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lvrclerc · 2 months ago

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✶ BETTER THAN THE NOVELS

summary: you're a romance novel influencer that has never actually experienced romance. ironic, right? and when f1 driver lando norris accidentally becomes a constant presence in your life, he decides he can't possibly let that slide.

F1 MASTERLIST | LN4 MASTERLIST

pairing: lando norrisﾉf!reader

wc: 11.2k

cw: reader is a ferrari fan and is said to wear feminine clothing (dresses, skirts etc), reader has a race taking place in her home country but it's not precised where, takes place during a fictional season (w the 2025 grid), cussing, inspired by nick and cassie on tiktok, slight angst near the end for plot reason, otherwise just tooth-rotting fluff!

a/n: first fic who cheered! this is so self-indulgent and cliché but who caresss also its a long one so buckle up (editing was hell, ending is a bit rushed too sorry)

THERE WAS NOT ONE day in which @.whoisy/n, book influencer extraordinaire, did not pass her day with her head inside a romance novel.

You always liked reading. The passion struck you in late primary school when you first opened Percy Jackson and before you knew it, you finished the entire series in three days and begged your parents to buy you Heroes of Olympus. There was no going back after that. You couldn’t spend a day without your thirty minutes to an-hour reading session.

Like every girl raised with the idea of being a strong, independent female lead in the novel that was your life ─ at the sweet age of thirteen, dare I be precise ─ you never dabbled too much into romance. If it ended in a book you were currently reading, so be it, but you wouldn’t outwardly enjoy it. Why would you need someone in your life? You were so not like the other girls, you didn’t waste your time on boys or parties or things like that ─ you didn’t even wear pink!

Except that now that you have grown up, at the age of twenty-two, you liked wearing pink and bows, and because you spent most of your life buried in books with this idiotic, sexist idea of the “not-like-other-girls”, you never had kissed or dated anyone. Damn Rick Riordan.

I mean, you went on dates, sure, but they never went anywhere further than a “that was fun!” text and radio silence right after. It made you feel used, sometimes, but at that point, it was just something you expected whenever you took an interest in an individual.

The only thing that stuck with you as you got older was your passion for books. So after you resigned yourself to it, you dived into romances. Bad idea, really, because you started living vicariously through them.

Everything was so perfect: the storylines, the female leads, the guys and the girls and what they whispered into the other’s ear, and when they noticed small things nobody else would’ve noticed, proclaimed their love high and loud in heartfelt speeches, the awkwardness of a first love and the tenderness of a first kiss. A part of you, whenever you tapped your Kindle or rushed through the pages, ached a little in the middle of your incessant giggling. Something that yearned for a story like that - but you’ve learned against your will that nothing in the real world could compare to the stories or the movies.

You were doomed to die an old maid with many, many cats and a thousand bookshelves. It didn’t sound that bad, of course, but come on. You still held hope that maybe, one day, something like that would happen to you. Maybe.

One of your favorite subgenres was sports romance. There was something so romantic about running into someone’s arms after a well-spent game ─ you devoured the hockey ones, the basketball ones, even the football ones. More recently, though, you got into the motorsports ones ─ more specifically, Formula One.

There weren’t many, mainly because of the work that had to be done to dodge plagiarism: you couldn’t use the actual drivers or team, so you had to reinvent everything down to every detail. But for those that existed, you simply couldn’t let them go. You liked Formula One, it wasn’t a proper passion like reading was but it still was a nice pastime: you’d turn on your sketchy website that streamed F1 TV Pro to watch the Grand Prix and became impatient during the overly long summer and winter breaks. While you were more partial to drivers than to teams, you grew very fond of Ferrari as the years went by.

You were very vocal about your interests in your accounts. Obsessing so much over books gave you access to fandoms at a young age and a desire to have your own space within them. You quickly became a staple presence on BookTok, BookStagram, and BookTube after your first posts and videos went public. People found you funny, endearing, and relatable… not to throw yourself flowers, but you were. It’s that transparency about your Sahara-desert dry love life and your contagious excitement about your hobbies that made you so popular, reaching millions around multiple platforms.

People liked you, so people were kind to you. An advanced reader copy of a new F1 romance novel was on another level of kindness, though.

You hadn’t expected it, but it came in your mailbox with a sweet written word from the author, Leandra Moore ─ she was pretty influential and had written multiple New York Times-acclaimed New Adult romances. You didn’t even process everything she was saying, only that she liked your videos and your personality and ‘thought you might like her new work’.

What a stupid question. Of course, you did.

You devoured the 430 pages in a sitting. The sky, awfully bright when you got the package, was pitch black by the time you turned the last page. You were breathless, flushed, and smiling so hard your cheeks were beginning to hurt. “Silver Spring Race” was a wonder of brother’s best friend, secret exes, and second chance rom-com goodness, mixed with the adrenaline of the perfect F1 season, five out of five stars on Fable and GoodReads. You didn't waste any time: tripod, lighting, and you were already filming a review video in your almost ecstatic state, giggling away with the camera knowing full well you were sharing with a few thousand.

It was a simple review as you always did. Yet, it did way, way better than your normal videos ─ so much so that the book had to be released early. So much so that Leandra had the means to host a release party after the goddamn Miami Grand Prix. So much so that she invited you, personally and free of charge, as multiple other book influencers to attend the Grand Prix and the release party the day after.

Someone had to pinch you because holy shit, this couldn’t be your reality. You never confirmed something as fast as you did for that. Honestly, who wouldn’t?

The race had been an exceptionally good one. The sun was bright and hot but the slight breeze made up for the extreme Miami heat. You and your book influencer friends and acquaintances had amazing seats at the Beach Grandstands - some on the North and some on the South. You quietly wondered just how much money did Silver Spring Race generated for Leandra to get those sought-after seats.

There had been a few technical difficulties during the race, causing Pierre Gasly to DNF, and a narrowly avoided crash on Albon's part which cost him to lose standing. Ferrari was going strong, though, which kept you breathless from screaming until the checkered flag. Norris ended in pole position, with Verstappen following suit in P2 and Leclerc in P3. While it was not the outcome you hoped for due to your bias toward the latter's team, you had to cheer when faced with the radiant smile of the first-placed.

Now, the thing was to get out of the stands. That was a harder task, the Beach Grandstands were filled to the brim and before you could process what was happening, the flow of people separated you from your friends. No matter how much you fought against the current you couldn't help but be brought down to wherever they were going: guess you'll have to find a way out by yourself.

By the time people scattered, you were in an unknown setting with multiple staff members, all wearing different colors ─ pink, orange, red ─ and running around. You would have liked to stop one of them to ask where you were, or at least how you could access the parking area from here, but all passed you as if you didn't exist. You couldn't blame them, the Grand Prix had just ended, and they probably had ten thousand other things to do. You were on your own. Great.

You just wandered off and hoped you'd stumble upon a miraculous exit sign amidst the long and confusing hallways.

You definitely didn't expect to crash into Lando Norris.

You didn't realize it was him at first. The only thing you knew was that as you were looking around, finally finding somewhere open from where you could see the stands (but still not anywhere that looked like it could lead you to the parking lot), you back bumped full speed against someone.

You turned around, heart skipping because of the shock. Soon enough, though, your astonishment turned horrific when you gradually noticed the full can of Monster energy drink spilled on an orange tracksuit, staining it deep brown.

It couldn't get any more embarrassing. Until your eyes darted up and you saw a mess of curls and wide, green eyes. That's when your horror became panic. Holy fuck, you didn't just─

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed, after a few seconds of stunned silence. “I'm so, so sorry─ I didn't─ I was looking for the exit and I didn't see─ holy shit─”

You started aggressively looking in your small handbag, hoping─ no, praying, you brought some tissues with you. You spilled an energy drink on Lando Norris. His energy drink. Lando Norris was in front of you, staring at you like you were some wild, erratic animal. He was probably furious. You wanted to bury yourself six feet deep underground. “I'm sorry, I can't find any tissues I─”

He snorted.

You froze in your tracks, interrupting your rambling. A glimmer of amusement shone in the driver's eyes. “It's chill, don't even worry about it. It's not as if that was like, the only suit I owned.”

“Uh─” you started. “I'm still─”

There was something about your expression, maybe the fact you were opening and closing your mouth searching for something to say like a fish out of the water, that made him reiterate. “Really, it's cool. You can stop panicking.” After a pause, he continued, in a more reassuring tone. “Plus I'm already all sweaty and dirty, so not much of a difference.”

He was…? Heat furiously rose up to your cheeks and you couldn't tell if it was because of embarrassment or his words or how painfully aware you were of the situation. “What?”

This time, Lando's face was graced with a shit-eating grin aimed right at you. “From racing and champagne, you know.”

Oh.

Now you wanted to be five feet under. What was wrong with you? “Right.” You took a deep breath. You bump into Lando Norris, an F1 driver you admired for years no matter your loyalty to Ferrari, and spill an entire energy drink on him before accidentally stepping right into borderline sexual harassment. Get a grip, Y/N. “I saw. I mean, I was in the stands. Beach Grandstands. I saw you. Win the race. Congratulations, by the way!”

You sounded like a robot. Oh my god. You couldn't act less natural even if you tried.

Lando arched an eyebrow. “Thanks a lot. But uh, if you were in the stands─ what are you doing in staff quarters?”

Your heart lurched in your chest, realizing the impression you probably gave. “Shit. I promise I'm not a weird fan or anything, I'm not a stalker! Which is definitely what a stalker would say. But I'm not. I was dragged by the mass of people and I couldn't find the exit and nobody would tell me─”

Another laugh from him interrupted you and what surprised you was the absence of mockery: he sounded genuinely amused. You didn't know how to react to the fact he found your distress funny. “Are you always this anxious?”

“See, this whole…,” you made a circular hand gesture, “... situation is not helping my anxiety. So the answer would be maybe.”

Lando chuckled again and this time, an awkward smile found its way to your lips. “I wasn't trying to blame you, it was just a question. You can breathe. But the exit's not there.”

“Yeah, I think I noticed,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“It's through there,” Lando turned around and pointed to a slightly hidden door, but right above was a bright green exit sign. You were blind. “You just go straight and the parking lot shouldn't be that far.”

“Oh, uh. Thanks. I didn't see it,” you simply answered. Dusting off invisible dust from your clothes, you looked at him again. “Again, I'm sorry about the drink. Really.”

“I told you it's nothing, just go before a team member calls security on you, ‘aight?”

You aggressively nodded, which stole another breathless laugh from him that you decided to ignore. Right as you went through the door, the curly-haired driver called: “Hey!” You turned around, frowning in incomprehension.

“Next time you decide to sneak into McLaren's quarters,” Lando said, “at least wear the right colors.”

You quickly glanced at your Ferrari shirt, slightly cropped to go with your jean skirt. That's when the words echoed in your brain. “I wasn't sneaki─!”

Before you could finish your argument, he closed the door on you.

Walking back to your car, the realization of everything that went down the last 10 minutes slowly dawned on you. What the fuck had just happened? Was it real? Did you hallucinate? Did you just humiliate yourself like that in front of Lando Norris?

Most importantly: novels made meet-cutes seem so simple and easy, how did you manage to mess it up that bad?

A day later, you tried to push that interaction to the back of your mind, mainly because of how embarrassed you were about how you acted but also because otherwise, you wouldn't be able to think about anything else.

Once the night had comfortably settled, you confidently walked into the venue Leandra rented. It was an immense room in an even bigger hall, and so elegant you couldn't help but feel a bit out of place. You guessed that’s what you were supposed to expect when you partied at the same place the drivers usually did ─ at least that's what one of the girls told you: it was where they would throw after-parties when they had time after races. Fits the theme, you thought.

The decor was tasteful and themed in a way that didn't feel cheap, which was surprisingly hard to do, as you discovered as you mingled with Leandra Moore and her entourage. The buffet was delicious, the champagne was flowing, and there were professional photographers and signed illustrations of the two main characters of Silver Spring Race, along with a Fairyloot exclusive edition of the book. You could have died right here and there: the details were to die for.

Right as the music was getting louder, the conversations grew more deconstructed and the alcohol less diluted, you decided to step out for some fresh air ─ as much fun as it was, being socially involved for so long was tiring you out. If you wanted to last the night, you needed a little break.

The exit was notoriously hard to find, which gave you war flashbacks from yesterday you had a hard time pushing away, but you didn't spend as long finding it ─ just enough to regret the aesthetic choice of wearing high heels for the night.

By the time you got outside, your feet were aching for freedom. You quickly rushed to the stone stairs leading to the party hall and sat on the first step. The scenery was quite stunning: a fountain throned in the middle of the place leading to stairs, lightly illuminated by the white neons in the water and the warm hall light, and tall trees surrounding the square. You could have probably appreciated it more if you weren't so preoccupied with detaching those fucking straps of your ankles: why weren't they coming off, those little─

“Oof, looks like you need help again.”

Your hand froze on your shoe as the voice and accent hit a familiar spot in your brain. It took you a second to catch up, and around a minute to realize. Your heart dropped and you turned around, slowly, like the main character in a horror movie.

Lando Norris stood before you. Again.

Who exactly was controlling your life? Because the odds of this happening a second time were really, really low.

His hair was usually messy, and yet tonight they seemed more contained and professional. He wore a white shirt, and a few buttons popped open at the collar gave you an open view of a small gold chain around his neck ─ you had to drag your gaze away. Straight-legged black pants finished the look, topped off with black loafers. He looked miles away from the Lando Norris you accidentally ran into after the race. He probably showered.

He looked gorgeous, too. It would be a blatant lie to even ignore it, and that realization slightly took your breath away.

Yet, the only thing coming out of your mouth was a strangled, “I swear I'm not stalking you.”

A pause. You had serious issues.

