#f2 trailer

[sportychurch]

FIFA 24 | ALL OFFICIAL PLAYER RATINGS (EA FC 24)! 💀😲 ft. Messi, Vinicius, Ronaldo…

FIFA 23 All Official Player Ratings in FIFA 24 EA Sports FC 24! ft. Messi, Vinicius, Salah, Osimhen, Cristiano Ronaldo! Football … source

[itsnesss]

𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 | franco colapinto × fem!reader

summary | at silverstone, feeling out of place in the busy paddock, you meet franco. what starts as a casual chat turns into a meaningful connection, leaving you both unexpectedly impacted

warnings | fluff, mild flirting, brief mention of feeling out of place / social discomfort, light romantic tension

word count | 1.0 k

🖇️ more fc43 🖇️ f1 masterlist

The sky was overcast, that typical English gray that makes you unsure whether it's going to rain on you or just annoy you. Silverstone was a sea of people, noise, and movement. The paddock felt like a separate universe, one that didn’t seem to have room for a casual spectator like you. The credential hanging from your neck felt foreign, like someone else had mistakenly put it there.

"This isn’t my thing," you muttered, stepping away from the most chaotic area, searching for a corner to catch your breath.

But the paddock is like an urban jungle: there’s no such thing as silence. The roar of the engines overpowered the wind, the conversations—even your own thoughts. You looked around, uncomfortable. Everyone seemed to have a purpose: cameramen rushing with tripods, grease-covered mechanics, girls with cameras slung around their necks, fans hunting for autographs. You just wanted your cousin to finish his motorsport fangirl tour so you could go grab a drink somewhere calm. But he had won a meet & greet with several F2 drivers, and he had no intention of wasting it.

You couldn’t blame him. It was his passion. But you felt completely out of place.

You sat on the edge of a metal stand, half-hidden behind a trailer. The cold seat cut through your legs, but you preferred that to standing in the middle of that human swarm. That’s when, somewhere between your bored thoughts and the distant engine vibrations, you heard him for the first time.

"You look more like the 'coffee and a book' type than 'oil and burnt rubber.'"

You looked up, a little surprised that someone had spoken to you in the middle of all that chaos. And there he was. Franco Colapinto. His helmet hanging from his left hand, his racing suit unzipped at the top, revealing a black thermal shirt clinging to his torso. His hair tousled, like he had just been running with the wind. His gaze intense, but curious. Like he found your confusion amusing.

"Was that a personality read or a critique?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A little of both," he replied, with a half-smile.

You weren’t sure whether to feel intimidated or intrigued. But there was something in his tone, in his relaxed posture, that made you stay. He didn’t seem like he was trying to impress. He just wanted to talk. And you... you needed exactly that.

"I'm T/N," you said, extending your hand without getting up from your seat.

"Franco," he said, shaking your hand briefly, though he didn’t really need to introduce himself. You already knew his name. Your cousin had repeated his last name so many times, you had it memorized—along with his car number.

"Do you talk to every girl who looks lost in the paddock, or just the ones who have no clue what’s going on?"

"Only the ones with no clue. They’re the most interesting."

He wasn’t arrogant. Nor was he pretending to be humble. There was a natural ease to him that disarmed you. He sat next to you without asking for permission, as if it were a park bench instead of the most iconic racing circuit in England.

"Are you bored a lot, or just a little?"

"A lot," you admitted, laughing. "I came with my cousin. He’s on cloud nine. Me... well, I’d rather be at a museum. Or in a bookstore."

Franco nodded like that wasn’t weird at all, like he understood.

"That’s fair. Sometimes I wish I were somewhere else too."

You looked at him, unsure if he was being serious.

"Why’s that?"

"You’re always surrounded by people, always running, training, traveling. Sometimes you just want something simpler."

"Like reading a book with coffee."

"Exactly. Though I’m not much of a reader. I’m more into watching shows when I can."

"Not much free time, huh?"

"Almost none. But right now I have a few minutes, and I’d rather spend them talking to you than locked inside the tent."

His sincerity caught you off guard. It wasn’t the typical flirty comment. It felt real. Like he had truly found something different in you. Something that pulled him out of “driver mode” and made him feel simply... human.

The conversation flowed. You talked about travel, music, how terrible the paddock coffee tasted. He asked about your interests, why you had picked this destination, what you hoped to get out of the trip. And you, who didn’t usually open up so easily, told him things you didn’t even know you’d wanted to share.

And he listened.

Not with a "I’m only paying attention because you’re cute" face, but with genuine interest. As if you weren’t just another girl. As if you were... something more.

Time slipped away between laughs and comfortable silences. Until a voice came through on his radio.

"I have to go. Briefing."

He stood up, brushing off his suit pants.

"Are you staying for the race?"

"I’m not sure."

"If you leave, I’ll get bad luck."

"You believe in that stuff?"

"In you, for now."

He said it so calmly it didn’t even sound cheesy. You were speechless.

"I’d like to see you later," he added, staring at you.

"After the race?"

"After everything."

And with that, he left.

You watched him walk away through the crowd, heading into the team tent with that same relaxed, confident stride. You felt your heart beating faster than you thought possible. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the moment. Maybe it was him. Or maybe, without even realizing it, you had just met someone who was going to change your life at a speed you couldn’t begin to imagine.

And even though you didn’t know it yet...

He had felt it too.

[yazmarina]

meddle about

for hit play, a drabble event.

—"we only met each other just the other day, but you already got me feeling some type of way" (meddle about by chase atlantic)

ollie bearman (f2) x afab!reader

warnings/notes: smut, fingering, unprotected sex, clothed sex, semi-public sex, creampie, office romance-ish

a/n: ollie does seem like the type to meddle about with you...enjoy!

"Oh, hey. It's you."

Goosebumps rise all over your skin as you realize whose voice you just heard. You swallow, trying to portray nonchalance as best as you can.

"Hey, Ollie."

The driver smiles, sidling up closer to you, hands gently resting on your waist as he wiggles past you in the cramped kitchenette. The Prema trailer is empty, save for you, painstakingly pouring cups of coffee to give out to everyone at the paddock tent. And, obviously, Ollie is here, too.

Ollie's hands leave a burning imprint on your skin as he moves away and settles on the couch in the corner. You try to ignore it, but you know Ollie's staring. He stares at you all the time, doesn't even attempt to hide it.

You're not even sure what it means. Or if it means anything at all.

You've only been employed with the team for a month, barely knowing anyone yet, save for your friend who referred you to this job. She made it sound enticing enough. You'd help her handle the comms for the whole team, film some social media content, attend press stuff. And at least you could do it together. And the company parties are fun. A good time all around.

She didn't warn you that part of the job was having one of the drivers follow you around like a lovesick puppy, his fluffy hair and big brown eyes melting the last of your resolve.

"What are you doing later tonight?" Ollie asks casually. You remain unmoving, refusing to look at him.

"Just going back to the hotel to rest," you respond plainly. "Got a lot of work to do for socials."

Ollie hums in acknowledgment. It's silent for a while and the urge to look back at him claws its way up within you. You beg yourself to not give Ollie the satisfaction, to not give yourself the satisfaction. God knows all your restraint goes out the window whenever Ollie's close.

With a sigh, you give in, looking over your shoulder at Ollie.

