and disbelief. âYouâre like ⌠superheroes!â
You and Charles both crack up at the adorable comparison.
âI donât know if Iâd go that far,â Charles laughs, âbut I suppose to some we come pretty close, eh?â
He scoops Jules up and swings him around, making him shriek with laughter. You watch them with a content smile, suddenly aware of how blessed you are to have this life â your incredible husband, your precious son, the career successes you both achieved. Itâs more than you ever could have dreamed.
âAlright,â Papa says, setting Jules back down. âWhy donât you go grab your kart and weâll get you out on the track? Think you can take on the world champions?â
Jules gives a determined nod, that familiar fire blazing in his eyes â the same look youâve seen in your husbandâs familiar green ones a thousand times over the years. âYou bet! Iâll show you how itâs done!â
With one last hair ruffle, you send him scampering off excitedly. Charles slides an arm around your waist, pulling you close.
âHeâs something else, isnât he?â He murmurs against your temple. âSo much like us at that age. I can already tell heâs going to be a hell of a driver someday.â
You lean into his embrace with a contented sigh. âHe is ⌠and just look at how the crowd reacted to him. Heâs barely grasped that weâre famous, and now heâs already getting mobbed himself. Our little star in the making.â
Charles makes a rueful sound. âWeâre going to have to get used to that, I suppose.â
âOh, I think we can handle it,â you say lightly. âWeâve had plenty of practice being in the spotlight, after all.â
He laughs and drops a kiss to your hair. âThatâs true enough. As long as we stick together, we can get through anything.â
âExactly.â You turn in his arms to face him properly, cupping his jaw tenderly. âYou, me, Jules ⌠nothing else matters as long as we have each other.â
Charlesâ eyes are warm with devotion as he gazes down at you. âMy soulmate. My family. How did I ever get so lucky?â
He leans in to kiss you, slow and sweet, the rest of the world temporarily fading away. You lose yourself in the familiar comfort of his embrace, the love you share-
âEwww, gross! Stop kissing!â
You break apart with a laugh to find Jules making over-exaggerated gagging noises nearby.
âAnd the momentâs ruined,â Charles teases, keeping an arm looped around your waist.
You bend down to Julesâ eye level with a mock stern look. âYou just wait until youâre all grown up with a sweetheart of your own. Then youâll understand.â
He scrunches up his nose theatrically. âNever! Girls are gross!â
You and Charles share an amused look.
âIf you say so,â Charles chuckles. âNow letâs get that kart fired up.â
Julesâ entire demeanor shifts in an instant, that fierce competitiveness surfacing once again. He scrambles into the cockpit of his little kart and takes firm hold of the wheel, looking suddenly years beyond his age.
âYouâre going down!â He declares brazenly. âIâll leave you both in the dust!â
And just like that, the proud parents are replaced by your familiar racing mentalities â the thrill of competition, the desire to win. You share a conspiratorial grin with Charles.
âIs that so?â He taunts playfully. âIn that case, no more taking it easy on you two.â
You bend down to kiss Julesâ forehead, unable to resist a parting quip. âPromise you wonât be sad ⌠because Mama always wins.â
With that, Charles heads off to grab his own kart, leaving you and Jules alone for a brief moment. He looks up at you with shining eyes.
âYouâre my hero, Mama,â he says simply. âAnd Papa too. I wanna be just like you when I grow up!â
You feel your heart swell fit to burst, filled with more love than you could possibly put into words. Bending down, you pull your beautiful little boy into a fierce hug, eyes shining with unshed happy tears.
âOh liebling ⌠you already are. Youâre everything we could have dreamed of and more.â
You press a lingering kiss to the top of his head, overwhelmed with affection. When you finally pull back, there are indeed tears shining in your eyes.
âNow go show your parents what youâve got, baby,â you say with a watery smile. âI canât wait to see you out there.â
Jules gives you a determined nod, eyes blazing with that trademark fire. âYou got it, Mama! Get ready to lose!â
With that, he slams down the visor on his helmet and revs the little engine. You step back with a laugh, watching him peel out onto the track with all the confidence and flair of a seasoned pro. Like parents, like son indeed.