And still, Lando laughed. Hard and loud, like the ones you saw in a few selected interviews when you were bored and scrolling on YouTube during the breaks. It made you feel slightly self-conscious. He breathed in as he walked toward you, a chuckle still in his tone when he spoke up. “I mean, I'd believe you this time but the coincidence's pretty big.”

An offended scoff escaped you and suddenly, all the thoughts about him being a celebrity, a renowned driver, a trust fund kid flew out the window right into the fountain.

“I'll let you know I was invited to an event here, thank you very much. I have other, more important things to do than follow someone around.”

When you realized what you said, your eyes widened. “Sorry, I didn't mean─”

But Lando was smiling.

“Nah, you did.” Right now, he stood right next to you on the stairs and you quietly wondered if he was going to sit down or keep looking down on you like that. Then you realized that you were, again, in the most improbable situation known to man. Anxiety swirled in your stomach.

“Soo… what event are you attending?”

You squinted your eyes up at him. “...Is this an interrogation?”

Lando simply shrugged. “Can never be too sure.”

Well, you couldn't blame him for that.

“A book release party. The author, Leandra Moore, happened to invite me and other people. She was the one that got us tickets for the race yesterday, too. I just went out to get some fresh air.”

He hummed in response. “Oh yeah, heard something about that. I guess you're legit, then.”

“Yes, I am!” When you looked up again, there was that shit-eating grin. You rolled your eyes to the high heavens.

“... Wait. Is your name Y/N?” He suddenly asked.

Huh?

You never mentioned your name to him. You don't think it was even brought up in the 15 minutes you two talked. A frown scrunched up your eyebrows. “Uh, yes? How'd you know?” Silence. “And I'm the stalker?”

Lando laughed a bit at that. He finally sat down next to you, and the heat of his exposed forearms somewhat close to your own made you panic again.

“Y/N as in WhoisY/N?”

The gasp you let out could have landed you a role in The Young and the Restless. There was no fucking way. Absolutely none. This is where you drew the line. “You can't possibly be watching my videos.” Your tone was resolute.

“Nah, not me. My little sister though, Cisca.” That made more sense than to imagine Lando Norris, McLaren's golden boy, giggling and kicking his feet in front of your last romance review. Still, it felt unreal. “She eats up every single one of your posts. You’re the reason why we have so many cartoon covers at home, that's why I thought you looked familiar at first. The book release party confirmed it.”

You didn't know what emotions you should let transpire first. The fact that you were a celebrity in the Norris family was enough to make your jaw drop, but the mention of cartoon covers added heat to your cheeks ─ you hoped he never opened his sister's books.

“She's so gonna freak out when I tell her I met you,” he said between laughs.

“She's going to freak out?” You asked in disbelief. “You're in Formula 1. She can't freak out because of me. I'm freaking out because of you!”

He didn't point out your statement, thank god, but his eyes didn't seem to miss it. “I'm her older brother, she uses that to make fun of me now. But no, definitely, she's going to freak out.”

“What even is my life right now.”

That, at least, made you both erupt in an unstoppable fit of laughter. When it died down, you finally had the space to ask the question sitting in your mind since he appeared behind you. “What are you even doing here?”

Lando arched an eyebrow at you. “Is this an interrogation?”

“Yes.”

He exaggeratedly rolled his eyes, clearly mimicking you. “There's a race after party in the hall. McLaren special. Also went out to get some air, DJ-ing was becoming suffocating.”

“Oh,” it clicked, and you started thinking out loud. “I guess the girls weren't lying when they said that's where the drivers partied. It makes sense Leandra would rent out this hall.”

“Why?”

You were pretty sure smoke could be escaping from you right now just by how flustered you were. “Uh. For promoting her book?”

“Yeah, I got that, but like… why would our parties have anything to do with it?”

Lando was becoming suspicious again. Somebody kill you right now. How do you keep messing it up? “Because… it's… an F1 romance?”

Blank stare. You were just as red as the dress you wore and ready to go home to cry yourself to sleep. Then he laughed, hysterically, and you couldn't feel more ashamed.

“That exists?” He asked, breathless.

You turned your face away from him. “Yes.”

“And you read that?”

“Leave me alone,” you added, “if she follows me, your sister does too.”

That seemed to make him stop, at least, to your devious satisfaction. “I think I'll need to take a look at her shelves when I go home.”

“For the good of the girl and mine, please don't.”

The cold night breeze brushed your arms and you were now very mindful of how thin the material of your dress was. You shivered, rubbing your arms with your hands. Lando was quick to notice. “Shit, sorry. I don't have a jacket. I would have landed it to you otherwise.”

You don't know what came over you, but you bumped your shoulder with his. “Wow, that was almost gentleman-like.” Where did this familiarity come from, you didn't know ─ you have known the man for no longer than an hour. But there was something about the easy-going conversation, the late night, and the champagne buzzing in your blood that made this scene… just like the ones you read about, in your favorite books.

As soon as that idea slithered into your mind, you forcefully pushed it out. That was another level of delusion, Y/N. Those novels fried your brain.

You got up before Lando could answer. “It's fine, I was going to go back to my hotel anyway. The party drained my social battery and my flight takes off early tomorrow, so it's better if I go to sleep.”

“Okay, sure. Let me walk you to your car at least.”

Oh shit. “... I don't have a car.”

He blinked slowly. “What do you mean? How'd you come here, then?”

“I carpooled with some girls who are not going home right now.” That was a very dumb idea now that you look back on it.

“So… how are you planning to get to your hotel?”

You didn't bring your wallet with you, so no chance of getting a taxi. “... I'll walk?”

“... Yeah, no. No chance. At night? Dressed like that?” He took you in, making you hyper-aware of the high slit and the almost sheer material of your dress. “I'll take you.”

You were stunned. So much for avoiding delusion or further embarrassment. “I can't possibly ask you─ I mean, you have a party─”

“If you think that after-party is going to end anytime soon, you're so wrong,” he chuckled.

In all honesty, you could have argued more, but Lando already seemed settled on his decision. He stood up, not before grabbing the heels you took off during the conversation and decidedly headed toward the parking lot. You hummed and followed suit as he started walking toward his car, your comments dying on your tongue. The improbability of what was currently happening was just too much for you to grace it with a thought, so a sentence would be crossing the limits.

The car ride was spent in comfortable silence as soon as you typed the address of your hotel in his GPS. Your eyes widened when his car came into view: a black 2018 McLaren Senna, with red accents, you hadn't seen so beautiful with your own eyes in a while. You had to bite back a gasp when you got in.

Lando rolled the windows fully down. The wind whipped strands of hair around as you watched the scenery roll by at a dizzying speed, making you wonder if he knew what a speed limit was. Soft bass music played on the radio, one you didn't know the lyrics to, but Lando did as he whispered-sang them. He looked calm behind a wheel that didn't belong to a Formula One car, the contrast was drastic. The driver met your eyes with a smile, and that was only then you realized you'd been staring. You turned your head as he laughed.

When your hotel came into view, you quietly thanked him for dropping you off and stepped out of the car. You didn't know what to do after that. Some part of you tugged at your mind ─ it was too good to be true, those things only happened in books. He was probably waiting for something in return. After a small wave to him, you were ready to disappear behind the doors and leave this night behind.

“Wait!” Lando called out from his opened window. Your stomach dropped. You knew it.

Hesitantly, you turned around.

“You're still wearing the wrong color,” he simply said, “I better see you in orange if you want my services next time.”

Relief washed over you and no matter how hard you fought it, a smile broke your carefully impassive facade. “Next time?”

Lando smiled at you. “Next time.”

And when he drove away, you couldn't help the butterflies in your stomach either.

As you lay in bed that night, you didn't push anything away. You processed what happened, today and yesterday. You didn't know how to feel or what to feel exactly, many emotions were contradictory, but maybe it was alright ─ not to know. To just let yourself feel without having to put a name on it.

When you grabbed the phone in your handbag, an Instagram notification caught your attention before you could even unlock it.

@.lando started following you.

A disbelieving, loud laugh escaped you. He did say there would be a next time.

After that it was safe to say, even though a little wild, Lando Norris had become a staple in your daily life.

The moment you got back home, you had received a DM by the driver himself asking if you traveled safely to which you couldn't help but reply with a “Stalker much?”. He simply answered that there was only a single flight going back to where you lived today, so it was easy to find on Skyscanner. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

It made you smile.

The texts continued. What first started as small conversations every two days, reacting to each other's stories or silly tweets with not much depth behind them gradually grew, over a month, into useless life updates, every day with no exceptions.

lando: just ate the biggest fucking sandwich today

lando: [1 picture attached]

lando: scooby-doo type shit

whoisy/n: i'm so hungry actually

lando: did u get sidetracked reading again

whoisy/n: it's LITERALLY my job

lando: go get something to eat you muppet

whoisy/n: yessir

whoisy/n: u'll never guess what happened in my book

lando: he cheated on her right

whoisy/n: …

whoisy/n: you WILL guess what happened in my book

lando: LMAOOO that was so obvious from what you told me

whoisy/n: i had sm faith in him. men!!!

lando: they're all the same

whoisy/n: RITEEEEEE QUEEN

Lando always asked about what you were currently reading. It didn't take a genius or an Oxford diploma to notice how much you loved it, not when your entire social media presence was built around it. You knew it wasn't performative and he enjoyed hearing you talk about it ─ he often sent texts during the week asking about your favorite character, at what page you were, and if they kissed yet. It was harder during weekends due to races. Somehow, he still made time.

Similarly, Lando took the habit of sending you long vocals at the end of his days, explaining what happened, what Oscar and him were up to, and how annoying the different media were. He still refused to tell you much about his team, because your allegiance to Ferrari was simply “outrageous” according to him. You gladly landed a listening ear, chiming with a helping comment whenever you could. The late evenings got later and the vocals longer and longer each passing week, and before you knew it you two were calling almost every night.

It was a normal occurrence. He would get ready for bed and you would drop your Kindle for an hour or two, even longer the rare times he didn't have anything planned the next day. You would talk about anything and everything at the same time ─ sometimes he'd rope you into downloading a game and playing it with him, sometimes you'd just remodel the world until one of you was too exhausted to keep playing God. Most of the time, it was Lando.

Due to its sudden start, this growing friendship of yours quickly attracted the attention of your entire following base as well as his. Lando commented on almost all your new Instagram posts and TikToks with random things that either had a link with what you were talking about or none at all ─ most often alluding to the many inside jokes that stemmed from your conversations. Every interaction succeeded in making everyone crazy, especially your followers: apparently, you were finally getting the sports romance you were dreaming about for years.

The thought crossed your mind, how could it not with the amount of allusions under your posts? The fan edits on your For You page? But you never let yourself linger on it for too long.

You and Lando were friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

The call you got that night was unexpected. Tomorrow was race day, the Canadian Grand Prix more specifically ─ and Lando never called before a race. You understood perfectly, something about being well rested and focused, so you usually sent a good luck paragraph he'd read in the morning and answer after the event. So why did his caller ID light up your phone screen as you were getting ready to go to bed, you didn't know.

You picked up without a second thought. “Everything's alright?”

“What happened to hello?” He chuckled, his voice grainy through the speaker.

“My God,” you sighed. “Hello, Lando. Is everything alright?”

“Why wouldn't it be?”

“You never call before race day.”

Silence. “Hello?” You called. “You're still there?”

“Yeah, sorry. Uh, it's just─ your books are so unrealistic.”

Your heart skipped a bit, and you sat a little straighter against your pillow. “What?”

“I couldn't sleep and I didn't have anything to do, so I picked up one of your F1 romances you recommended in your last video─” No. No, he didn't. “Throttled? By Lauren Asher? And I just─ it's so dumb.”

Your mouth dropped open and instead of letting out words, a small screech left your lips. “You─ you read─? Why?”

“Like I said, I couldn't sleep. Whatever, it's─”

“Embarrassing!” You interrupted Lando. “You read one of my─ oh my god. This is not the family-friendly kind either. And it's F1. Next time just punch me in the face, I’ll be less humiliated.”

A wheeze came from the other side of the phone. You buried your head in your pillows, trying to put out the fire in your face. “Oh yeah, definitely not family-friendly.”

You groaned in response but that didn't stop Lando from continuing. “As I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, it got most of the sport right but otherwise it's so… it took all the competitiveness out! That's, like, the entire point of F1! I thought you were a fan, how can you willingly enjoy that?”

“I mean, I know it's not the most accurate representation of F1,” you flopped on your back, “but it's kinda like Drive To Survive, y'know? Most people watch it for the drama. I read those for the romance plot.”

Lando scoffed at your words. “Even the romance plot isn't that good, Y/N. The whole part in which he throws a race to make her happy? That's such bullshit.”

“How so?”

“If you love her, you win a race for her.”

You couldn't put the words on it once again, but the way he said it constricted your chest with such tightness you had to take a long, calming breath. You had to concentrate to get out your next sentence. “Well, I don't know, it's not like I know anything about romance. I thought that was pretty romantic.”

“What do you mean, ‘don't know anything about romance'? You read this shit all day long.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, but that's not the real thing. I've never actually dated or kissed anyone, so actual romantic gestures are like… foreign languages to me.”

A beat. Until you suddenly heard a mess of covers moving around, reverberating right in your eardrums. You hissed, and Lando spoke up again.

“You've never kissed anyone? Or dated?” He sounded stunned, which surprised you. It's not like you've tried to hide it. It grew to be your brand over time.

“Uh, yeah. Never.”

“You're shitting me.”

“No?”

“I can't believe it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, jeez, thank you for making me feel so great about being a twenty-two years old virgin, Lando.”