He's leaning back against the couch, arms spread on the backrest, his whole demeanor as relaxed as one can be.

"Need help with those?" Ollie asks, gesturing to the tray of coffee in front of you.

You wave him off. "Later."

You face him full-on, leaning against the counter. He looks back, eyebrows raised.

"Do you need something?" You ask, trying to add some bite to your tone. Not that you wanted to purposely offend Ollie, but you're not quite sure how else to go about this.

"No...?" Ollie begins, looking at you, puzzled.

"Then why do you–"

You stop cold. What are you even going to ask?

Why is he staring? What if he's not and you're just imagining all of it?

Why does he touch you out of nowhere? What if he's that way with everyone?

Why do you like it so much when he touches you?

...Well.

You huff, a hand smoothing through your hair. You practically march over to where he's seated, hesitating for a moment before sliding in beside him. He adjusts his posture, keeping his arm behind you on the couch. He smiles, almost smug in the look of satisfaction that washes over his face.

"Yes?" Ollie asks, tilting his head closer.

"This is bad. Illegal. Breaks about a dozen clauses in both of our contracts," you recite, hands wringing in your lap. Ollie watches you fidget, his hand resting behind you slowly reaching over to steady your movements.

His hand covers both of yours, big enough to wrap around your wrists if he wanted to.

"What are you talking about?" Ollie asks once more, the weight on his hand heavy in your lap.

"Tell me."

You gulp, having never heard Ollie's voice take on such a commanding tone. You turn to look at him straight in the eye. With a final prayer to whatever god is listening, you decide to just spit it out.

"You're staring. You stare all the time. You're touchy, too touchy for someone who I'm supposed to just be coworkers with. How about you tell me what it is you want?"

Ollie's expression falls and he withdraws his hand back. He stutters for a few seconds, unable to find the words.

"Did I do something wrong?" Ollie begins. "I thought–I mean, after Austria, at the club, after my win, you grabbed my ass–"

"Oh my god, Ollie, I was drunk!" Came your panicked reply. "And you were inches away from my face telling me something I had no intention of understanding because I wanted to make out with you right then and there if I'm being honest."

The two of you stare at each other, both stunned into silence.

A beat. A second. A breath.

"Come here," Ollie commands, hands already wrapping around your hips. You're happy to oblige as you clamber onto his lap, straddling his thick thighs on both sides.

You couldn't have been any more eager to get your lips on his, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss, rough and frenzied. Ollie groans against your mouth, pressing you down on his rapidly hardening cock. You can feel it through his jeans, thick and heavy.

"Hurry," you implore, hiking your work skirt up around your waist. Ollie reaches down and yanks your underwear to the side, fingers swiping through your arousal.

"All wet for me, love?" Ollie asks, peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck. You whimper, his fingers expertly working at your clit.

"God, you're so pretty," he mutters, latching onto a spot just above your collar. You shiver, feeling him tease at your hole next.

Ollie plunges two fingers in, bottom lip caught in his teeth as he watches you immediately grind against his fingers, your wetness coating his hand.

You'd known that Ollie was somewhat adept with his hands, being a racing driver and all, but the way he's curling his fingers in you has you seeing stars. If you had the time to cum on his fingers alone, you would.

"Come on," Ollie urges, pulling his hand away, only just managing to stop yourself from whimpering at the loss of contact. You watch impatiently as he fumbles with his belt and zipper, anticipation thick in the air, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. He finally gets his bottoms open, pulling his underwear down enough to let his cock free.

He gives it a few cursory strokes, pulling you in for another searing kiss.

"Spit on it," Ollie says, voice pitching lower. You obey, letting a drop of saliva loose on his red-tipped length. He coats it all over, tapping you on the thigh.

You don't have to be told twice as you position yourself over him, quickly sinking down in one fell swoop. Both of you gasp, unfamiliar with each other's sensations. Ollie squeezes his eyes shut, mouth agape. You're panting, the stretch of his cock making your head spin.

You anchor yourself to him, bracing your thighs against the couch. You start out slow, trying to get a feel of just how big Ollie fits inside of you. He squeezes at your waist, watching as you ride him.

Picking up the pace, you start to bounce a little harder, the sound reverberating through the whole trailer. It dawns on you now that anyone can walk in and see you like this. The thought spurs you on to go even faster, ignoring the burn in your legs.

"Oh god, oh fuck," Ollie curses, eyes glued to the image of him disappearing inside of you. You reach down to rub at your clit, an action that has Ollie groaning.

"You're so hot," he praises, one hand reaching out to squeeze at your chest through your shirt. Your Prema shirt, the work uniform that reminded you both exactly what you are and where you are at this moment.

"Ollie," you mewl. "Ollie, I need you to cum. Cum inside me. Don't make a mess."

Ollie manages to laugh in disbelief but is quickly silenced when you clench around him, your own fingers speeding up against your sensitive nub.

You gasp, feeling the telltale signs of your release. Ollie practically pins you in place, fucking up into you instead. You're both making more noise than what's deemed safe in such a public place surrounded by activity, but neither of you care. The tip of his cock brushes that one spot deep inside you, again and again, harder each time.

Before you know it, your orgasm rips through you, your nails digging into Ollie's shoulders. He grunts as he's trapped between your squeezing walls, his cock twitching as he, too, reaches his release.

Your labored breaths are the only things that can be heard now, your figure slumped against his. Ollie wraps his arms around you, planting a tender kiss to your temple.

You hear a vague vibrating sound coming from somewhere in the vicinity and you frantically search around before spotting your phone on the floor. You immediately recognize the caller ID as your friend.

Wincing, you get off of Ollie, grabbing your phone.

"Yeah?"

"Where are you? And the coffee? Look, I'm coming by the trailer if you need help."

You give Ollie a panicked look. He understands immediately.

"Also," your friend continues. "Have you seen Ollie?"

[auroraharper]

The DRS to Carlos’s Heart is Jammed - Carlos

Prompt for @aarchi27 :

write an au in which a driver of your choice is trying to ask carlos on date but either fernando(his grid dad) or ollie(his grid son) are protective of him

Charles Leclerc is determined to ask Carlos Sainz on a date. Simple, right? Wrong. Between his meddling self-appointed grid dad Fernando Alonso and his fiercely protective grid son Oliver Bearman, nothing about this plan goes smoothly. Every romantic attempt ends in chaos—and maybe some accidental property damage.

……………..

Charles: deep breath “Okay. Tonight. After media day. I’ll ask Carlos if he wants to go for dinner.”

Enter Fernando Alonso, who hears just enough to go into full spy mode.

Fernando (to himself): “Dinner? Oh no. Not on my watch. Carlos deserves the best. And Charles is… just Charles.”

He intercepts Carlos with a totally fake "strategy debrief" in hospitality just as Charles is nervously approaching with two takeout boxes and a flower he definitely picked from the paddock landscaping.

Carlos (confused): “Fernando, why are we discussing tyre degradation now? It’s midnight.”

Fernando: “Love degrades faster than tyres, my boy. Now sit. We study.”

Meanwhile, Charles is left outside hospitality holding cold pasta and a drooping daisy.

………………

Charles decides to try again at the hotel. He sneaks into the gym at 6 a.m. to "coincidentally" run into Carlos.