By the time Charles rejoins you, his own kart idling beside yours, Jules has already completed a couple of warm up laps. You canât resist shooting Charles a smug grin.
âWell, well ⌠looks like the apple didnât fall far from the tree. He drives just like you.â
Charles snorts, clearly trying to downplay his obvious pride. âI donât know what youâre talking about. Thatâs all your genes coming through.â
You open your mouth to protest, but a sudden commotion from the fences draws your attention. The crowd has grown even larger, people pressing against the barriers with raised phones and voices calling out excitedly.
âOh my god, itâs them!â
âTheyâre so cute together!!â
âOver here, please! This way!â
You share a resigned look with Charles as event staff rush to try and control the growing swarm.
âThis is what itâs going to be like from now on, isnât it?â You murmur. âOur little family, constantly in the spotlight.â
Charles shrugs, slinging an arm around your shoulders as he watches Jules blaze by. âWhat else is new? Weâve been there our whole careers. At least this time, we get to share the fame together ⌠as a family.â
You lean into his side with a contented smile. Out on the track, Jules whips past in a blur of determination, completely unbothered by the fawning crowd. Just a little boy living out his dream, regardless of who his parents might be.
âYou know what?â You say softly. âI wouldnât have it any other way.â
Charles drops a kiss to your hair as the roar of the crowd and engines swells around you. âMe neither, mon amour. I wouldnât change a single thing.â
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#charles leclerc#cl16#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x y/n#scuderia ferrari#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc drabble
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HsĂť KuangHĂ n 訹ĺ
柢
Random pictures I like, just because!
#hsu kuang han#訹ĺ
柢#marry my dead body#someday or one day#meet me @ 1006#nowhere man#netflix nowhere man#sei shun 18x2 kimi e to tsudzuku michi#the invisible guest#taiwanese actors#tw drama#tw movies#Taiwan's 'National Boyfriend'#not#cdrama#random pictures I like just because
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Some "if Yue is alive and went travelling with the Gaang" designs
With a ton of text about cultural inspiration.
The main book 2 look
I wanted to show cultural differences between the tribes, so Yue's look is sort of Mongolian. There were Mongolian-styled hats in the Northern tribe, and Yue's dress under the coat looked like a Mongolian deel (thanks @atlaculture for all these posts about clothes and everything else!), so it's not much against the canon information.
So she's wearing a deel again with a second layer - there are chinese actors on photos as far as I know; I hope it's okay. One-shoulder silhouette refers to later Aang's clothes because Yue is still kind of a spiritual person (she wasn't a fighter, so I want her to have some other useful talent â not a bender or healer like Katara or a non-bender warrior like Suki). Violet, pink and white were originally her colors, no changes here. Three blue characters would be too much for a group of five, and total white is not practical at all. I like to think that violet color shows high rank in the Avatar universe; in the original series it was only worn by princess Yue, Kanna, the chief Hakoda's mother, and by king Bumi.
Yue's boots here are mongolian gutals/gutuls (the collage is already big, but I used them again for one of Book 3-looks).
Her hair become simpler â just two braids and a hairpiece, to match her previous decorated hairdo. I guess if she's travelling with the Gaang she's not that much of a Moon Spirit anymore (maybe she returned the part of the moon spirit that saved her and was healed other way?), so I decided to forego the moon-referring part. Also it will be easier to do by herself since she has no servants now... The headdress I took from modern Mongolian dancers; the front part is crescent-moon-shaped.
The Ba Sing Se dress
I fell in love with this Ao Dai dress, it's simple, long and elegant. But... it's mostly Vietnamese⌠and I'm afraid that it's modern and not historically accurate. Also it does not really go together with other Ba Sing Se dresses :( because I did not want to just copy-paste some background look. But there is at least one dress with a tail, thigh high slits and a standing collar on the dress underneath, so... I guess my choice is not that bad? The tail makes her look more royal. The fan is the same which Toph and Katara had. For the palette I chose Yue's white color with EK greens and warm yellow/ochre to match Katara and Toph. The hairdo is copied from the series; I chose one with the tassel on the right, to refer the NWT/Korean accessories.