“No! No! I didn't mean it like that,” he screamed at his speaker. “You're just… you're you. You’re too nervous for your own good, true, but your cheeks get darker when you laugh, you fiddle with your sleeves when you don’t know what to say, and you constantly hum songs when it’s too quiet for you. You're smart, you're beautiful, you're passionate, you're funny…” He got quiet before continuing. “I don't get how anyone could pass up the chance to kiss you, that's all.”

Oh. Oh.

The fluttering in your stomach flew its way up to your throat, and for a little moment, you thought you were going to throw up. The silence stretched as you basked in Lando's words, left hanging in the thick air. Suddenly the screen didn't seem like enough space between the two of you.

Lando ended up breaking the stillness. “I just─ I think I should hang up. The race's tomorrow and it's getting─” A pause. You glanced at the time: 00:23. “Shit, the race is today.”

“Don't worry. Go to sleep, get those hours in and win tomorrow,” you answered in a shaky breath.

“Yeah. Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do.”

Still, neither of you clicked on the red button. “Lando?”

“Mmh?”

“Thank you. For what you said.”

“... I meant it.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He hung up.

You desperately tried to fall asleep, tossing and turning, fighting with your pillow and covers to get comfortable but the only thing your mind could focus on was the end sentence he uttered, the inflections of his voice a ghostly whisper in your ear. I don't get how anyone could pass up the chance to kiss you.

How did you successfully act as if that call never happened? You didn't know. You never were a good liar, less of a good actress. Maybe it was the way Lando carefully sidestepped the subject every time you nearly alluded to it that made you so good about ignoring it altogether.

It was nothing. You just blew it out of proportion, like you usually did. Maybe you should try self-help books instead of romances for the next few months.

No matter how bittersweet your feelings were about this whole situation, you chose to put them aside, simply because Lando had two free weeks starting today and he chose to put a few of his days aside to fly out to your town. For the first time in almost three months, you were going to see each other face to face. And under normal circumstances! That would be a first.

When he came out of the airport, with a gigantic suitcase for just a few days and his characteristic grin adorning his lips, all questions just vanished into thin air. You resisted the urge to jump into his arms but you didn't miss how tight Lando held you when he initiated the hug ─ you melted into him like snow in the sun.

Lando had rented a hotel room for his short stay, a good thirty minutes ride from you. He used it once before you both silently declared your home was way better than a five-star Hilton. He squatted on your couch and you'd sleep in your bed, the rare times you slept as most nights were spent playing video games and marathoning movies. Most of them were romantic comedies. Lando would complain about the lack of realism and you'd smack him over the head, and the movie would be watched in between snarky commentaries and heartfelt comments on your perception of love, sneaking glances at each other.

You tried not to let the latter get too much to your head.

However, Lando's trip had to end at some point. Too soon, it was the evening before his plane ride home and you were helping him gather the stuff he left all over the place ─ the state of your living room was deplorable, but you could cry about it tomorrow morning. In any case, you had to get ready since Lando established earlier there was no way in hell he was going to go back without going out at least once. You replied by saying you already went out a couple of times but according to him, visiting was not considered “going out.”

A good thirty minutes later, you crossed the threshold of your house, heels clacking on the pavement as you approached Lando. He was waiting next to your own car, black shirt half buttoned and messy curls hastily tamed. You had forced yourself not to stare too much ─ friendship established or not, you were still the same girl he found on the stairs in Miami and he was still undeniably beautiful. His eyes raked over you in silence, his lips parting slightly, and you found your normally confident walk faltering.

You hoped he thought of you just the same.

Then, breathlessly, “Wow.”

That's all it took for fire to flame up your face, drowning the blush you so carefully applied. You graced him with a little spin, which he applauded. “Well, you're not so bad yourself,” you added. Understatement of the year.

You walked to the driver's seat, but Lando's hand on the handle stopped you going further. “Nah, I'm driving tonight. I got a surprise for you.”

“What do you mean, surprise? Weren't we supposed to go to the movies?” You raised your eyebrows, confused.

“We watched, like, 30 movies and I've been there 5 days - I’m starting to overdose. Trust me and get in the passenger seat.”

“... You being so ominous is making it very hard to trust you, Lando.”

“I’m an F1 driver, I can drive your car.” He sounded offended you doubted him, even though you weren’t alluding to his driving skills at all. Still, the tone he employed when mentioning your car was almost offending you. Not everyone had a McLaren salary. “I meant the surprise,” you clarified.

“Ah. Well. Have a little faith in me, c’mon.” On these words, he climbed into the driver’s seat and closed the door on you. The audacity of that man, sometimes you couldn’t believe it. It didn’t leave you much choice than to take the seat next to him and watch the landscape go by. Quiet conversation was made as the sky tinged with dark, navy blue, and before you knew it Lando was parking in front of one of the most reputable ─ and expensive ─ restaurants in your town. It was safe to say you never put a foot in it before.

When you got out of the car, you almost jumped at him. “That’s your surprise?!” You whispered-exclaimed under his amused gaze. “You’re crazy. Downright mad.”

“I’m inviting you!” Like it was the most natural thing in the world, to just indebt yourself by inviting a girl to dinner. The smile he flashed at you was a mix of hesitation and enthusiasm, so bright that any protests and remarks about how you just couldn’t let him pay died in your throat. Instead, you thanked to which Lando answered by giving you his arm. You took it and entered the restaurant.

You couldn’t describe the meal as anything but luxurious, whether it was taste-wise or the plate’s presentation. Your surroundings were gold plated and yet the only thing you could focus on was how hard Lando was trying to make you choke on your food ─ the jokes were flowing just as much as the wine in your glass, any awkwardness you may have felt stepping into this place disappeared into thin air as soon as Lando started occupying the conversational space, like he could sense how tense you were.

Before you could even look at the dessert, he stopped you. “We’ll skip that,” he said. You threw him a strange look. “I have another thing planned, just go with it.”

How many surprises were in store for you tonight? You didn’t know, and your Excel-spreadsheet-on-vacations self was getting panicky. But if there was one thing you learned with Lando was that your incessant worrying was needless, especially with him. You left after he took care of the bill, being very careful about not letting the numbers in your sight, and climbed back into the car. The sky was now an inky black and the air was lukewarm on your bare arms. Lando rolled the windows down like he usually did, but this time let you be in charge of the aux ─ considering it still was your vehicle. Frank Ocean’s “Moon River” resonated in between hushed giggles and the chime of the wind in your hair. Flashbacks of that fateful night, three months ago, crept through your memories. You still couldn’t believe what it had come to.

You drove longer than you did before. This time, Lando parked on a cliff you had no idea existed, even though this was your town. And this time, when you got out of the car, your breath was taken away by just how many stars contrasted with the darkness of the night, the lights of the town too far away to blind them and instead joining them in a faraway source of light.

Marveling in front of the scenery stopped you from noticing Lando’s shenanigans behind you. He was awfully quiet, which wasn’t like him, so you turned around.

You found him on the roof of your car. Literally. With plastic goblets, the half-empty bottle of wine you had at the restaurant, and ─ you weren’t joking ─ a plate of pancakes. Your jaw dropped open, nearly hitting the floor. “What? How─ huh?” No full sentence could come out of your mouth at this moment, no matter how hard you tried.

“Don’t tell me you don’t like pancakes,” he pleaded, “I woke up way too early to make them not be eaten.”

You thought you dreamt yourself climbing on the top of your car to sit next to him, but it was all very real: you were wholly stunned, which he seemed to notice. Sheepish, he prompted a proper explanation, “I just thought I should, uh, properly thank you. For letting me stay at your house and all. This seemed less impersonal than the restaurant.”

“You stole the wine,” was the only constatation you were able to get out, barely. Emotions constricted your throat too tightly for you to utter anything else.

He laughed. “Took it when you weren't looking. ‘S not like they're going to reuse it so I took care of the waste.”

“Such an ecologist soul,” you teased.

“They call me Father Nature at McLaren.”

“How'd you…” Words weren't coming out easily. Your eyes darted from the bottle, to the pancakes he probably woke up at an ungodly hour of the morning to make, and Lando ─ who was waiting for you to speak like you were his saving grace. Nobody ever looked at you like that, you thought, like you meant something more than what you were. “How'd you get this idea?”

Your question seemed to fluster him a little. He ran a hair through his curls, eyes darting to the side. “Uh, that's what he did. The male character in your book. Nothing Like The Movies I think? I thought that'd be something you like, y'know?”

Your heart thumped against your chest like it threatened to burst out of it. He read a romance novel, one of the most recent ones you reviewed. He took note of your favorite scene, in which Wes was supposed to take Liz to a restaurant but ended up eating on the roof of his car. He reproduced it.

For you.

“I…” There was a sentence threatening to spill out that you're not sure you quite mean yet, but you were feeling it so deeply it was hard to keep it in check. “I don't know what to say.”

“Then just eat the goddamn pancake before they get harder than they are. Turns out, they're not really durable.” It surprised a chuckle out of you.

The conversation carried on after that. The slow hum of Frank Ocean's discography escaping from the car made the perfect soundtrack to the vast discussions about racing, books, and life in general. The longer Lando and you went on, the quieter your voice got until they were reduced to a little more than a whisper, almost into each other's ears. Your cheeks hurt from laughing, your pinkie was intertwined with his, and the bottle was empty by the time the clock on your lock screen showed midnight.

“How did you even find this place?” You looked around once more, taking in the city lights, the tall trees, and the numerous stars above you.“I've been living here for years and I never knew you could get such a good view. Plus, it's not like you sneaked out during the night to scout places out. Unless?” You gasped exaggeratedly.

And there it was again, the pinkish tint at the end of his ears and the avoiding looks. “Nah, no sneaking out. I… I mean, what I did was─”

“You…?”

“I googled ‘date idea’ in your city and this is one of the places that came up.”

All of the sudden, the reality of the situation slapped you in the face. How Lando's thumb was lazily drawing circles on your hand, the romantic lyrics of the song playing from the car, the wine and the restaurant and how your eyes have been switching from his eyes to his lips a bit too often ever since you parked.

“Is this…?” You could kiss him right now. According to how transfixed he was by your mouth, you didn't think Lando would mind much.

You leaned in ever so slightly. He never answered your half-question, and even if he did you don't think you could have heard it through the hammering in your ribcage. However, his lips were but a brush of air against your own.

Because a goddamn flash stopped you.

You both jumped in surprise, the harsh light blinding you for a split second. The other half of it was enough to realize what you were faced with. Lando was the first to voice it, in more of a hiss than a sentence. “Fucking paparazzis.”

He got off the car in a jump, but a flurry of hurried footsteps told you that by the time he reached the spot the light came from, there would be no one left. You jumped off as well, dusting off your dress. “Lando?” You were shaking. Somehow, you couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment, panic, cold, or the brutal withdrawal of the high you were in not even a minute ago.

“The fuckers ran away.” His voice betrayed the palpable anger radiating off him. “I should’ve known. They’re always fucking there.”

The mood was gone, replaced by the static of the cold night air and the missing warmth of each other. By a silent, common agreement, you both cleaned up your car’s rooftop and climbed back in your seats soon after. The soft music was gone, the windows rolled up and Lando’s hands were tense on the wheel. When you got home, nothing more but a small “goodnight” was exchanged ─ apart from a glance, as you crossed your bedroom’s door, but it was too dark for you to interpret what it could mean.

When you woke up a few hours later, Lando was already gone.

You knew it was too good to be true. Things like that happened to the type of girls in the novels, not to you. But when Lando wouldn’t answer your texts, or carried on his vacations and his first Grand Prix back without a care in the world, you still couldn’t be asked to describe the terrible ache in your chest. You should have known.

You couldn’t wrap your mind around it ─ that all the late night calls, the comments, the texts, the rooftop of your car and the soft sweep of his breath on your lips was so easy to brush off for him. Not when it was the ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ of what could have happened that night that kept you up for so many sleepless hours. It left you wondering if any of it was real: the friendship, the sweet words, and everything in between, or if you were just the new mystery girl to toy with and give up when it became too complicated.

The heartbreak and betrayal weren’t even the worst part of the situation. You didn’t expect the photo to come out as quickly as it did, after McLaren had a good PR team and would be able to at least intercept it, right? Wrong. It came out two days later. The picture was slightly blurry but clear enough so you could perfectly see your face and Lando’s, dangerously close to each other, and your hands intertwined together.

The flurry of comments, DMs, and interview requests sent to you after was unbelievable. Your community did the best it could to try and get the tabloids off your back, bless them, but all the other sides of the internet were either begging for more information or calling you names. Still, Lando and McLaren chose to ignore the whole situation. Swallowing your pride and deciding to take the high road, you did the same. You read romance books, you reviewed them, you exchanged a little bit with your followers on social media, you watched movies ─ you carried on with your day-to-day life, even if it was with a little less vehemence and a growing dislike for the romantic genre you adored.

It was the first year a Grand Prix would take place in your city. A brand new circuit, with brand new challenges. Taking place in the middle of the season, you were ecstatic when it was announced a few months back. Now, seeing people walking down your street with bright orange shirts and a number 4 on their back on a Friday morning, the only thing you wanted to do was to close your blinds and crawl back into bed for the weekend.