Charles (to mirror): “This time, I ask. No distractions. No dads.”

Enter Oliver Bearman in full chaos mode.

Ollie: “Oh, hi Charles! Fancy seeing you here at 6 a.m. on the treadmill directly next to Carlos, wearing cologne like it’s a nightclub!”

He loudly slaps Charles on the back and “accidentally” spills a protein shake over Charles’ shirt.

Ollie: “Oops. Guess you can’t flirt when you’re wet and sticky, huh?”

Carlos: “Are you okay?”

Charles, soaked and humiliated: “Oui. Just… a cooling tactic.”

…………………

Charles has had enough. He stages a “casual walk” through the pit lane with Carlos to confess. But Ollie and Fernando have joined forces.

Fernando: “Charles, I think your tyre’s flat.”

Charles: “Fernando, we’re walking.”

Ollie: “Wait, Charles, I need your help! There’s a cat stuck in a Pirelli tire rack!”

They both physically pull him away as Carlos watches, bewildered.

Carlos: “Should we help the cat?”

Charles (being dragged away): “THERE IS NO CAT TO SAVE! SAVE ME!!!!”

…………………….

After weeks of his romantic plans being ruined by Fernando Alonso and Ollie Bearman, Charles Leclerc finally fights back—with seduction. Not his own, of course. Enter Kimi Antonelli (confused but obedient) and Lance Stroll (mysteriously confident) to distract the saboteurs while Charles finally gets his date with Carlos.

……………………

Charles slams a notebook on the counter like he’s in a heist movie.

Charles: “I can’t take it anymore. I’m going to kiss that man even if I have to seduce half the grid to do it.”

Kimi Antonelli (eating cereal): “…You’re going to seduce Ollie?”

Charles: “You’re going to seduce Ollie.”

Kimi: “Excuse me?!!”

Charles: “Just—be near him. Laugh at his jokes. Talk about data. Do your hair weird. I don’t know. Flirt like Gen Z.”

Kimi: deep sigh “Fine. But I want two free sets of softs and a coffee machine.”

Charles: “Deal.”

Cut to—

Charles (on text): hey lance. u busy? Lance: just exfoliating. why Charles: wanna seduce fernando alonso Lance: oh finally. where and when

………………………

Kimi casually walks into the F2 paddock where Ollie is mid-sabotage plan involving releasing fake fire alarms during Carlos and Charles' lunch date.

Kimi (leaning on the wall): “You know, the fire marshal wouldn’t be impressed.”

Ollie (startled):

“What? I’m not doing anything!”

Kimi: “Sure. I just came to see if you wanted to, I don’t know, compare telemetry or something.”

Ollie (blushing, confused, slightly malfunctioning): “…You want to… telemetry… with me?”

Kimi: “Yeah. Alone. In a trailer. With the door locked.”

Ollie drops his sabotage folder and stammers something about torque curves before scrambling after him like a golden retriever.

……………………………

Meanwhile, Lance strolls (heh) into the Aston Martin hospitality in a tight black t-shirt, hair perfectly tousled, sipping green juice.

Fernando (narrowing eyes):

“What do you want?”

Lance: “Nothing. Just missed you. Want to do yoga and talk about our feelings?”

Fernando (suspicious):

“What feelings?”

Lance: “I don’t know. The ones behind those sunglasses.”

Fernando (internally screaming): “…Okay. Ten minutes. No talking about Charles.”

Cut to: Fernando in yoga mat while Lance “accidentally” brushes against his arm every five minutes.

………………………..

Charles shows up at the paddock café. Carlos is waiting, looking confused but radiant.

Carlos: “You look nervous.”

Charles: “I always look like this. But I’m not being chased today, so that’s progress.”

They sit.

They eat.

They laugh.

Nobody is tackling Charles, nobody is setting off fireworks, and nobody is yelling about tire wear.

In the distance, Fernando and Ollie simultaneously look up from their “dates” and frown.

Fernando: “Wait. Why is it quiet?”

Ollie: “Why do I feel like I’ve been… played?”

Kimi and Lance share a subtle high five from across the paddock.

……………………………

Carlos leans in, smiling. Carlos: “You know, I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out.”

Charles (deadpan): “Then maybe you should have dealt with your grid dad and son.”

Carlos: “…Fair.”

They finally kiss.

Off-screen, Fernando is charging back, dragging his yoga mat behind him. Ollie is yelling something about “manipulation by telemetry.”

Kimi (sipping espresso): “Worth it.”

Lance: “I seduced a legend today. I win.”

[charles-leclerizz]

EPISODE 01 : Start your engine

🏁 EPISODE AGE RATING : U/A 16+ [contaings swearing]

🏁 GENRE : Drama, Action, Sports, Romance

🏁 WORD COUNT : 10 K [ 10 , 366 WORDS ]

🏁 MUSIC SUMMARY : THE GREATEST BY SIA, PUMPT IT - BLACK EYED PEAS

🏁 CREDIT [S] : "BEHIND THE SCENES" BANNER, NETFLIX PLAY BAR BY ME [@charles-leclerizz], TEXT DIVIDERS BY @cafekitsune

🏁 TAGS : MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon], OTHERS [@weekendlusting, @woozarts, @mellowarcadefun, @paintedbypoetry, @33-81, @kazuha-pista-badam, @inejghafawifesblog,d3kstar], IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK !

DIRECTORS CUT : first episode children, better get soome snacks and a drink, and i highly reccomend looking at the masterlist, aisha's profile and the porsche f1 team links, since they will explain everything. It is also recommendeed you first read the trailer, which is once again found on the masterlist below.

Masterlist · 🪷 Aisha · 🪷 Porsche F1 Team · 🪷

The opening credits of the series begin to play, revealing bold block letters reading,

“Bahrain 2025”

And in the background, the black fades to reveal an aerial view of the landmark circuit, a staple of the history that defines Formula One. As the shot zooms in, we see the morning mist rolling over the grey, freshly re-laid tarmac of the track leading up to the garages of each of the 10 teams, most of them shutdown and blocked away from prying eyes. Though, as the camera moves forward, the view widens and we can see at the very end of the line, the Porsche garage emitting a yellow glow.

The acrylic entrance leaks hues of gold whilst we finally approach the opening where we see Aisha jumping in place, a set of Bose x Porsche headphones sat on her ears, the white body and metallic automobile logo on the muffs bouncing with her movements.

She looks up from her focussed point beneath her, facing the camera that zooms in and captures the determined flare within the pools of her eyes.

 The music, already beginning its powerful bass bursts, dims and briefly we can hear her laboured breathing as she stretches her hands above her and unzips the tight athleisure jacket that she had worn previously for warmth. The adidas logo crumples as she throws it away, revealing a cropped sports bra, white with grey stripes at the sides containing an embroidered Porsche logo on her left breast.

Soon enough, the music comes blaring back and the camera merely turns to follow her body as she begins to run away from the safety of her team enclosure. The scene ends with her exiting the shot, running down the initial straight of the first ever track she will race as a formula one driver.

“Aisha, what drives you in the world of Formula One?” A deep, cryptic voice off camera asks the driver sitting in shot. She smiles menacingly and leans back against her seat, her hands planted on her elegantly crossed legs as she adjusts the low cut, ‘V’ collar of her waistcoat, the colour matching the iconic Porsche guards’ red, of the rest of her risqué pantsuit.