The Fire Nation disguise
A confession â I don't like FN clothes. I wasn't sure if I would be able to do it properly, so I almost copied that attire (left one) â asymmetry, as a Thai touch, which again matches Aang's Invasion Buddhist-like clothes. The palette keeps Yue's signature white, with some pink of a warmer shade, as they wear it in the Fire Nation. And the "royal" long skirt, 'cause she's still not a fighter. The look is simplified so I could not keep zigzag ornament on her longyi skirt, therefore I moved it onto the top part.
I used Thai dancers jewelry and... flip flops? idk how they are called in Southeast Asia (don't like Sokka and Katara's FN shoes at all, why the design is so complicated?).
For covering her hair I used a turban, inspired by Myanmar turbans; a white one, so if some hair will show, it won't be too noticeable. Also Yue could still be easily recognised on screen/page by her white head. The long end of the fabric on her right resembles burmese hairstyle silhouette.
The Invasion-and-till-finale look
For her dress I used a deel (again); the sleeveless jacket is an hommage to her original design and has some Korean vibes, like Toph's Ba Sing Se dress (at least I hope so). Katara and Sokka's season 1 looks have Korean influence, so I guess it's okay. Gutals are from her Book 2 main look. I have a soft spot for them.
My favorite thing is her hair :)))) It's a mix of Inuit/Mongolian braids and a hairpiece, also from the Book 2 look. This time there will be more braids. Two on the front â I wanted to keep them from her original hairdo, but now they are braided together (I saw this on the Alaskan Inuit/Eskimo women photos). On the back there are five, inspired by a Mongolian hairdo for young unmarried girls, who wore multiple braids. I decided to make five, because Alaskian Inuit language uses this amount for counting and with two front braids it'll make seven, which is a lucky Mongolian number. And in theory a limited number should be easier to animate.
The post-canon noble look
After the final battle I thought Yue will come back to Agna Qel'a and become a more active political figure. I chose a white kuspuk (blue color is still for Katara and Sokka), showing that she is ready to lead her tribe after this journey, not the passive perfect princess she was before. "She is associated in canon with the masculine yang of the yin and yang and the moon which, in most Inuit and Eskimo cultures, is considered masculine as well. While white kuspuks are associated with men and specifically family patriarchs, a feminine kuspuk in white makes plenty of sense for Yue's character" â @mostly-mundane-atla helped me a lot with the cultural meaning of the clothes (I am so grateful!). Also it's an hommage to her total-white Moon Spirit look. And I changed her hair again to Greenland updo with two tied braids on the front â more complicated than the simple braids she wore during the journey. It looks formal.
NWT is less Inuit-inspired and has a strong Mongolian touch (to make them look more "modern"? dunno) but I guess the formal wear for the spiritual princess could refer to older traditions. Which should be the same with SWT, 'cause SWT was originally a part of NWT â or so I heard. For example, Kuruk, the NWT Avatar who lived about 400 years ago, has nothing Mongolian in his look.
All the looks are simplified to match the style of the original cartoon. I know there should be more details and embroidery, but my goal here was to draw something (at least theoretically) applicable for animation. And no Hahn's betrothal necklace of course.
Also I want to mention here other great Yue designs, since they are the inspiration behind the overall idea of the post â the moon looks and "Yue joins the Gaang" outfits by amazingly talented @chiptrillino.
P.S.: an important note
This is my first attempt ever to design outfits that could fit the world of A:tLA. I am not Asian or ingenious, not an expert in their cultures or costume history at all, not a professional character designer. I am just a fan who tried to create designs with respect to real cultures and people. Nothing here was supposed to be offensive in any way. If something still is â please inform me so I could fix it as soon as possible.
I hope, as a fan, I have the right to draw fanarts looking for an inspiration in the cultures that inspired the original cartoon.
If you see mistakes in my post, be it in drawings or a text, also feel free to tell me. I will deeply appreciate it.
#avatar the last airbender#atla fanart#princess yue#yue#yue's alive#yue redesign#yue atla#yue avatar#all these links almost killed me...#i am a nitpicker#bad alt text#sorry i'm so done
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