Your plans were thrown in the wind not even an hour later by none other than Cisca Norris. With an Instagram DM. You started following each other a few days after your friendship with Lando had been noticed by the public eye, but you’ve never really spoken to each other. She looked like a sweet girl nonetheless.

ciscanorris: heyyyy

ciscanorris: ik we never talked

ciscanorris: and that might not be the bestest moment to get friendly

ciscanorris: but heyyyyyyy

Your eyebrows rose at the notification, but you weren’t about to let your situation with Lando get in the way of interacting with his sister ─ who had nothing to do with it in the slightest.

whoisy/n: hey cisca! dw at all, hows it going : )

ciscanorris: great!! hbu?

whoisy/n: tired, but apart from that nothing much

ciscanorris: rest well then!

ciscanorris: i’m going to be honest tho

ciscanorris: i’m not just texting you to ask how you’re doing

It should have surprised you yet it didn’t. The timing was too spot-on to be a coincidence, but you chose to live in ignorant bliss.

ciscanorris: are you going to the race this weekend?

whoisy/n: what do you think

ciscanorris: can’t blame you

ciscanorris: my brother’s an ass

That made you chuckle.

whoisy/n: i was thinking worse

ciscanorris: so am i

ciscanorris: but he wants to make up for it

ciscanorris: really

ciscanorris: he insists you should go to the race

whoisy/n: and he couldn’t text me and ask himself because…?

ciscanorris: doesn’t want to spoil the surprise apparently

ciscanorris: idk what he’s planning

Another surprise. Knowing how the last one amazingly ended, you were a little doubtful. Lando sent his sister to ask you to come as if she was the one racing, and now he had something planned ─ again.

ciscanorris: just check your mailbox and think about it

This was enough to pique your curiosity. You went out immediately, opening the little white mailbox next to your front door. There was only a small, brown letter with your address hastily written in black ink ─ you recognized Lando’s handwriting. There it was: a paddock pass, classic McLaren colors, with your name on it. With it? A note, same brown paper, same handwriting: “Please”.

That’s all it took to convince you to go. After all, you still had to get a proper apology.

This time, you entered the McLaren’s side of the paddock with purpose. The staff member at the entrance knew your name and even showed you the way ─ a sharp contrast with your experience a few months back. You stood above the garage, right in front of the track and near a decisive turn, though the number didn’t come back to you. It was a good spot, excellent even, it could be said to be better than the Beach Grandstands in Miami.

Yet, there was no sign of Lando.

You walked past Oscar in the hallways and the quiet driver just flashed you the tight-lipped smile you give to acquaintances in the street. You walked past his girlfriend, Lily, and you even passed by Lando’s dad, whose eyes widened in recognition but was clearly too busy to offer you anything more than that. Everyone but the man you came to watch the race for. You started to absentmindedly fidget with the bottom of your orange shirt ─ if that was his version of an apology, he was pretty shit at it.

The race started soon after your arrival, and the pit in your stomach dug deeper and deeper as you watched Lando do the formation turn. You suppose you were to wait until the end of the race, which made sense in a way, but you didn’t appreciate being put on standby like greenery on a windowsill.

The animosity dimmed when the sound of motors rang in your ears at lights out.

The circuit was brand new, and two days of preparations were not nearly enough to get acquainted with an entire novel track. Risks were high, and the probability of winning was evened out for everyone, which justified the cacophony of cars bumping into the others during the first lap as everyone found their footing. You believed Lando would have a good chance of ending P1 and snatching a victory in your city ─ it was the type of track and weather that favored him.

But Lando had started on pole position.

From the years you spent watching races and your general knowledge of him, Lando Norris didn’t do well when he started a race on pole. Most often, pressure got to him and he lost one or two places during the first few laps, which made you curse at the TV more than you’d like to admit. Unfortunately, it was exactly what was happening right now: you gripped the railing for dear life as Hamilton passed him, then almost broke your nail on the metal when Verstappen followed suit.

By the last lap, Lando had managed to stay P3 and keep his place on the podium, much to your relief, but the bitterness of pole escaping him was obvious in his behavior: champagne was sprayed all over him by his colleagues but he wouldn’t even look up from the ground, his traits disfigured by disappointment. Maybe some would see it as tiredness, but you knew better.

That’s why as soon as he walked down the podium to head to his team and to his garage, you darted downstairs to meet him.

It didn’t take long to spot Lando. His team surrounded him, clapping his shoulder and congratulating him with a bright smile. He barely returned them, scratching his neck in embarrassment. He was looking around like a lost puppy and you stood there, amidst the mess of elated people, unsure of what you should do or say. When Lando’s eyes set upon you, his expression went from disappointment to remorse in a split second.

He acted before you could. Rushing toward you, his voice was broken when he spoke up, trying to make himself clear above the surrounding noise. “I’m so, so sorry. I fucked it all up. I was─ that was shitty. My race was shitty.”

You blinked. “What?” You couldn’t understand the link to the race and your situation to save your life. “Lando, you’re P3.”

Lando ran a hand through his hair, gripping his curls. His eyes bore into yours, cutting off anything you might have wanted to add. “No!” He continued. “It’s not─ it’s not good enough. I should have been P1. It should have been me, up there. I worked… I worked so hard so I could…” He was breathless now, searching your face for something, even though you couldn’t tell what exactly.

“What are you even talking about?” Frustration elevated the tone of your voice.

“I was supposed to win the race for you!”

That shut you up. Incredulity coursed through you and your mouth, half-opened to say a sentence, couldn’t manage to get out a sound. His words didn’t make sense, and somehow you didn’t need to know more. Lando took your stunned silence as a sign to continue.

“I was supposed to win the race for you. I wanted to give you your book moment. You’re, you’re the type of girl that deserves to get swept off her feet, the grand gestures and all that!” He threw his arm in the air. “When you told me you never had that when we called that night, and the fact I could be the first one to do that for you… I never wanted something, someone, as bad.”

You felt yourself flush. “Everything else failed,” he kept on going, almost erratic, “I tried the heartfelt confessions but bailed right after, I tried to impromptu date but I forgot all about the fucking journalists. So I thought that- that maybe I could give it to you the way I knew best, by racing.”

His words, two months back, echoed in your mind. If you love her, you win a race for her.

“But I had to fuck that up too. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

All of it was for you.

The way Lando looked at you, desperate and miserable, the way your feelings were overflowing out of you and him… it was almost too much for you to process. Your mind and heart were an unintelligible tangled mess you couldn’t make sense of, and in classic you fashion, the first sentence that spilled out of your lips was a teary-eyed, broken, “You’re so stupid.”

“I know.”

You quickly wiped the tears that started spilling down your cheeks. “Not in that self-deprecating way you’re thinking of. Don’t you think it would have been easier if you just told me all this instead of ghosting me for almost a month? Making me think nothing about all this was real? Is that why you weren’t texting or answering me, you were figuring out how to go about this circuit?”

Lando nodded bashfully. You let out a dry laugh. “You’re unbelievable. I don’t care about- that! I don’t care that you didn’t get pole position, I don’t care about your ‘failed’ attempts. I couldn’t care less. What I care about is you. If you had told me that instead of leaving…”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he apologized again. “I just─ I wanted─ I know I acted like a moron and I should’ve done better but I thought that if I─”

“I understand. I know.” Gently, you took his hands, furiously fisting the pans of his tracksuit, into yours. Apparently, it acted as an ice bucket dropped right on Lando’s head. He stared at you as if it was the first time ─ in a way it was. He was sweaty, dirty, and covered in champagne, his curls falling onto his forehead and you were standing there, almost as surprised as your first meeting. Except everything else had changed, and the man in front of you wasn’t just a guy driving in a fast car you liked watching on Sundays. “But I didn’t need it. You’re plenty enough all by yourself, without the grand gestures and book-worthy moments. I’m not a book heroine. I need something real.”

The space between the two of you suddenly seemed too vast for the emotions inside of you. One of Lando’s hands carefully slithered on your waist, as if to test the waters. The gentleness of his movement, its implication, stole the breath out of you. “How real are we talking?” He was trying to make light of the situation, but the underlying seriousness in his voice betrayed him.

“I think you know it by now.”

And just like that, his lips crashed onto yours.

It was an electric shock as if lightning struck you and spilled in your entire body. When he pulled back, you didn’t waste a second wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him right back in.

If his hands were considerate, never unraveling further than your waist and cheeks, his mouth was the complete opposite: hungry, intense. He kissed you like he had been holding back for so long it pained him not to touch you, and you kissed him back with the same vigor because you had been waiting just as much. He tasted like expensive alcohol and you were drunk on it, on the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands on your body. You couldn’t get enough. You don’t think Lando could either. It was messy, somewhat clumsy, his mouth wet and firm moving in sync against your own in haste and impatience.

But it couldn’t have been more perfect. Not for your first kiss.

“Really, right here? Get a goddamn room.”

You recognized Oscar’s voice, even though you couldn’t see him, which was an acidic reminder of where Lando and you both were. You broke the kiss first, and he let out a breathy laugh against your lips, sending shivers through your whole body. “That… was a long, long time coming,” he whispered.

“Whose fault is that?” He chuckled again. You did too.

You gave each other a bit of space, mainly for some well-needed air but also for the comfort of the staff around you. Still, Lando’s hand went up from your waist to your forearms, taking you in like it was the first time he saw you. His smile, wide and bright, brought the trademark heat to your cheek. “You wore the right color this time.” You were now hyper-aware of the shirt you wore, bright orange with a 4 printed on the back. “Good, I would've hated kissing you while you were wearing red. That equals cheating now, by the way.”

“Oh, really? You know, you still technically haven’t taken me out on a proper date,” you teased. “Don’t think you’re forgiven just yet.”

“Don’t even worry about that, I’ll take you out on the best dates ever. No paparazzis this time. You’ll even choose the movies.”

“Even if it’s a romcom?”

“I kinda grew attached to them because of you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Before you could get another comment out, a squeal replaced it as you felt the floor give up under your feet. It took you too long to realize Lando had swept you up in his arms, bridal style and was currently heading down a hallway. Your arms went up around his neck, this time for support. “What are you doing?” You asked with a giggle.

“Taking you to the driver’s room.” Even though you couldn’t manage to see his face, you could practically hear his grin, proud and cocky. “Going to give you reasons to forgive me, we can talk date ideas here.”

“What about the interviews?”

“They can wait.”

Playful protests escaped you under the incredulous eyes of the staff members who saw you disappear behind the white door. You didn’t care. At all. Anxiety be damned, as well as everything that held you back before. Because of this, what you had with Lando, felt perfect. Right. It might be too soon to call it love, but you had no doubt it would come to that sooner than later.

Because the way he held you, the way he kissed you, the way he looked at you, was undoubtedly better than any romance novel you ever read. Because it was real.

©drgnsfly 2k25. do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #ln4 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 #formula one #mclaren #f1 fanfic #lando x reader #lando norris fluff #fluff #lando norris imagine #f1 imagine #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #ᯓ my writing.ᐟ

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onlyonetifosi · 2 years ago

Text

It was a warm summer day in the small town of Monte Carlo, where the Leclerc family resided. Charles and Arthur, the two eldest siblings, were already making waves in the world of motorsports. Their passion for racing burned bright, captivating the hearts of fans worldwide. But there was a forgotten ember in the family, YN Leclerc, the youngest sibling, who had always yearned to be a part of that racing world.

From a young age, YN had watched her brothers zoom past in their go-karts, leaving behind trails of dust and dreams. Her heart ached with a desire to be on the track, to feel the adrenaline course through her veins as she chased the checkered flag. However, the Leclerc family couldn't afford to support her aspirations. Racing was an expensive venture, and they had already invested everything in Charles and Arthur's careers.

Undeterred, YN sought solace in the humble surroundings of her father's garage. Amongst the wrenches, oil stains, and the smell of gasoline, a new passion sparked within her. She discovered a natural aptitude for engineering and car mechanics. With unwavering determination, she spent hours studying the intricate workings of engines, dissecting every bolt, and understanding the science behind speed.

As YN's skills grew, she found herself becoming part of her brothers' racing team. While Charles in F1 and Arthur in F2 showcased their driving prowess on the track, YN worked tirelessly behind the scenes. She fine-tuned their cars, ensuring every engine was in optimal condition, and adjusted suspension settings to suit different tracks. Her keen eye for detail allowed her to spot potential issues before they escalated, making her an invaluable asset.

"YN, mon cher, you have an incredible talent," Pascale Leclerc, their maman, said one evening as she watched YN tinker with an engine. "Your father would have been proud of you."

YN looked up, her hands still covered in grease. "Do you really think so, maman?"

Pascale smiled warmly. "Of course, my dear. Your father always believed in you, just as I do. Your brothers are making their mark in the racing world, but you, ma petite, you have the power to leave your own legacy."

Slowly but steadily, YN began to gain recognition for her technical prowess. Fellow engineers and mechanics admired her innate talent and the relentless dedication she brought to the table. She became a mentor to younger enthusiasts, imparting her knowledge and nurturing their passion for cars.

Yet, despite her achievements, YN couldn't escape the shadow of her brothers. She longed to carve out her own identity within the racing community.

One evening, as YN stood in the garage, contemplating her future, Lorenzo Leclerc, Arthur's manager, approached her. "YN, I've been watching you closely," he said in a low, gentle tone. "You're more than just a mechanic. Your understanding of the sport is unparalleled. Have you ever considered becoming a race strategist?"

YN's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and curiosity washing over her. "A race strategist? But I've always been behind the scenes..."

Lorenzo smiled. "Exactly. You've been the unsung hero, the one who ensures everything runs smoothly. Imagine having the power to make split-second decisions that can determine the outcome of a race. You have what it takes, YN."

As the seasons changed and years passed, YN navigated the world of motorsports with grace and resilience. She attended races, observing the tension and excitement of the pits, and strategized race plans alongside her brothers and their team. YN's insights and meticulous preparations became instrumental in their success. Her brothers, recognizing her invaluable contributions, spoke of her achievements with pride, giving her the recognition she deserved.

But amidst the triumphs, there was still a lingering ache in YN's heart. The memory of their father, Hervé Leclerc, haunted her. His passion for racing had been the foundation on which their dreams were built, and his untimely death had left a void in their lives.

One day, while they were all gathered in their family home, reminiscing about their father's love for the sport, YN mustered the courage to speak.

"Maman, Charles, Arthur," she began, her voice laced with emotion. "I miss him. I miss him so much. Every time I step foot in the garage, I can still feel his presence. He believed in me, didn't he?"