“What drives me?” She chuckles, a low, raspy amusement that reverberates against the stormy backdrop behind her, “The competition, the domination, it runs in my blood;” She leans forward, as if the camera crew were privy to her obvious need to achieve. Aisha’s thin, golden bangles on each of her wrist’s jingle as she goes to adjust her volumous hair, “it’s not about the winning, it’s about obliterating the finish line.” She shrugs nonchalantly, despite the aggressive competitiveness that crackles in the air.

The voice chuckles at her threatening demeanour, yet continues, “Some media outlets commented on your driving style, since F2 and F3. They say it’s violent. What’s your response?”

Aisha bites her lip, thinking on the best way to diplomatically answer the question, despite her need to curse the people who doubted her.

Instead, she sighs with faux disappointment and her wide, mascara rimmed eyes move down to her rouge and gold nails whilst one of her fingers comes to slip beneath the platinum stud that sits comfortably on the left of her nose.

“Violent?” She asks, her voice barely above a murmur, “They could’ve been more descriptive.” She rolls her eyes once before inhaling, “Try...relentless. When I’m on track, behind the wheel, it’s war. And I aim to be the last one standing, if you can’t get with the program, move out the way. Cause I’m here to win.”

Her promise of no mercy is palpable as she shifts minutely in her seat, tapping her nails against one another whilst waiting for next question.

“What about the rest of the grid?” The interviewer prompts, treading carefully with his words, “Any words for them?”

Aisha scoffs under her breath, uncrossing her legs and flipping over the golden dainty necklace that rests within her exposed cleavage, the glinting logo of her team catches the light whilst she adjusts herself.

“Why words? They’ll know what I’m here for when I pass them. They’ll feel it, the fear, the resignation. I’m a whirlwind, all they can do is get swept up in it, this season, I am not racing against them, their teams or even their car; I’m racing against their hatred of losing to me.”

She smiles at the camera, eyes crinkling at the sides as her nose scrunches, a pure juxtaposition to the threat that peeled out of her mouth like scalding, hot water.

“Before we end. For your fans, what do you want them to know?”

“Hold on for your life, they’re about to witness history on the track. Cause I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to fuck shit up.” Aisha grins wickedly and laughing loudly at the flurry of reactions off camera from the crew that stood behind the myriad of wires.

Three different scenes are overlayed one another, the first being of Lewis Hamilton, giggling at someone off screen before focussing his large doe eyes onto the interviewer who also sat behind the large camera.

The second being 3X world champion Max Verstappen, who sits heavily onto the provided stool and sips at the can of the sugary energy drink in his hand, Max stared at the camera, a bored sheen coating his crystalline blue irises as the third, and final driver’s scene overtakes his.

This time Charles Leclerc enters the identical set, the Ferrari golden boy had narrowly escaped his fans-who’s screams of joy could be heard in the background as he waved a final time and pocketed a bright red, branded Ferrari pen whilst sighing, glancing around haphazardly.

“Lewis”

Hamilton perks up at his name, smiling serenely, prompting the interviewer to continue.

“The world of Formula one is ablaze about new entry, Aisha Patel. Do you think, as a seasoned professional, she has what it takes to compete?”

Lewis whistles lowly, leaning back against his seat and wraps his arms around himself, “Damn- starting strong huh?” He snorts once before re-adjusting his posture, “Y’know, we’ve heard of her up here. And she’s talented, but obliterating F3 and F2 does not directly auto-translate to domination on our track.”

“Is that scepticism that I hear?” The interviewer chases after the hesitation in the driver’s voice, like a dog after a juicy bone.

“Call it...” Lewis arches an eyebrow as he mulls over his words, “Healthy cautiousness. I’m waiting to see how she handles the pressure after the lights go out.”

“Max”

Max hums lazily, as though he had one too many bubbling seltzers that sat, pristine on the refreshments table, “Yeah?”

“Aisha Patel.”

Max clenches his jaw at the sound of her name.

“She’s said to rival your aggressiveness on track, what are your thoughts on her joining your world?”

Max scoffs at the seemingly preposterous statement, “What about her? She’s aggressive, so what? It’s skill that matters here in the big leagues. Give a baby a steering wheel to a supercharged car, that’ll be aggressive. I’m not holding my breath for her. “

“That sounds like someone who’s threatened?” He probes the already on edge driver.

“A threat?” Max chortles as if someone had offered him a mere penny for his thoughts, “I haven’t been threatened since kindergarten. I’ll let her have her try at the status quo, take one for the team and all.”

“Charles”

The alarmingly red adorned man tilts his head inquisitively at the interviewer, his gentle smile popping his dimples.

“Miss. Patel has been said to be relentless on track, throwing caution to the wind. Your thoughts on her violent debut?”

Charles hums as he nods his head, “It’s nice to see fresh blood on track, bonne, she’s certainly caught people’s attention. Let’s see if she’s all bark and no bite.” He mummers the French praise before shrugging at the end of his sentence.

“You’re excited to compete against her?”

“Of course- who wouldn’t be? New team, new driver. The more varied the sport, the more interesting.” He answers neutrality laced into his words, despite the excited glint in his eye.

“Thank you for your insights.” The interviewer thanks the men in their tapes, each of them reciprocating with equal politeness.

“Of course,” Lewis grins and claps his hands, turning to start chatting once again as he dismounts from the chair, already walking away.

“No problem,” Max nods his head once, stepping down from his seat whilst receiving a fresh can of Red Bull.

“Cheers mate,” The camera captures Charles leaning forward to shake the interviewer’s hand whilst patting his shoulder, before detaching to go and talk to the gaggle of Ferrari personnel who had gathered within the filming shed.

The 2025 drivers had gathered onto the Bahrain track, the relentless mid-day sun beating down on them as a few of them had the pleasure of black umbrellas being held above them, whilst other’s held small hand-fans in the large palms, basking in the cool breeze that the battery powered trinket provided.

Aisha walked out, her racing shoes tapping against the tarmac as she made her way towards the others. A few Porsche employees trailed behind her, one of them stayed closer behind her, offering her a metallic, grey hand-held fan along with a chilled bottle of water.

“Thanks,” She murmured, brushing the hair that managed to escape her ponytail, “It’s fucking boiling.” Aisha complained, tugging at her fireproofs whilst another employee came up to her, patting her face with a setting powder as an attempt to dry her skin.

“Can’t really help it, love.” The media admin, Sarah, pointed out removing her focus from one of the jittery interns to the driver, “Now- you’re going to walk out, fans are going to see you. Are you sure you don’t want to hide your face right now?”

Aisha cracked open the bottle in her hand, having pressed the condensation coated plastic against her forehead long enough. She faced away from 2-3 people surrounding her to peak past the acrylic barrier, onto the track, where the rest of the drivers stood haphazardly scattered around the starting position boxes that had been freshly painted onto the concrete polymer.

“It’s fine, I think I’ve already heard all their opinions on me.” Aisha groaned, fanning her face again as she kicked a non-existent pebble beneath her toe, “What could go wrong?”