Pascale's eyes glistened with tears as she embraced her youngest child. "Yes, my darling. Your father believed in all of you. He saw the fire in your eyes, the same fire that burns within Charles and Arthur. Your path may be different, but you carry his spirit with you."

Charles and Arthur stood on either side of YN, their expressions filled with a mix of understanding and support.

"You've proven yourself time and time again, YN," Charles said, his voice firm yet gentle. "You're not just a mechanic or a strategist. You're our sister, and you're an integral part of our team. We couldn't have come this far without you."

Arthur nodded in agreement. "You've found your own place in the racing world, YN. You've forged a path that's uniquely yours. And we're proud to call you our sister."

Through her journey, YN discovered that her passion for engineering was not just a consolation prize; it was her calling. She found fulfillment in the knowledge that her work played a significant role in her brothers' victories. YN's dream of racing may have taken a detour, but she had found a purpose that was just as exhilarating.

In time, the world began to recognize YN Leclerc as more than just the sister of racing prodigies. She became a respected figure in the motorsports industry, known for her technical brilliance and unwavering determination.

As YN stood on the podium beside her brothers, the roar of the crowd echoing in her ears, she looked out at the sea of faces. In that moment, she realized she had found her own place in the fast-paced, adrenaline-fueled world of racing. YN Leclerc, the unsung hero, had emerged from the shadows and claimed her rightful spot beyond the checkered flag.

And as the Leclerc family celebrated their triumphs, their father's spirit lived on, forever etched in their hearts. For it was through their collective passion and unwavering support for one another that they transcended the limits of the racetrack and found solace in the memories they held dear.

#charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagine #arthur leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fic #arthur leclerc x sister!reader #charles leclerc #f2 imagine #charles leclerc x sister!reader #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc

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scuderiasundays · 2 years ago

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time after time

summary: years of yearning ending in a fiery release 🧨 written with lennon stella's cover of "time after time" (one of my all-time favorites) on repeat!

words: 1315

a/n: those b/w milan photos gave me the final push i needed to get this out into the world! the first time i've written anything this long so i would appreciate any and all feedback 🫶🏼

September 2012

"I bet you could convince my mom to let me go." It was a picturesque night in Madrid as the words slipped out of his mouth. Gathered around a table adorned with colorful tapas, Carlos and his friends celebrated his and Y/N’s birthdays over Gambas al Ajillo and pints of Estrella Galicia. Sat across from Carlos was Y/N, his best friend who he had grown up alongside. The aspiring Formula 1 driver had been away for months, leaving behind his beloved hometown. Tonight, their tight-knit group had unanimously agreed to refrain from discussing anything related to motorsport, but Carlos couldn't help but come up with hypothetical situations that ended in successfully persuading his mother to allow him to race in Macau, a city an astonishing 10,497 kilometers away.

Would Y/N ever gather the strength to say no to those velvety brown eyes? The evening had quickly gone by, and Carlos and Y/N bid farewell to their friends, commencing their walk back to the Sainz residence. “Mama, look who I’ve brought home.” Reyes’ face lit up upon Y/N’s arrival at the front door. If ever a motherly instinct surged within Reyes, it was when she witnessed the two little ones growing up, sensing deep down they were destined to end up together. Reyes had been like a second mother to Y/N and had always gotten her a birthday gift of her choosing. “So, what shall it be this year?” Reyes beamed. “I want to use this year’s wish for Carlos, if that’s alright. He’s worked tirelessly this season and it would kill me if he didn’t get to race in Macau.”

“Carlitos put you up to this, no?” Reyes chuckled. Drawing Y/N into a warm embrace, she assured Y/N that Carlos could race at the Macau Grand Prix, so long as he stopped pressuring his best friend to speak on his behalf. To make up for her son’s foolishness, Reyes allowed Y/N to blow out the candles on the birthday cake she’d made for Carlos since she had virtually used up her birthday wish on him. Y/N closed her eyes, silently praying that this would be the year Carlos would come to his senses and realize she’s been madly in love with him this whole time.

July 2020

"You're not coming to Mallorca this summer?" Y/N could sense Carlos’ frustration seeping through the phone. It wasn't that she didn't want to go, of course she did. Summers in Mallorca were pure bliss. The refreshing gazpacho Reyes prepared, the laughter-filled board game sessions with Carlos' grandfather, and the exhilarating late-night padel matches with Carlos, Ana, and Blanca. There was cause for additional celebration this summer as Carlos had made it through the treacherous F1 silly season unscathed, securing a seat at McLaren. However, a mixture of the demands of residency and an unspoken truth kept Y/N from wanting to spend even a single moment with the man she had termed “Summer Carlos.”

Summer Carlos was carefree, bronzed, and exuded warmth. Summer Carlos was the Carlos who had drunkenly kissed her three summers ago, leaving her heartbroken when he acted as though nothing had happened the following day. The memory still stung, and Y/N wasn't sure if she was ready to face those emotions once again.

July 2022

Caco, Carlos' older cousin, had graciously invited Y/N to join them at the Silverstone Grand Prix. After managing to secure a weekend off from work, Y/N was euphoric escaping the sterile confines of the hospital. As she walked into the motorhome, a mix of emotions swirled within her. It had been months since she had last seen her best friend. Her job kept her tethered to the emergency room, while Formula 1 had taken Carlos across the globe.

The initial words that escaped Carlos' lips were, "You look pale, like you could use some Mallorcan sun." Y/N couldn't decipher whether he genuinely wanted her there or not. The uncertainty lingered, leaving her unsure of where they stood after all this time apart.

Eager to avoid being in anyone's way, especially Carlos', Y/N decided to take a stroll around the paddock. Lost in her thoughts, she ran into Lando, Carlos' former teammate, who recognized her immediately and approached with a friendly smile. "How've you been, Y/N? We miss you over at McLaren.” Y/N had tended to Lando after his Eau Rouge crash during qualifying in 2021, forging a close bond between them.

A faint smile appeared on Y/N's face as she replied, "Maybe I'll seek refuge at McLaren's hospitality this weekend since it seems like Carlos doesn't want me here." Lando chuckled in his characteristic way, the sound putting Y/N at ease. "You and I both know the man is terrible at expressing his feelings. He's probably just yearning for you because you've been too busy saving lives. Trust me," Lando reassured her. "I'm running late for a meeting, but I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

Y/N's mind was filled with curiosity, trying to make sense of Lando's words. Carlos pining for her? It seemed impossible, given their history and the distance that had grown between them. Yet, a flicker of hope ignited within her, and she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to Carlos' aloofness than she had initially assumed.

Y/N's phone buzzed, and her heart skipped a beat as she read Carlos' message: "You and me in my driver's room now." Her hands shook as she knocked on the door, waiting for his response. "Come in," he replied, and as she entered, she couldn't help but notice how he made the fiery Ferrari red his own.

"You can't just waltz back into my life whenever you feel like it, Y/N. Race weekends are sacred to me, and you showing up out of nowhere is a distraction. It's not like you even care about me or my career anyways. When was the last time you watched a race, hmm? Dr. Y/N is always too busy at the hospital."

Y/N wouldn't allow Carlos to lash out at her like this, not after all the sacrifices she had made. Countless sleepless nights on call, choosing to stay awake to watch Carlos race in distant cities. Collecting every article featuring him since his karting days, carefully preserving them in a special scrapbook. Being there for him in his darkest moments, answering late-night calls when the pressure almost crushed him.

"You can't push me away that easily. We both know I've always been there for you, to the point where I didn’t even know who I truly was when you reached Formula 1 and left Madrid," Y/N said. "I only bury myself in my work to avoid facing the emptiness that hangs over the city when you’re not around."

Carlos felt a pang of pain as he witnessed his best friend break down in front of his eyes. Had he truly misunderstood everything all along? Y/N's words pierced through his heart. "I’m all yours. I always have been," she said, her tears dampening her sleeves.

In an attempt to console her, Carlos whispered softly, "Don't cry, princesa. Mama will kill me if she finds out I made you so upset."

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle through her tears. “Well, go out and win this race for me, and I'll promise not to snitch.”

“For you, anything,” he said.

“And for the first time in Formula 1, Carlos Sainz is victorious! He wins the British Grand Prix!” The electrifying announcement filled the air as Y/N ran from the garage to the podium. As Carlos emerged from the car, his eyes searched for one face in particular. With both hands, he gently caressed Y/N's face. Without hesitation, he pressed his lips against hers, years of longing exploding in a passionate release. The two of them radiated a golden glow, as if destiny herself had brought them together, time after time.

#carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz #carlos sainz fic #f1 x you #carlos sainz fluff #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fic #carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz angst

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ghostlykiss · 2 months ago

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getting to know mutuals!

tagged by the amazing @mxrcusflint and @intrepidjourneys 🩷🩷

what's the origin of your blog title? Used to work in theatre and love the idea of ghost lights -- there is always a light that stays on, even during "dark days" (days off). Ghostly kiss meaning there is always love present, even if it doesn't outright seem like it.

otp(s) + shipname(s): The main ones are probably Jake and Bradley - Hangster, Steve and Bucky - Stucky, and Jim and Spock - Spirk.

favourite colour: Lilac, or any pastel purple 💜 but I also love pink 🩷.

song stuck in your head: Who We Are by Hozier ("Hold me like water/ or christ, hold me like a knife" ?????? Ask me about my love for characters yearning to be loved as a weapon, to be seen as useful).

weirdest habit/trait: I affectionately and very gently bite the people I hold dearest, especially when drunk.

hobbies: Hiking, film photography, motorsports photography, drawing, travelling, making things (sewing, carpentry, crafting, etc).

if you work, what's your profession? Project manager at a bank (it pays the bills, no I do not like it).

if you could have any job you wish, what would it be? Aerospace engineering.

something you're good at: Anything involving making/building something, I'm good with my hands.

something you hate: Speaking as a dog owner, people letting their dogs run off leash in public (not off leash) areas. I don't care how friendly they are.

something you collect: Old coins/money from around the world but also specifically places I visit.

something you forget: That life outside of my current project(s) exists 😭.

what's your love language: All of them but the main ones are acts of service and quality time.

favourite movie/show: Other than the obvious ones - The Mummy, Some Like It Hot, Pride and Prejudice, and too many others to count, I love movies.

favourite food: Cuisine - Korean, specific - sushi.

favourite animal: I don't know how not to overthink this answer, I love all animals and I don’t know how to pick a favourite 🫣.

what were you like as a child: Independent, big into climbing trees, a bit wild (so nothing changed lol).

favourite subject at school: Art!

least favourite subject: Biology and English (English isn’t my native language).

what's your best character trait? I'm comfortable admitting when I'm wrong, and learning from my mistakes. And while I do bitch a lot, I also have a pretty positive outlook on life and I'm pretty resilient about it.

what's your worst character trait? Not finishing projects, not on purpose I just get distracted by a new shiny project easily.

if you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be? Get rid of the conditions that are causing chronic pain.

if you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? Could I choose to go forwards in time instead, and see/live in the future? If not, then a relative who was a famous ballet dancer/choreographer. I would want to tell him how much he shaped male ballet in the 20th century

Tagging (I'm sorry if you've already been tagged!) @hangmanbradshaw @rcgersromanoff @nixie-deangel @tgmsunmontue and whoever else I missed that wants to participate (Especially if it's your side blog and I don't know what your main is 😭😭)

#Arctic rambles #about #thank you for tagging me!

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goalies · 1 year ago

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reworking a LOT of my ocs i think aka. insane ramblings under the cut

Atticus

-i’m returning him to his base form i think. kinda.

-i’m gonna send him to america to either be an indycar or nascar driver. perhaps smth of a illot situation where he really shines getting away from europe. but. isn’t happy

-i kinda. want him to realize that the life he’s leading in motorsports sucks and that he CAN do better and basically becomes a florist in a little flower shop back in england or smth because he’s always yearned in some way for a quaint little quiet life

-his sister is also still around. she’s still a. marine biologist! she has a very close relationship with atticus and acted as a maternal figure for a lot of his early life and such…she loves being able to see his work at the flower shop really bring out the best of him

-still has his cat, petunia, but perhaps he even decides to become a foster parent of some sort? maybe him and noah fall in love and become a couple

Noah

-i think a lot about him stays the same, still a keeper for liverpool, still trans, but i think i want to have him actually be from ireland instead of from switzerland for no reason other than i think it fits better in my heart of hearts

-i also just don’t like the longer hair on him so i’m cutting it down to be, at max, a mullet length i fear

-for backstory i think he still has encouraging parents but perhaps also an older sister who he looks up to. she’s probably a #woman in stem

-noah is still into gardening and that’s probably how he and atticus would end up meeting bc noah starts to frequent and petunia really likes him and atticus has this subtle dry humor that noah just falls in love with

-probably had some sort of toxic relationship prior to them meeting and falling in love though. maybe. game theorizing.

Harpy

-kinda already wrote about this but i basically way overhauled him

-still gay. still in the military. still has a shitty dad but a loving brother but not in the navy his whole career anymore

-his dad is ex military and really wanted harpy and his brother to enlist, only harpy ends up enlisting as his brother moves out to go to college and probably becomes an educator or a children’s therapist i haven’t decided yet

-had a little sister who passed in a freak accident when he was little. fucked up everyone in his family n left harpy with some crazy survivors guilt at 15 (she was like 10)

-goes into the navy as a fighter pilot, meets his best friend Marley, they’re like a dynamic duo, eventually they’re pulled out by the secret service to utilize their abilities on a specialized task force of undercover operatives

-absolutely not accurate to the military but it’s MY lore and MY rules

Marley/Dia

-i don’t think much about her changes except her physical design where she absolutely dresses more pink and stuff. full on butch lesbian no holding back

-she’s sassy and casually bullies harpy like a ridiculous older sister and is one of the only people who harpy lets in to a touch outside thst he’s built around himself for a while

Gunner

-he plays for the giants. i’m no longer making him play for some rip off team. he plays for the GIANTS!