She peaked out again, like a tense meerkat, only to be surprised with her teammate, Pierre chatting with his former partner, Esteban Ocon. His racing suit was already zipped up fully as he basked in the fan’s unintelligible shouts and squeals, the thick, grey fabric stretched over his body nicely as the different sponsor logos morphed to the wrinkles and dents of the cloth.

“He’s already out there.” She hissed, “Making me look like shit.” Aisha banged the back of her crown against the wall that provided her with the much-needed shelter, from both the sweltering rays and the assessing gazes of the crowd above.

“Nonsense lovey.” Sarah assured her, picking at the hem of her fireproofs and pressing a few of the sweaty, stray strands of hair back into position, “Pedro’s just catching up with some friends.”

“Pierre.” Aisha corrected, pulling up her identical suit from hanging lowly from her waist to her shoulders, thankfully she still had time to leave it unzipped.

“Whatever.” She flapped her hand dismissively, “Baguette man isn’t doing anything you won’t have to.”

“Okay,” Aisha breathed out, keeping her lips taught and still as her rouge lipstick was touched up by another Porsche jersey adorned worker, “My helmet?” She looked around, patting herself, as though it would appear out of thin air.

Sarah looked around her surrounding, panicked, before snorting and pointing to the ledge behind the group, “There ya go babe.” She leaned past Aisha to knock on the head gear.

“I’m a mess,” Aisha whined, picking up her helmet whilst rubbing the glossy exterior with an open palm, she runs her fingers over her last name that’s printed on the back.

“A hot mess.” Sarah corrected her, hooking their elbows together whilst ushering forward the teenage interns next to them- their hands shaking with apprehension as they gripped the phones in their hands, the gadget recording each moment.

Aisha stilled slightly as her foot contacted the tarmac, the crowd already hushing with undivided interest on her mere shadow. She could feel anxious sweat begin to build up on the nape of her neck, flushing her face and glistening against her skin.

Finally, after a few minutes of inner turmoil, she allowed Sarah to guide her out within the crowd of other team’s media escorts and her fellow drivers. The grandstands erupted with chaos, the rushing of footsteps- scrambling to take the first photos of her in her debut, the unravelling of flags, the patriotic colours burning against the pristine plexi-glass barriers and multiple little girls shouting happily at her image.

Aisha forced a smile onto her face, the unexpected praise soothed her blushing ears as she waved up at the viewing boxes.

“Well, well. Nobody’s ever screamed like that for me.” A voice creeped up behind her, causing Aisha to whip around with a cautionary hand on her chest.

A cheeky grin greeted her, “Lando” Aisha breathed out, leaning to the side of his stature to acknowledge the rabid paparazzi behind of them with a tight-lipped nod.

“Hey,” He greeted her, bouncing on the balls of his feet and tapping the top of his helmet that sat squeezed between his arm and waist, “You nervous?” Lando tipped his head boyishly, his curls falling over his forehead, hazel eyes softening as he watched her.

“Not really,” Aisha lied, “do you need to pee?” She looked at him anxiously, watching as he stopped bouncing like a full bladdered toddler, and stood still. Lando chuckled under his breath and opened his mouth to answer, until he lurched forward under the weight of a heavy arm that hung from his shoulders.

“Little Lando Norris.” Daniel chuckled, rubbing his knuckles over the younger’s head, and snorted when Lando pushed his hand away stumbling out from his hold, “Already chatting up the newbie?” Daniel looks at Aisha with a smirk, “I think his pubes finally grew in.” He faux whispered, his voice gritty as he winked.

“I’m not chatting up anyone,” Lando smacked Daniel between the eyes before walking backwards, next to Aisha, “Just catching up.” He shrugged, side-eyeing her, gauging a reaction from her steely expression. Luckily, he got one, Aisha’s eyes widened slightly, her eyelashes fluttering to match her hearts faster pace as she slowly turned her head to meet his eyes.

“Catching up?” Daniel inquired, suddenly interested, “You guys know each other from before?”

“Yeah, we karted together.” Aisha crossed her arms over one another, before accepting a cold can of thumbs up from a staff member, “Still remember how he shit his pants.” She mumbled.

“I did not!”

“What the fuck.”

Both men exclaimed at the same time, Lando blushing a furious red and Daniel cackling loudly- leading to not only the attention from the other drivers that stood in a 200m vicinity but also Aisha snorting out her drink from her nose.

“I did not shit my pants.” Lando gritted out the last part, to stop prying ears of the other men approaching to become privy to his humiliation.

“You did though?” Aisha arched a brow at him, “I passed by you on the last lap, therefore winning-“ She poked her outstretched pinkie from her can into his puffed up chest, “And that made you so mad, that you shit your pants.”

“Oh god,” Daniel wheezed, taking support on his shorter teammate who had trotted up to join the conversation. Yuki scrunched up his face, tilting away from the force of the elder before looking at Aisha sympathetically,

“You excited?” He grinned slightly, showing off the gap between his front teeth.

“Definitely. How could I not be?” Aisha looked down at Yuki, shifting her weight slightly as an attempt to lower herself, “The crippling pressure? The thousands of viewers? The weight of both of my country’s on my shoulders?” Aisha blew a nonchalant breath from between her lips whilst waving her hand in front of her face, “No biggie.”

The three men stared at her, blank expressions on their face, one of them pressed their lips together, smacking them and creating an equally awkward “popping” noise for the group to bask in.

“I meant more like, the race and stuff..” Yuki mumbled, scratching the back of his head before yelping when Daniel smacked the nape of his neck, “But yeah, what you said works too, fo sho, no doubt, no doubt.” He corrected himself hastily.

“Fo sho?” A fourth voice chimed in, this time with a French lilt to his words, “Who’s got yuki talking like that?”

Aisha looked away amusedly from the smaller driver to the voice, her eyes widened at the blaring red that adorned the man in front of her.

“My period wasn’t due until after the race.” She commented, meeting the man’s intense gaze, “Are you here to ask if I’d like to continue watching?” She tilted her head innocently.

“Ah, I see.” He scrunches his nose at her, “You’ve got our baby Yuki talking like that.”

“Hey, fuck you man.” Yuki protested, throwing his arms up with a huff.

“I know you want to,” The seemingly french-man retorted back with a shameful wink,

“You wink like you’re trying not to cry.” Lando pointed out.

Aisha clapped her hands at her revelation, “That’s what it looked like!”

Lando shrugged, as though it was obvious.

“Okay I’m sorry, I’m not here to start the next French revolution or whatever-“ She mumbled, holding out a polite hand as a civil greeting.

Though, she was not met with his acceptance immediately, instead the three men surrounding her grimaced and hissed through their teeth- Daniel shook his hand out like he had just burned himself. Aisha looked around, oblivious to the reason for their reactions and jolted her hand out to the man.

“I’m from Monaco,” He snarked, accepting her hand begrudgingly, “Not France.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” She shrugged in reply.

“Charles” he gritted out, squeezing Aisha’s hand tightly- a poor attempt to veil his distaste, “Charles Leclerc, Ferrari driver.”

“Really?” Aisha squeezed harder, taking a step back to roll her eyes over his bright red suit, “Couldn’t tell.” She snorted.

“Right, well” Lando coughed, reaching forward to peel away both of their hands simultaneously, “This was fun. Meeting new people.” He took Aisha’s hand in his but dropped it quickly when she looked down at their conjoined fingers. Lando coughed, the tips of his ears blushing a furious scarlet, before he shifted to glance at his oh-so-interesting boots.

Luckily, the situation was saved by one of the administration workers clapping their hands and speaking robotically into a megaphone, “drivers, please make your way to your positions.”

The seasoned drivers around her began to exit their conversations and walk towards the bleachers style setup at the start line of the circuit. At least 12 black, metallic chairs sat in a row behind a small plaque, displaying bold white font that detailed the circuit name and the iconic formula one logo sprawled along the edges of the display board.

“Didn’t need this fucking helmet.” Aisha hissed to herself, jogging to one of the Porsche employees that stood at the edge of the camera shot, handing off the piece of equipment, before making her way back to the crowd.

She zipped up her suit and removed the piece of elastic from her hair, letting the noir waves fall down her shoulders as she scanned the already in place men in front of her, thankfully Pierre waved at her and ushered for her to take place next to him, standing behind the pair of Mercedes drivers who were snickering at some joke the other had just told.

Aisha huffed, clasping her hands behind her waist whilst jerking her head side to side due to odd strands of hair tickling her eyes and nose, before she could exasperatedly wipe her face with her hand, a pair of fingers had come and brushed against her nose. Aisha minutely followed the soft pads across her cheek before trailing her gaze up to the origin, Lando met her eyes, his own irises blown out as his hand lingered by her cheek- his thumb twitching across her skin before he coughed and re-took his position.

“Thank you,” She murmured beneath her breath, neutralising her face against the onslaught of obnoxious camera shutters and piercing sun rays.

“No problem,” Lando nodded slightly, his eyes flicking back to her face, tracing her features with his shy stare, “You did great in qualifying, yesterday.” He hastily complimented.

Aisha tried to fight against the blush that made its way up her neck, “thank you,” she snipped, pressing her lips together as a futile attempt at hiding her girlish smile.

Lando huffed out a laugh, turning his neck to grin at her, “anytime.”

Finally, the pictures had come to a stop, and the long-barrelled cameras were packed away and the grid were herded to a large, open roof truck. Another admin worker trailed behind the last driver into the pen-like vehicle, stepping up the stairs to hang back from the railing after locking the gate, “everyone’s here?’ she asked, giving a once over the flocked in men, and woman.

“Aisha, you’ll be first to talk to Lawrence,” She met eyes with Aisha, who was already waving to the rowdy fans who had collected at the banisters of the grandstands, “And then it’ll be whoever’s closest.”

The lady nodded once when the drivers thanked her, then she caught Aisha’s gaze again and she smiled reassuringly, “See you guys around.” She waved and dismounted from the railing with a jump.

The large platform began to move as the truck silently hummed to life, Aisha moved from her comfortable position at the back of the area-leaning against the matte, black railing towards Lawrence who smiled excitedly at her approaching figure. As she knitted through the small groups of 3 drivers littered in her path, she continued to wave at the fans who shouted and screamed at each subtle view they managed to glimpse of her.

“Aisha! Hi!” Lawrence greeted her, offering his hand for her to shake and swivelled around to collect a microphone.

“Hello, hello.” Aisha grinned back, accepting the long piece of tech from him, comically rotating it in her hands observing the porous black material that had been painted with a flaring red to create the F1 logo.

“So, you’re finally here! The big leagues, and yesterday’s qualifying must’ve been very exciting.  We’ve all been so blown away with Porsche’s car, and your performance. P5 ! Amazing. Walk us through what you’re feeling right now?”

“I mean, it’s a confidence booster of course, qualifying top 5- but I think that along with that it’s proving to myself and other little girls like me that it isn’t about who you are, but what you can do, regardless of gender or background.” Aisha nods once, leaning her elbow against the railing to crane her neck around and take in the track that lay ahead of the speedily moving vehicle.

“It’s great that you can showcase your talent and inspire young minds, but with that said- there’s obviously a pressure that comes with entering such a male-dominated sport.”

Aisha stilled slightly, her eyes wide and unblinking for a beat, “I mean, there’s always going to be extra expectation on you when you’re breaking barriers. The way I see it, this is an opportunity to pave the way for future generation, so really, its fuels my success and goes to show that gender or race, doesn’t correlate to your ability on track.”

“Well said, and while we’re on the topic of your determination, whilst being in the spotlight almost 24/7 and the battles on track, how do you maintain focus? It must be overwhelming.”

Aisha chuckled, turning to look at the other drivers, a few of them had tuned into her interview not-so-subtle whilst others were still deep in conversation, “I mean, when you’re battling against jumbo sized toddlers, and then being put under the loving spotlight of the media, I agree, it can be pretty overwhelming sometimes. But then I remind myself, why am I here? What am I here to do? And at the end of the day, it’s just me, the car, and the track, so I really don’t mind it too much.”

She shrugged at the end of her sentence, flipping her hair over her shoulder before unzipping the thick race suit. Revealing her tight, fireproofs beneath, the Indian flag sat proudly on her shoulder whilst her team logo lay sprawled across her chest along with the sponsor logos littered across the rest of her front.

“You make it seem so easy Aisha,” Lawrence laughed, oblivious to the tension that had gathered in the young woman’s shoulders and the tightness of her eyes that had increased tenfold throughout their conversation, “Last question before I let you go, to all of  your young fans gathered here today-“ he pointed up to the bleachers that came into view on the straight that the truck was approaching, where multiple younger children stood, jumping in their spots as their Porsche hats bobbled on their heads, “-what would you tell them? Especially those who are most likely facing challenges in their racing journey?”

Aisha smiled serenely, imagining herself in the seats that sat so far away from her, what her younger self would long to hear to make her racing career just a little bit easier, “To all the younger dreamers, never let anyone else tell you your limits. They may say to stop, but you need to believe that you can keep going. Chase your passions relentlessly because if you do, then the only barriers will be the ones we allow ourselves to see. Keep fighting, because one day, you’ll see that you’re right where you need to be.”

“Wow” He sighed, hand on his heart, “That inspired me.” Lawrence laughed heartily, “Finally, maybe just a few words in your native language, now from what I know you spent at least 3 years living in India? For your education?” He looked at her questioningly, waiting for her response.

Aisha nodded happily, “Yes, I did! so you want a message in Hindi? There are so many languages in my country, but sadly I’m only fluent in Hindi, despite being Gujarati myself.”

“That would be great, please do.”

“Sabse pehle, main apne sabhi fans ko bahut saara pyaar dena chahti hoon. Aap log mere liye inspiration ho, aur main hamesha aapke saath hoon. Aap sabka support mere liye bahut important hai, aur thank you kehna chahti hoon.”

[First of all, I want to give a lot of love to all my fans. You are an inspiration for me, and I am always with you. All your support is very important for me, and I would like to say thank you.]

“Amazing, thank you so much Aisha,” Lawrence gently took the microphone away from her and offered a grateful smile before looking towards Fernando who had made his way towards the pair.

“No problem,” Aisha stepped away, patting the eldest driver’s back once before turning away and making her way towards Lando, who had already been looking towards her, waiting for her to approach him, along with Oscar and Logan who were engrossed in conversation.