-he’s more of a fuckinf ASSHOLE. i watered down the personality i wanted to really give him and that wasn’t fair to him. go girl be a massive bitch!

-still a pitcher. but wears #13 rather than #18 bc it’s my favorite number

-his dad was still a pitcher for the mariners and passed away when he was young…probably about 60% of the reason he’s as much of an asshole as he is. he’s mad at the world for taking away one of the only people in the world who didn’t judge him for being so passionate about the sport

-his dad probably wore #13 as well and while he didn’t win more than maybe one world series, he was consistently very good with the team until his retirement and likely had his jersey retired either after his passing or his retirement. either way. his idol

-people judged him for the autism. it was the baseball spinterest

-he’s absolutely. a very large prick though, unavoidably, unabashedly, etc etc. he’s great with his own teammates but snappy with strangers and with a lot of other athletes on the other teams. (not with the mariners though. he’s secretly upset he’s not on that team as much as he loves the bay area)

-not sure what i want to do with him past this though…love this guy!

#alex.txt #ocs #i have basically left them all to rot since august and i feel bad #im repurposing them all for what makes ME happy!!!#particularly endeared to the changes with gunner and atticus though #IF YOU EVEN CARE BTW FEEL FREE TO ASK ME ABOUT THEM. I LOVE THEM!!!’

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itsworn · 7 years ago

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2018 Trans-Am Racing at the Monterey Historic

We all have them: the automotive bucket lists that we’ve compiled in our heads over the years. As teenagers growing up on the East Coast, we would sit around drinking beer and talk about how one day we’d roll in the Hot Rod Power Tour, break records at Speed Week, and then rumble down Woodward Avenue in Detroit as part of the Dream Cruise. These were the events our adolescent psyches lived for; excursions that we’d mentally plan out but that would most likely never come to fruition. We would talk about what we’d drive there, how we’d scoff at the law by doing burnouts and donuts and then ultimately, be discovered by a news crew or magazine publisher and then become instantly famous due to our radiating coolness. That is were our minds were at in those days, and it was the weekend b.s. sessions like that which got us through the winter months when two-feet of snow lined the streets.

But that was then, and now I live on the West coast, in Northern, CA, a mere 118-miles away from one of the greatest automotive events the world has to offer. I speak of course about Monterey Car Week, that yearly orgy of automotive gluttony and excess that takes place mid-August in and around the Monterey Bay Peninsula. During this week the streets are literally filled with billions of dollars worth of automobiles, auction houses, and individuals whose wristwatches are worth more than most new cars. It’s a true spectacle, and if it’s not on your automotive bucket list, then add it immediately, because it’s something you’ll not want to miss.

One of the highlights of car week comes in the form of the Rolex Monterey Motorsports Reunion (a mouthful, I know) that is held at WeatherTech Raceway Laguna Seca. This event plays home to all manner of racecars stretching over the last 100 years. There are vendors, celebrity drivers, thousands of like-minded enthusiasts, and automobiles that have been borrowed from some of the finest collections.

The various grids are made up of everything from pre-war Bugatti and Alfa’s, to early Formula One cars and the Trans-Am Series hot-rods of the 1960s and early 70’s. We’re talking about vehicles with dollar values in the high six-figures (and beyond) that are piloted by drivers who don’t hold back. Ever see a 1952 Allard go head-to-head with a ’54 Porsche? You will here. How about a 1984 Nissan 300ZX Turbo roll in the same field as a 1973 BMW CSL? It’s crazy I know, but this is where it happens. We’re talking about an automotive Disney Land that your imagination would be hard pressed to topple if given the opportunity.

Races aside, one of the best aspects of the Motorsports Reunion is the unbridled access that everyone in attendance has to the vehicles, personnel, and the drivers. There are no security guards in black suits or velvet ropes keeping folks out. Instead the paddock is filled with EZ-Up tents that house tools and the crews who work feverishly to make sure that the cars are ready for the next race. There’s also an understanding that everyone in attendance respects: look but don’t touch, ask questions and be polite and above all else, enjoy. For the teams participating, this is serious, and it costs big dollars. Therefore, keep your distance when work is underway, and more importantly, understand that being here is a privilege, despite what that $110.00 ticket says.

As a standalone track, Laguna Seca is pretty damn good. We’re talking about a 2.2-mile road course with 11-turns, a ¼-mile+ long straight and of course, the legendary corkscrew that, when taken properly, makes you feel like your falling off the Earth. From a technical perspective it’s somewhat of a point-and-shoot affair, but that doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining. I’ve driven everything from a Porsche GT3 RS to a Dodge Caravan through these bends, and each and every time, I’m reminded that I’m rolling on hallowed ground.

Wandering around the pits is enough to send your brain into sensory overload, especially when your childhood heroes are sitting in front of you. Vehicles like the 1971 championship-winning AMC Javelin driven by Mark Donohue, or the ‘70 Boss Mustang that was wheeled by Parnelli Jones (1970 Trans-Am Championship Winner). There was also Sam Posey’s Sublime Green 1970 Dodge Challenger (complete with Keith Black small block), along with some lesser-known cars like Rusty Jowett’s red 1968 Camaro Z/28, the ’68 Ford Mustang Coupe of Dean Gregson and another one of my favorites, the 1964 Pontiac Tempest (known as the Gray Ghost) that debuted at Lime Rock in 1971.

As a muscle car guy, the Trans-Am Championship Series of racing that took place between 1966-1972 was my favorite series of all time. We’re talking about racecars that looked almost identical to their showroom brethren and that would rip a hole in the atmosphere every time they cranked to life. It was the golden age of motor racing in the United State,s and it was one of the few times in history when racing was still relatable to the common enthusiast. Camaro’s, Mustang’s, Javelin’s, Tempest’s and Challenger’s would all mix it up and grind fenders, while at the same time, igniting the imaginations of every kid who had their faces pressed against a showroom window.

These are racecars that ran carburetors and manual transmissions and employed drivers whose nether regions were so massive that they overcame the need for self-preservation. Drivers aside, this was also when the engineers and pit crews from back in the day cheated so tastefully that it would drive the tech inspectors insane. As a case-in-point, consider Sam Posey’s ’70 Dodge Challenger that had been acid dipped to reduce weight. The roof material was so thin, when a tech-marshal rested his elbow on it, it actually dimpled it was so thin!

Want to cheat like the professionals? Well then, that’s how you do it.

Throughout the day, we watched everything from the pre-war cars on their pizza-cutter sized tires to the wild-looking IMSA rigs that dominated the 1970’s and 80’s. And while they were a sight to behold, it was the 8-cylinder symphonies of the Trans-Am cars that had me glued to the fence. One after the other, they roared passed while I camped out at the corner of Turn 4. The red, white & blue Donohue Javelin, Posey’s Challenger, the Grey Ghost Tempest – for me, and without getting overly dramatic, it was a dream.

Lap after lap, they swapped positions while four-wheel sliding through the bends. Some of these cars were more than 50-years old, and the drivers were pushing them like they had every modern safety feature incorporated into them (*see nether regions). Between the sonic booms emanating from the open exhausts, the fans and the announcements being made over the P.A. system, if you closed your eyes you may have actually thought you’d gone back in time. The race lasted around 25-minutes with the tri-colored AMC Javelin driven by one William Ockerlund taking the checkered flag. The yellow and black ’69 Z/28 Camaro wheeled by Chad Raynal took second, with third place going to the Grey Ghost 1964 Pontiac Tempest with John Hildebrand behind the wheel.

The cool down lap was filled with drivers, hands out of their windows, waving to the crowd like victorious gladiators. The cars, now a bit dirtier and with a few more paint chips, seemed to be relieved that the race was over, yet in their heyday they would’ve covered 90-laps or more. We followed other fans down from the grandstands and through the paddock to watch the cars pulled back into their stalls. As we walked, I heard those around us comment on how awesome it was to be here, and it was great to know people felt the same way I did. We had all traveled long distances to witness a mere 25-minutes of awesomeness, and I highly doubt if there was one among us who left disappointed.

We muddled around the paddock for another hour or so before heading home and once there I headed straight for the Internet to find original Trans-Am Series footage. As I watched, I wondered what it must’ve been like to experience these cars in their prime with the cheating, balls-out driving, and competition. I suppose in some respects it’s not much different than today, sans the advanced technology and safety regulations we’re all privy to. Then, I began to think about the track days we do out here in our own cars. Head to any HPDE event for instance and you’ll see Mustangs, Porsches, Camaros, Challengers, and all manner of Corvette and Miata ripping around with the drivers involved in mental battles with the clock and those around them. Is it real racing? No, at least not in the literal sense anyway. Yet for those of us who still yearn to see semi-modified street cars run flat out on the track, it’s about as good as it gets.

The vintage races that are run at the Rolex Monterey Motorsports Reunion are spectacular. There are events from Thursday on, with races held on both Saturday and Sunday at the track. Then there’s car week in general, which brings together automotive enthusiasts from around the globe. From a people-watching perspective, it’s downright hilarious, as Botox and overpriced shirts seem to be the norm. If you’re into auctions there’s Mecum, RM Sotheby’s, Gooding & Company, Bonhams and more. As for the high-class meet-ups, you can always hit up the McCall’s Motorwerks Revival, the Quail Lodge at weeks end, or the Concours d’Elegance on the lawn at Pebble Beach on Sunday. If these are your types of jams, though, just be prepared to spend upwards of $375.00 for each ticket (we know, it’s nuts).

Automotive enthusiasts will gravitate to anything with an engine, be it a barstool or a HEMI ‘Cuda. We love them because it’s how we’re wired and there’s nothing anyone can do to change that. Car week is everything we love about the automobile in excess, and the Trans-Am Series races are just icing on what we view as the world’s greatest cake. Are these events expensive and time consuming when you factor in hotels and food? Sure they are, but believe me when I tell you that with all the stress that everyday life can bring, knowing that gatherings like this still exist make me feel pretty damn good about being in this hobby.

The post 2018 Trans-Am Racing at the Monterey Historic appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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barbosaasouza · 7 years ago

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The Crew 2 Review: Monotony Served Up Three Ways

Arcade racing games used to be everywhere around the turn of the century. As tastes and the video game market have changed, the supply of such games is pretty thin these days. Ubisoft has produced a new sequel to their 2014 open world racing game, The Crew, in an attempt to fill the arcade racing void in the market. To up the ante from the first game, boats and airplanes have been stirred into the mix of land vehicles, creating an all you can eat buffet of motorized fun. At least, I think it's supposed to be fun. After forcing myself through hours of underwhelming races, I feel that The Crew 2 wants to be a Ferrari F40 when it's actually a Pontiac Aztek with some Monster Energy stickers and an oversized spoiler glued on.

Pulling Up To The Line

While I missed out on the The Crew when it first launched, I later acquired the game from a giveaway on Ubisoft’s uPlay platform on PC. I jumped in with a group of friends and spent a good amount of time with the game, mostly enjoying its open world recreation of America as the canvas for various races. I really disliked the way the cars handled and how progression was structured, but I was able to look past those things because the game was free and it was a reasonable first attempt with some decent ideas. I ended up purchasing both of its expansions, Call All Units and Wild Run (I guess Ubisoft’s giveaway of the base worked after all), though I never really played either of them.

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When I heard the announcement of the sequel, The Crew 2, I was cautiously optimistic. If the studio could re-work the driving model to feel like it rewarded skill and make the cars feel unique, The Crew franchise could begin building towards something special. Once I sat down with the game, I found that Ubisoft has doubled down on the lifeless driving and added in some truly insipid flying and boating. The huge map is unquestionably the star of the show, but the Crew 2 never offers you an exciting way to traverse it.

The first Crew game offered a cliched, yet mildly interesting story where your brother was murdered by illegal street racers and you had to work your way into these street racing gangs by going undercover with the help of law enforcement. It served its purpose as a reason to keep pushing through multiple motorsports disciplines and their associated events. Your character wanted to gain street racing credibility as a means to be welcomed into the illegal race gangs. For The Crew 2, the stakes have been raised to towering heights. You are seemingly a random person and all you yearn for is attracting social media followers and to impress random folks in the racing subculture. No dead brothers, no drive for vengeance, and no reason for the player to care. The presentation is slick, but it’s something we’ve seen countless times in racing games, going back as far as the Dirt series.

Worlds Of Promise

The opening encounters of the game introduce you to the driving, boating, and flying mechanics. The early events tease a cool Inception-esque world bending mechanic that is never seen again. Each of these modes of transportation are pretty bland on their own, although the game does offer a cool transitional sequence that lets you swap between all three types of vehicles on the fly. You can be 1000 meters above sea level in your plane and then seamlessly warp into your boat or car. The non-flying vehicles will simply drop out of the sky. It’s nonsensical, but fun. Coming up with clever ways to traverse the environment or set up stunts while swapping between vehicles is very cool and much more fun than any of the structured events presented by the game.

While the game map is enormous, there is very little reward for moving across it in your vehicles. The game pretty much lets you warp anywhere you want in a flash. As someone who was frustrated by the boredom from the race events, I appreciated that the developers did not force me to waste time driving (or flying or boating) to the next event. While there are open world skill challenges scattered around the map that can be triggered while moving about in the free roaming mode, I found myself warping to them just like any other event.

Missing Shifts

Your enjoyment of the events themselves will be dependent on how much you enjoy the game’s driving, boating, or flying mechanics. While I disliked most events, I did find fun in a few, such as the Circuit discipline races. Sadly, I could only play two of this race type (in very short 2-3 lap events) before I was forced to go back and fly or boat my way through events that were excruciatingly boring. You have to keep plowing through the various events (or side quests like photography) to earn an arbitrary amount of social media followers so that you can get the chance to unlock another pair of races you actually want to do. I eventually worked my way up to social media ICON, which unlocked almost all events, but by that time, I wanted the whole experience to be over.