The scene fades away from the three seasoned drivers and in the blackness another title appears, “RACE DAY” and following this the Porsche garage is finally revealed for the first time, much like the other teams the hard acrylic surfaces were decorated with the team colours and many engineers, technicians and workers were rushing around whilst other’s begaan to detach the hydraulic tubes from the cars in preparation for the first race of the season.

Before the first car revved up with anticipation, the halo was shown displaying the driver number and surname, “GASLY 10” and with that, the tubes were removed and the driver’s engineer pulled away, removing the iPad from Pierre’s gloved hands, allowing him to speed off towards his starting position.

The camera pans over to the second car that is yet to exit the garage, the driver within seemed to be hurriedly re-reading the car statistics, consuming that data over and over again, the scene rotates from the back of the car towards the front, where from beyond the middle column of the halo we get a glimpse of the large helmet following her heads sporadic movements, the Indian and British flag printed onto the front side of her head gear, peeped in and out of view as she handed away the tablet and she pulled on her gloves that lay waiting on the chassis in front of her.

With a confident thumbs up, she followed one of the Porsche employee’s guiding movements towards the other racers who sat in their cars, waiting for the start. Maintaining an even pace, she passed by the other cars, the exposed carbon fibre of Esteban’s Alpine in P10 and bright orange of Oscar’s McLaren in P7. She found her box waiting for her car as she pulled in and slowly removed her foot from the acceleration as she joined the grid in waiting for the formation lap.

The music faded away, to allow Aisha’s monologue to play over the still of the onboard camera, “This is it, I thought to myself, all the years of hard work and sacrifices have led up to this moment. This isn’t like F3 or F2-“ the live replay of the sleek interior of her F1 car is replaced by exhilarating moments of on track battles from her previous racing leagues, “- this is F1, where dreams are trampled on and shattered if you can’t keep up.” Her voice trembles slightly as we hear her take a deep breath in and the cars are overtaken with a new scene.

We see Aisha, in the same deep red sultry pantsuit, her side profile contrasted in the shadows as her chest rises and falls, “I remember the moment exactly, I told myself ‘Aisha, soak it in, the cheers and the feeling of other’s dreams, their expectations, cause it can make or break you.” She laughs incredulously at herself, “dramatic I know.”

“But it was electrifying, the whole thing, the thrum of the engines, the anticipation. I have never felt anything like it. But it’s everything I’ve trained for and everything I’ve wanted since I was little and racing go-karts.” Snippets of the raging, overwhelming sound of spluttering go-karts overtake the screen as one after another, we see young Aisha, drowning in an oversized sponsored uniform cut through the chequered ribbon.

“To the other drivers on the grid, it’s just the first race of the season, but for me, it’s my debut, it’s the first and only chance to prove that I’m meant to be here.” Aisha claps her hands, and the bursting flashes of her karting days cease, and we’re brought back to her, sitting in the tall stool, legs crossed over elegantly as she waves her heel back and forth, “The countdown began, and it’s lights out and away we go.”

The red lights above the Bahrain track fade away one by one, Crofty’s voice is matched with hers, and just as the sound of the engines crescendo, the scene ends.

“Right Lando- “

The young British man makes his way into the stool, wobbling slightly as he flails his hands before rocking back to stability. He lets out a relieved breath and crosses his arms over his chest, his fingers absent-mindedly playing with the golden, volt bracelet on his wrist the Luis Vuitton logo glinting in the light from his absent-minded movements.

“Hi, yes, I’m here.” Lando looked up at the interviewer, his eyes bouncing between the 3-4 different camera’s capturing him from odd angles, “Which-“he pointed at one of them, “-which one am I looking at?”

The interviewer laughed before leaning forward and tapping the lens of the middle-most camera, “This one.”

Lando breathed out, “great” before adjusting the pillowing fabric of his hoodie and stared straight into the glass barrel in front of him, “I’m Lando Norris, and I race for McLaren Formula one team.”

“We ehm we didn’t need that. It- it’s different from Drive to Survive,”

Lando cringed and rubbed the back of his head, causing the bracelet to ride up beneath the sleeve of his hoodie, “My bad- “

“Don’t worry about it, Now-“The sound of cue cards being shuffled could be heard, “Onto the first question, we’ve heard rumours about you and Aisha, especially during your karting days, care to elaborate?”

Lando sucks air through his teeth as he smirks, “Me and Aisha…” He looks down to his hands, fingers finding purchase on the angled charm of his bracelet, “We go way back, I mean, it was either me or her who were winning the races, she was,” He sighs heavily, his eyes starry as he looks back up to the camera, “She was, no, she is everything.”

“Can’t help but notice the bracelet that you have on, anything significant?”

“It’s symbolic, I guess?but nothing too big.” He shrugs it off, hiding away the jewellery from prying eyes.

The interviewer presses their lips together, humming whilst shuffling the cards once again, “Right, of course, but some fans have already started to notice that you and she are…close.”

“Close? We’ve always been close, it’s like electric with her, it’s hard not to be attached to her talent.” Lando smirks playfully, winking at the camera, “Karting with her was so intense, we pushed each other to the limit, and I will always hold her and those memories close to my heart.”

“Seems like obsession,” They laugh.

“Oh, it most definitely is, I mean, have you seen her?” Lando flourishes dramatically with his hands, as though the woman was sitting right next to him.

We are brought back to the first driver’s briefing of the season, mere days before the Bahrain Grand Prix, Aisha had just sat down next to Pierre and began to chat amicably with her new teammate, bouts of laughter erupting from the pair momentarily.

The camera pans from the bonding partners to Lando, still hiding his head between his palms in embarrassment, though from between his ringed fingers we see his emerald irises peeking through the gaps, staring thoughtfully at the enrapturing driver who was currently fiddling with the van clef, indigo bracelets that shimmered around her wrist.

Oscar, who was also curiously watching the woman jogged Lando, snapping the man out of his trance, “Mate- you’re drooling,” He poked his teammate’s cheek.

Lando slapped away the finger that prodded his face, “I am not.”

“Whatever you say,” Oscar hummed, turning his attention back to the administrator who was flipping through a few data filled papers, bringing their mouth closer to the bendable microphone. Oscar leaned into Lando, bumping their shoulders together, “Just be careful.”

Aisha breathed out a sigh, capping the black, matte Bulgari pen, slipping it into the awkwardly small purse that hung from her shoulder. She slammed the driver’s door of her car, having just finished a load of signing and smiling with fans, her main objective was to get through the security scanners peacefully.

“Hey stranger,” A voice came up behind her, tapping her arm.

“Lando,” Aisha tried to contain the quiver in her voice, “I thought you already got in.” She adjusted the neckline of her top, the tight sleeves hugged her shoulders and left her skin exposed to the warm sun.

“I did, I just needed something from my car and then I saw you,” He grinned at her, tapping his key card against the scanner, walking seamlessly through the rotating barrier, “You look like you’re about to walk a runway.”

Aisha laughed, tucking a straightened lock of hair behind her ear, “Thanks, you look…” Aisha assessed his outfit, a pair of light blue baggy, Levi’s and one of his own merch hoodies, “normal.” She cringed at her unnecessary honesty.

Yet, Lando just laughed and nodded his head in agreement, “Yeah- compared to you.”