The Crew 2 surprised me by increasing my level of disappointment as I progressed through the game. I made note of the Hypercar discipline early on in my game and worked to gain enough social media followers so that I could get access to races with some of the most exciting cars in the world. Once I unlocked the series, I discovered that the Hypercar events were possibly the most boring part of the game. Rather than clever circuits or street races designed to provide white knuckle action, Hypercar events are overly long road trips that involve almost no turns, almost no AI traffic, and are only good at making you forget that you are piloting a Ferrari. Racing ridiculously expensive supercars near 200 mph has never been so dull. I got so bored during the first Hypercar race that I decided to record the event after it had been going on for seven minutes. I assumed no one would believe me, so I needed video proof. I uploaded the recording to Youtube for you to watch (at your own risk) below.

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Plowing Into The Guardrail

I’ve mostly focused on the driving parts because I found the boating and flying stuff to be even worse. If you’ve played popular open world action games before, you’ve probably experienced races in these type of vehicles that were more exciting. The boating in particular is awful, as the game sometimes has water physics that affect you and other times not. You can drive over another boat’s wake and get tossed up or slowed down and other times the wake is just an alpha effect you move right through like a ghost. Sometimes your boat just slows down to a near stop for no reason. Fun stuff. Even worse is that I found no way to customize races to my liking. I’d like to try running hypercars through the early street racing courses or take the rally cars onto the stunt events, but I was never able to find out how to make that work (if it even is possible).

Graphically, the game is not too bad, especially compared to the first Crew. The quality of the lighting is greatly improved from the first game and the game map carries better vegetation and minor details. There are moments when the dynamic day/night cycle produce eye-catching vistas, but it’s not unfair to say that The Crew 2 is a step down visually from similar titles like Forza Horizon 3. The vehicle models are generally well done and serve their purpose. According to tests conducted by Digital Foundry, the game is locked to 30fps on all consoles (though the Xbox One and PS4 will have occasionally drops below). The PS4 Pro and Xbox One X get resolution bumps (up to 1800p on the One X) and additional details or longer draw distances. I played the game on PC, allowing for the framerate to be set up to 60fps. Like the original game, there is no way to take advantage of refresh rates above 60Hz. I played with an Intel 7700K CPU and GTX 1080 Ti GPU and found I had to turn down some settings to get a stable 60fps at 1440p resolution.

Limping Across The Finish Line

While I found the larger experience to be underwhelming, the game does offer some high points. Moving around the game map and fast traveling is instantaneous and seamless. While I didn’t find the game’s menus to be as functional as I’d like, they all look really sharp and fit within the game’s aesthetic. While music tastes are subjective, I found the included soundtrack to be very well done (as it was in the first Crew game) and it made some of the less exciting races more tolerable. Swapping between vehicles works very well and is probably the coolest part of the game.

I had hopes that The Crew 2 could build on the excellent open world map from the first game and offer a strong arcade racing competitor to the Forza Horizon franchise. Unfortunately, this didn’t happen. I feel that The Crew 2 fails at providing the heart of what what a racing game should offer, specifically a fun and rewarding driving experience. All the icing and fancy decoration in the world won’t make a crappy cake into a great cake. The Crew 2 can take a pack of exotic cars racing on a mountain road and produce results that are about as exciting as a round of solitaire.

This review is based on the PC uPlay release. The game was provided by the publisher. The Crew 2 was made available for PC, Xbox One, and PS4 on June 29, for $59.99.

The Crew 2 Review: Monotony Served Up Three Ways published first on https://superworldrom.tumblr.com/

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hildagalway2-blog · 7 years ago

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Main reason whies Good Ladies Receive Dumped.

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furiouswastelandpenguin-blog · 8 years ago

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Realisticsapolicecars_by_thir13en_devil. zip.

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83unsungheroes · 8 years ago

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Hi,

If we were having a coffee this week I might force you to have a Southport version of the Unicorn Frappuccino instead.

I had no idea that unicorns tasted so fruity. I was expecting something meaty, maybe along to lines of Bovril. No such thing.

As I write, I’m absolutely shattered so maybe we should have caffeine! Yesterday was a really fun day, but a long and tiring one. I went down to Wembley to watch the Anthony Joshua v Wladimir Klitschko boxing match. I’m not going to write too much about the fight here now cause I’m going to do a dedicated post in the next few days. You don’t have to be a boxing fan to read it either, so please come back to check it out.

(Those promotional sentences still feel a bit wrong!)

This is the story of the day anyway and some thoughts.

I got the bus down from Manchester at 8.30am which meant it was an early start. I’m not a fan of long journeys where I’m not in control of when and where we stop, so I got to the city early to get supplies and have as many last minute toilet visits I could squeeze in!

The bus set off on time and it was a pretty easy journey. There were only two annoyances.

The first was the sun shining brightly through red plastic. That wasn’t as annoying as the guy behind having to put his hands over the seat next to mine. I bet he’s one of those people who, when he sits in the back of a car, is one of those who has to lean forward to talk to the people in the front so the only thing you can see in the rear view mirror is his face.

I also contemplated the use of the word ��f*ck”. I think I’ll right a parental advisory explicit content post on this one too.

The bus arrived at Wembley stadium just before 1pm with gates opening at 17.30 and the boxing starting at 18.30. For anyone who has never, there are two important things to know about Wembley – there isn’t much to do other than eat and drink (that’s not too bad, obviously!) and it’s always cold.

I saw this guy taking a classic no look selfie.

I took a normal selfie to prove I was there / could you use Photoshop (the latter for those of you who are more cynical and think I actually stayed at home in my PJs).

It was a bad hair day but if I was having to get up early on a Saturday to go to an event like this I wasn’t going to make too much effort.

I also planned my next Wembley visit. Who wouldn’t want to see Steps live? It would be a “tragedy” not to.

While sitting in front of the Arena I was interested by “fashion” (says someone distinctly unfashionable). Women can wear fashionable clothes or pretty much anything and look amazing, but things seen as fashionable for men look daft to me. I know people like skinny jeans and things that fit well look good, but skinny jeans that enable you to see outlines of all sorts are just wrong.

When these skinny jeans are rolled half way up calves and accompanied by silly shoes they look worse. Even worse still is when they’re worn by gym bros for whom size is everything because you have to be genetically blessed to be able to balance torso and leg size.

The gates opened on time and I went in straight away to find my seat and food. The food was a hotdog and 6 Krispy Kreme doughnuts, two of which were saved for breakfast this morning. I also bought a programme and was disappointed to find a typo in something that cost me £10.

The boxing started with a fairly long undercard, although two of the fights didn’t happen for some reason.

I’m a little conflicted about boxing. Every sport, when you boil it down, is a simple and rather boring sounding affair. Football is people trying to kick a ball in to a net. Motorsport is people driving fast machines, often in circles. Boxing is two people trying to hit each other in the face and, when viewed as such, probably shouldn’t even be seen as a sport. If it was animals fighting, we’d have banned it and I’m not sure consent to being punched in the face is suitable justification.

Two men in the crowd decided to stage their own match and got arrested.

And yet the fighters come out in sparkling shorts and fancy gowns to music and flashing lights. Punters get dressed up in suits and arse skimming dresses (in one case last night it was skimming the top of her arse rather than the bottom of it, too). The whole thing is incongruous because it’s brutal, boring on the surface but fundamentally, deep down, entertainment for participants and spectators alike.

Anyway, I did find myself really getting in to it, especially the main event. I found myself biting my nails and rubbing my chin – things I always do when I’m pensive. When Joshua won, I was really pleased for him.

The atmosphere inside Wembley was electric. I’ve been there before when capacity is 80,000 and usually split between two opposing teams. This was 90,000 people of whom at least 89,000 were supporting the home town boy. When the referee ended the contest, the roof came off. It was an amazing experience.

The bus was back on the road by midnight. Aware that I had to be behind the wheel myself in four hours or so, I tried to get some sleep which I largely managed. However, I had a window seat and bus windows make very cold pillows. My nose and the left side of my face were far too chilly to sleep properly.

Also this week I found an absolute bargain table cloth.

What a find.

If you read my post last Sunday you might remember I was feeling a little low. This week has been a little better, but still up and down. The person in question and I used to talk about dreams, trying to translate the ones we had. We seemed to dream prolifically on opposing moon phases! Dreams should always be translated as what they mean to the dreamer, but whenever I looked at hers they always had a theme of being affected by something in the past that she couldn’t quite shake and that that interfered with what she really wanted.

I had a dream including her for the first time in ages last week. There were a group of us there, wherever it was. We walked past a cafe and two of the cast of Neighbours were sat at an outside table. They were drinking tea with beans in and I pointed it out cause she liked tea and, while I’m not a massive fan of beans, there is a connection there.

Nothing has changed at work, for anyone interested. I’m getting annoyed by a lack of paperwork and a lack of anyone showing an interest.

I forgot to post two new Pokémon last week, partly because they’re not exactly new. But, for those interested which I anticipate is fewer than those who care about my work situation, here is a party hat male Raichu and a female Raichu.

Hope you had a great week. Now drink up – I need to go back to bed.

Here at night In a lost and lonely part of town Held in time In a wad of tears I slowly drown Going home I just can’t make it all alone I really should be holding you holding you , loving you Loving you

Tragedy… When the feelings gone And you can’t go on it’s Tragedy… When the morning cries And you don’t know why , it’s Hard to bear With no-one to love you Your going nowhere Tragedy…

When you lose control And you got no soul , it’s Tragedy… When the morning cries And you don’t know why , it’s Hard to bear With no-one beside you Your goin’ nowhere

Night and day There’s a burnin’ down inside of me Burnin’ love With a yearning that won’t Let me be Down I go And I just can’t take it all alone I really should be holding you Holding you , loving you Loving you

Tragedy… When the feelings gone And you can’t go on it’s Tragedy… When the morning cries And you don’t know why , it’s Hard to bear With no-one to love you Your going nowhere

Tragedy… When you lose control And you got no soul , it’s Tragedy… When the morning cries And you don’t know why , it’s Hard to bear With no-one beside you Your goin’ nowhere

Tragedy… When the feelings gone And you can’t go on it’s Tragedy… When the morning cries And you don’t know why , it’s Hard to bear With no-one to love you Your going nowhere

Tragedy… When you lose control And you got no soul , it’s Tragedy… When the morning cries And your heart just dies Hard to bear With no-one beside you Your goin’ nowhere

Tragedy by Steps (in this instance)

The Boxing Unicorn Not-Coffee Hi, If we were having a coffee this week I might force you to have a Southport version of the Unicorn Frappuccino instead.

#weekendcoffeeshare

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grgedoors02142 · 8 years ago

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Ask the staff: Pick one focal length or lens to rule them all

Can you guess the focal length? Photo by Wenmei Hill

We handle a lot of glass in the DPReview office, but there always seems to be a handful of lenses or fixed lens cameras that everyone is extra eager to lay some paws on. Which got us thinking of a fun hypothetical: If we could only choose one lens to use for the rest of time, what would it be?

To keep things interesting, and to vary the answers, we opened the question up to include one lens in particular or one focal length. The photograph that accompanies each answer was shot with that staff member's chosen lens or focal length. We purposely didn't list the gear used. See if you can guess!

Carey Rose

Any guesses what focal length Carey gravitates toward?

Before I worked at DPReview, I would have immediately chosen the 35mm focal length. Now that I’ve worked at DPReview for some time, I have to say… I haven’t really changed my mind.

Splurging on a battered old D700 after college left me without enough money to pick up anything approaching a fast zoom, so I started building up a collection of affordable Nikon AF-D primes: a 50mm F1.8, a 35mm F2, an 85mm F1.8. I quickly realized that I just wasn’t a zoom guy, and the 35mm F2 was glued to my camera most of the time. A used X100 was a natural next step for a more portable setup when I scored a good deal on one. Even today, after using lens after lens and camera after camera for review after review, the 35mm focal length remains my go-to. It doesn’t matter whether I’m headed to shoot an event, a wedding, an environmental portrait, or just strolling around when some nice light hits, it’s more likely I’ll have a 35mm lens with me than any other.

Wenmei Hill

Wenmei likes versatility. Did she choose a zoom or a prime?

I’m going to take the easy way out and pick a zoom lens rather than a single focal length. My choice is the Nikon AF-S 24-120mm F4G ED VR, and my excuse is that the majority of shooting I do (documentary lifestyle and candid portraiture) requires a flexibility that is difficult to get with a single focal length.

I’m choosing the 24-120mm even though it’s not one of my ‘favorite’ lenses because it is relatively small, lightweight and versatile enough to get the variety of shots I look for when photographing. I am able to immerse myself in a scene at 24mm but also step back for a portrait at 120mm, using the longer focal length to get pleasing bokeh and separation from the background.

Shooting it on a DX-format body gives me even more reach at the long end (180mm equivalent) for portraits. I already use this lens as my everyday lens when I don’t have a particular creative plan and want to be prepared for anything, so it’s the one I’d choose if I had to pick just one.

Dale Baskin

Dale chose a specific focal length that he didn't always love. Can you guess what it is?

This will probably seem like I’m going for the low hanging fruit, but I would choose 35mm. I used to be a solid 50mm guy, and if I wanted to go a bit wider I switched to 28mm, skipping 35mm entirely. My shift to 35mm began in earnest when I started shooting Fujifilm’s X100 series of cameras, which have a 35mm equivalent lens.

Now, one could argue that I’m choosing 35mm because I really enjoy the camera to which it’s attached, but that’s not the case. In fact, when I first started shooting the X100 I enjoyed it despite the focal length. It was actually the one thing I didn’t care for about the camera. However, as I continued to use it, I learned to adjust my style to take advantage of the 35mm field of view. After a few months, I found myself really enjoying it, so I decided to do a little experiment: I was about to embark on a trip to Brazil and decided to shoot my entire adventure at 35mm. The idea was both exciting and scary; I knew from experience that I would be giving up some shots by not having the right lens. However, I like to travel light, and I hate carrying camera gear, so I threw down the gauntlet and accepted my own challenge.

The upshot? I had a great trip and captured a lot of memorable images. Did I miss a few shots along the way? Sure, I did. But on the flip side, I got some great photos I would have otherwise missed because I forced myself to visualize every scene at 35mm instead of mentally switching to a different focal length. Now, no matter what camera I happen to be testing, one of the first lenses I always put on the front is a 35mm (or equivalent).

Sam Spencer

Sam chose a specialty lens. This image was shot using a similar lens, albeit with a different focal length. Do you know what it is?

Forever? Forever ever? I’m sure I could do the practical thing and say ’24-70’, or be a motorsports spectator the rest of my life and say ’70-200’, but I’m weirder than that. If it was a lens for me to shoot what makes me happy for the rest of my days, it’d be the Nikon PC-E 85mm F2.8 for product, portrait, and automotive photography. The maximum magnification of 1:2 means I can get close for product, and use the tilt to either get more of the product in focus, or isolate the focal point. I like medium telephoto lenses for the narrower field of view that makes selecting a background out of a busy environment much easier, and even F2.8 can be bright enough to blur the background at 85mm. I’m a control freak, not a speed demon, so I’ll be watching eBay for a copy…

Dan Bracaglia

Dan's image was shot with the equivalent of his favorite focal length. The image was cropped in slightly, still any ideas what he chose?

The first and only lens I'd owned for many years was a 50mm. But as my interest in photography (and other activities) grew I found myself yearning for other lenses. If you'd asked me this question when I was 16 years old and shooting a lot of skateboarding, I probably would have said a fisheye is my favorite lens. If you'd asked me again when I was 18 or 19 years old and starting to get into photojournalism, I'd probably have said 24mm. If you'd ask me when I was 24-28 years-old, and reviewing cameras for a living, all why exploring the streets of NYC/Seattle, I most likely would have said 35mm. But these days, I've come full circle and 50mm is my focal length of choice if I could only shoot one lens for the rest of my life.

Sometimes overlooked or seen as pedestrian, there are plenty of reasons why a normal 50mm lens is number one in my heart and bag: For starters the nifty fifty is as practical as they come. Most manufacturers make a reasonably fast, yet inexpensive 50mm equiv. Moreover, I'd argue its the most versatile focal length of them all: in a pinch it can be used for portraiture or detail shots, in the same way a tele can. And it can also be used in some capacity as a wide-angle, if you have the room to move (I've shot many concerts with just a 50mm, without feeling a need for something wider). And if you get a reversal ring, you can mount a nifty fifty backward and use it for macro shooting!

For years I've carried a Nikon 50mm F1.8 in my bag as the ultimate backup for just about anything I'm shooting: weddings, concerts, portrait sessions, travel. It's light cheap and versatile. But these days, the lens spends as much time mounted on my camera as glass I own costing 6x as much.

Jeff Keller

Jeff chose a workhorse zoom. Can you guess which one?

Since I’m always shooting with something work-related, I don’t get to use my EOS 5D III very often. But when I do, my daily driver is the Canon EF 24-105mm F4L IS USM. Not the most exciting choice of lens, I admit, but for land- and cityscapes that I enjoy taking, it definitely fits the bill. The image stabilization works well, it focuses silently and the weatherproofing is helpful when you’re out at Snoqualmie Falls and it’s throwing mist. Naturally, not long after I bought the 24-105, the Mark II arrived, with new optics, better autofocus and new coatings to reduce lens flare and ghosting. The lens is larger and heavier than my Mark I model, which I consider a good size for its focal length and aperture.

It’s nice to see that Canon isn’t the only one offering a lens with this focal range. Sigma’s 24-105mm F4 DG OS HSM Art lens is even bigger and heavier than Canon’s Mark II version, but the build quality is excellent. And, according to DxO, it’s also a sharper lens. And did I mention that it’s a bit cheaper? Thus, if I was stranded in a world with wonderful landscapes and cool architecture, the Sigma 24-105mm F4 Art would be permanently mounted on my 5D III.

Vladimir Bobov

Vladimir is our newest DPR team member. He makes sure the site works properly. Any guesses what focal length he chose?

I wasn't sure whether to bother praising the 50mm focal length. I figured that it's so common, that talking about it would be either redundant at best or boring at worst. However, sorting my photo collection by focal length showed that I took more photos with a 50mm (on a 35mm full frame camera) than with any other lens, including the more versatile zooms.

So why pick the "normal" prime for the rest of my life? Versatility and portability. It's the perfect lens for candid portraits in a casual setting - fast enough to use in low light, and small enough to not intimidate the subject. Wide enough for full-body and group portraits, and good enough for head-and-shoulders (especially when paired with an APS-C camera). I've also been able to use it effectively for landscapes, close-ups, product, and food photography. So although I'd certainly miss the other focal lengths, with enough creativity and trickery, the 50 and I could live happily ever after.

Richard Butler

Richard chose a favorite lens that doesn't yet exist. This image falls toward the tele-end of his made-up range. Can you guess what it is?

If I have to live within the constraints of reality, then I’d be tempted to say a 35mm just for its Goldilocks-like flexibility. But, it seems only fair that if I agree to be bound by an arbitrary restriction, I’m should get to relax the need to limit myself to lenses that actually exist. The problem is that I really like 35-40mm equivalent lenses but also love something around 90mm equiv. for portraiture and a lifetime seems like a long time to have to go without.

Equally, if I have a 24 or 28mm equivalent lens, I get back into the habit of ‘seeing’ wide-angle scenes and I’m sure there’s some aphorism about making one’s life spicy. This is why I’m pushing back against reality: the need for a 90mm equiv, rules out the use of a 24-70mm equiv and, over time, the limiting equivalent aperture of an 18-55mm F2.8 on APS-C would leave me frustrated. Sigma’s 18-35mm F1.8 is a work of genius that I wish were available on mirrorless systems, so I’m going to put my faith in the men and women of Aizu and trust that they’ll make me a 16-60mm F2 for APS-C mirrorless. I mean, how hard could it be?

Allison Johnson

Allison chose a specific zoom lens, can you guess which one?

Maybe a truly bold person picks a prime to shoot with for the rest of their life, but I’m going to play it safe and pick a zoom, whatever that says about me. The Olympus 12-40mm F2.8 is not the very best lens I’ve ever shot with, but it’s fairly versatile, sturdy and relatively small. It’s the right size (along with the OM-D cameras I’ve used it with) so that it’s doable to carry around all day in my purse, and I like having a fairly wide 24mm equiv. out to 80mm for a little more reach when I want it.

Really, it’s not special in any way except that it’s a solid standard zoom for a system I like. I’ve had many happy days shooting with it, including one wonderful afternoon at a defunct nuclear power plant (seriously, it was awesome). If picking a zoom makes me basic, then so be it.

Barney Britton

Any guesses what lens Barney chose?

If I was trying to impress you, and if I wasn’t such a died-in-the-wool contrarian, my choice for ‘go-to’ camera and lens would be a Nikon D810 and a 35mm lens – something good, like the Nikon 35mm F1.4 or Sigma Art 35mm F1.4, or perhaps an old ’sleeper' favorite, like the Nikon AF-D 35mm F2, for the hipsters. If you were to ask me what focal length I use most, I’d say that probably around 90% of my photography could be achieved with a 35mm lens. If you were to ask some of my comment-thread critics on the other hand, they’d tell you that 90% of my photography could be achieved with an iPhone, or their 5-year old daughter, or their blind grandmother, or their blind grandmother’s 5 year-old iPhone, but that’s beside the point.

But I’m not trying to impress you. Which is why I’m going to cheat a little, and make a case for a zoom lens, and one that doesn’t get a lot of love in these parts – the Nikon AF-S 24-120mm F4. The current version of Nikon’s ‘street-sweeper’ do-everything zoom, it’s true that the 24-120mm isn’t the sharpest lens in Nikon’s stable, or the best-controlled when it comes to distortion, or the toughest, and all the rest. It’s a kit zoom. A pretty good kit zoom, in my opinion, but still. So why – if I had to choose only one lens – would I pick the 24-120mm? Because it just works. I know that if I go out shooting with the D810 and 24-120mm, come rain or shine (or snow, or hail, or desert dust, or any of the other nasties I’ve thrown at it) I can capture pretty much anything I might want or need to. It’s almost boring. I wish I had more of an excuse to attach other lenses, but to be honest, most of the time I just don’t. I actually sold a bunch of my Nikon glass recently, because it wasn’t getting used.

The image above was taken just after a torrential downpour last December which turned into a hail storm. The camera and lens were - like me - soaked. Could I have taken it on something better? Maybe, but I wouldn’t have wanted to risk damaging a more expensive lens in those conditions. And would it be a better picture had I done so? Or a happier memory? No.

What would you choose?

If you could only shoot with one lens, or one focal length for the rest of your life, what would you choose? Feel free to share your answer in the comments!

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2mHg4L7

#DIYS

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rtscrndr53704 · 8 years ago

Text

Ask the staff: Pick one focal length or lens to rule them all

Can you guess the focal length? Photo by Wenmei Hill

Carey Rose

Any guesses what focal length Carey gravitates toward?

Before I worked at DPReview, I would have immediately chosen the 35mm focal length. Now that I’ve worked at DPReview for some time, I have to say… I haven’t really changed my mind.

Wenmei Hill

Wenmei likes versatility. Did she choose a zoom or a prime?

Dale Baskin

Dale chose a specific focal length that he didn't always love. Can you guess what it is?

Sam Spencer

Sam chose a specialty lens. This image was shot using a similar lens, albeit with a different focal length. Do you know what it is?

Dan Bracaglia

Dan's image was shot with the equivalent of his favorite focal length. The image was cropped in slightly, still any ideas what he chose?

Jeff Keller

Jeff chose a workhorse zoom. Can you guess which one?

Vladimir Bobov

Vladimir is our newest DPR team member. He makes sure the site works properly. Any guesses what focal length he chose?

Richard Butler

Richard chose a favorite lens that doesn't yet exist. This image falls toward the tele-end of his made-up range. Can you guess what it is?

Allison Johnson

Allison chose a specific zoom lens, can you guess which one?

Barney Britton

Any guesses what lens Barney chose?

What would you choose?

If you could only shoot with one lens, or one focal length for the rest of your life, what would you choose? Feel free to share your answer in the comments!

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2mHg4L7

#DIYS

0 notes

exfrenchdorsl4p0a1 · 8 years ago

Text

Ask the staff: Pick one focal length or lens to rule them all

Can you guess the focal length? Photo by Wenmei Hill

Carey Rose

Any guesses what focal length Carey gravitates toward?

Before I worked at DPReview, I would have immediately chosen the 35mm focal length. Now that I’ve worked at DPReview for some time, I have to say… I haven’t really changed my mind.

Wenmei Hill

Wenmei likes versatility. Did she choose a zoom or a prime?

Dale Baskin

Dale chose a specific focal length that he didn't always love. Can you guess what it is?

Sam Spencer

Sam chose a specialty lens. This image was shot using a similar lens, albeit with a different focal length. Do you know what it is?

Dan Bracaglia

Dan's image was shot with the equivalent of his favorite focal length. The image was cropped in slightly, still any ideas what he chose?

Jeff Keller

Jeff chose a workhorse zoom. Can you guess which one?

Vladimir Bobov

Vladimir is our newest DPR team member. He makes sure the site works properly. Any guesses what focal length he chose?

Richard Butler

Richard chose a favorite lens that doesn't yet exist. This image falls toward the tele-end of his made-up range. Can you guess what it is?

Allison Johnson

Allison chose a specific zoom lens, can you guess which one?

Barney Britton

Any guesses what lens Barney chose?

What would you choose?

If you could only shoot with one lens, or one focal length for the rest of your life, what would you choose? Feel free to share your answer in the comments!

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2mHg4L7

#DIYS

0 notes

pat78701 · 8 years ago

Text

Ask the staff: Pick one focal length or lens to rule them all

Can you guess the focal length? Photo by Wenmei Hill

Carey Rose

Any guesses what focal length Carey gravitates toward?

Before I worked at DPReview, I would have immediately chosen the 35mm focal length. Now that I’ve worked at DPReview for some time, I have to say… I haven’t really changed my mind.

Wenmei Hill

Wenmei likes versatility. Did she choose a zoom or a prime?

Dale Baskin

Dale chose a specific focal length that he didn't always love. Can you guess what it is?

Sam Spencer

Sam chose a specialty lens. This image was shot using a similar lens, albeit with a different focal length. Do you know what it is?

Dan Bracaglia

Dan's image was shot with the equivalent of his favorite focal length. The image was cropped in slightly, still any ideas what he chose?

Jeff Keller

Jeff chose a workhorse zoom. Can you guess which one?

Vladimir Bobov

Vladimir is our newest DPR team member. He makes sure the site works properly. Any guesses what focal length he chose?

Richard Butler

Richard chose a favorite lens that doesn't yet exist. This image falls toward the tele-end of his made-up range. Can you guess what it is?

Allison Johnson

Allison chose a specific zoom lens, can you guess which one?

Barney Britton

Any guesses what lens Barney chose?

What would you choose?

If you could only shoot with one lens, or one focal length for the rest of your life, what would you choose? Feel free to share your answer in the comments!

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2mHg4L7

#DIYS

0 notes