Aisha continued to walk through the paddock, the British driver at her side whilst she waved to those personnel that passed by. She looked down at her own clothes, a neat, navy, off-the shoulder top that hugged her chest in all the right places was tucked into a grey mini-skirt, compliments of one of the many brand ambassadors of her team, the item was paired with a thin brown, gold buckled belt along with knee-high go-go boots.

“You could say that” She conceded, adjusting the golden Porsche chain that clung to her neck, “I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” Lando pocketed his hands.

“I you wanted to get dinner. For old times’ sake?” Aisha leaned forward on one foot, tilting her head hopefully before coming to a stop and waiting for his response.

Lando beamed widely, his eyes sparkling, “Definitely, I would be an absolute idiot to turn you down.”

Aisha blushed and looked down at the bracelets on her wrist, multiple layered golden chains which reflected light against her face in the most euphoric way, “Great, I’ll ju-“

“AISHA, oh my god it’s really her, AISHA!”

A shrill, young voice erupted from behind the pair, and a group of 3-4 young girls came running up to the pair. Aisha laughed to herself, plucking out the pen once more.

“Hello,” Aisha greeted the pre-teens who surrounded her, two of them dressed in a signature papaya orange whilst the other two sported metallic, silver Porsche merch, “You guys look so good!”

She accepted the hats and odd poster that the girls shyly handed her, “We’re so excited to see you race! You’re the only one who looks like us.” One of them spoke, her copper toned, youthful cheeks bobbed up with her smile as her long, black ponytail weaved with her excited movements.

“That’s so sweet, I think I might just win the race for you.” Aisha opened her arm for the girl to step into as they took a photo.

“Ehm, Lando, could we get an autograph as well,” Another one asked, already unfurling a second poster along with presenting the enraptured male with a sharpie.

“Absolutely! How could I resist?” Lando accepted the pen and began to sign the poster along with some newly presented items that the other two girls had produced.

“Thank you, guys, so much!” Aisha waved off the girls and turned back to Lando, already handing over her phone for him to enter in his number.

The young fans were squealing on their way back to their parents, who were just as excited for their young daughter’s interaction, “Did you guys see the bracelet?”

“What bracelet?” Another one asked, carefully rolling up her poster and handing it to her father, who tucked it under his arm and offered his hand for her to take.

“Lando’s, the one he wore for the whole of last season…” She adjusted her cap, looking confusedly at her three friends.

“Oh…I didn’t.”

“Neither did I.”

The screen faded away from Lando, sitting with his teammate whilst gawking at Aisha and we’re brought back to the present, the on-board camera of the Porsche is aimed at the lights that have just gone dark and all at once, a symphony of rubber against concrete fills the scene.

Aisha navigated turn one with ease, emerging from the throng of cars still in P5, her grip tightened on the steering wheel as she focussed every ounce within her body on the track ahead. The bright spotlights above her cast a blinding hue over the grandstands, illuminating the eager fans from around the world, their flags waved in their air as they watched with anticipation when she approached Lewis from behind, pressuring the world champion ahead as they weaved into the next turn.

Aisha aimed for the apex, seeing the slightest gap for her to slip past, as she pointed the head of her car towards the opening, she held her breath and pressed on the throttle. Aisha lurched backwards as she could feel the crackles of her under-board hit the track with each increase in speed she made, yet she managed to dodge the Mercedes car and fly down the straight, maintaining her tyres as best as she could.

The radio thrummed to life in her ear as her race engineer, James, began to speak, “Great work with Lewis, already around 1.15 behind you. Take care of your tyres for now and defend.”

Aisha breathed heavily as she continued to meet the corners and walls with barely an inch to save herself as a highly effective attempt to prevent more overtakes, “Got it.”

She continued her pace throughout the laps, the continuous build up over 20 rounds had inched her closer and closer to Carlos who was struggling in P3, his braking getting worse and worse with each sharp turn.

“James- how much closer do I need to overtake?” Aisha gritted out, flitting her eyes to the large, white metallic DRS sign that entered her limited field of vision.

“Only a bit more Aisha, it’s time to push.”

Aisha stepped harshly onto the gas, her engine thrumming all around her as she charged closer to the bright red Ferrari ahead. She could see the rubber of the tyres in front burn and smoke with every swerve. The roar of her engine filled her ears, drowning out the noise of her own heartbeat as she braced herself for the challenge, “Here we go,” she murmured, voice firm and steely with determination.

She surged her car forward, pushing her machine to the limit as she matched Carlos’ pace with precision and determination, the desert heat bore down in mirage-like waves as the two drivers danced on the razor’s edge of competition. One by one measly lap, the distance shortened until they were wheel to wheel, and all Aisha could do was grit her teeth until she could taste the tangy calcium as she continued the precipice of a wipe-out, the promise of a podium too good to lose.

Aisha’s heart pounded with exhilaration as they hurtled down the straight once again, soon enough the pair were met with the sharpest corner yet, Aisha pushed further and Carlos relented, edging away meekly to allow her to slip by. The crowd’s cheers washed over her, a wave of euphoria crashing over her senses as her heart swelled with triumph.

“WOO! P3!”

“Amazing work Aisha, halfway there. Get some distance between you two.”

“I can take on Checo,” Aisha promised, her aggressive spirit burning deeply within her core as her eyes narrowed into the back of one of the red bulls.

“Go for it, but be careful, your tyres aren’t that good.” James warned her, his voice crisp with caution.

“I got this.”

Aisha revved up once her power had flashed a promising green on the screen in front of her, “It’s time to pounce.” She promised herself whilst flicking the DRS button with her thumb, letting the flap behind her quiver open, the force launched her forward like never before as the lap count leached into the 40’s, Checo hadn’t yet pitted, neither had she, and suddenly, it was a battle of the wills.

She tried all that she could, nudging her nose into the smallest of gaps and backing out when he had angled himself predatorially, grazing her front wing enough for her heart to jump into her throat, “What the fuck is he doing? Fucking cocksucker, he wants to kill me or what?” Aisha had to remind herself to lower her voice.

“It’s within regulation, keep pushing you’re approaching DRS again.” James assured her.

The car trembled beneath her, like a jaguar waiting to pounce again after one failure, she pressed again. This time she nipped Checo’s wheel, causing for him to quickly move out of the way, narrowly missing a spin-off and allowing Aisha to speed into P2.

“FUCK YES! HOLY SHI-“

Aisha’s celebration was cut short when a dangerous thrum approached her rapidly, she attempted with all her might to duck and weave into and out of his path, but Checo was relentless, continuously rubbing against her wheels and forcing her to utilise her power.

“Fuck, fuck what the actual shit?” Aisha screeched as she continued to sloppily defend, her anger bubbling up like hot water.

The red bull growled and pounced in front of her, clipping enough of her front wheel to send her spinning. Aisha shouted with malice, throwing up her hands as her wheels began to rotate rapidly, “BASTARD!”

Her vision blurred as the world around her continued to haphazardly shift, the fans above stilled with trepidation as they watched her strangle her wheel with both hands and wrangle the car back into position.

“Okay, so that’s P5- P5, Piastri, Sainz, Perez and Verstappen in front of you,”

“Copy.” Aisha grumbled darkly, manoeuvring the vehicle so that she could continue to viciously speed down the final lap, murderously defending her position as her stomach finally settled and head stopped pounding with adrenaline.

The race ended with Crofty heartily congratulating her over the commentary,

“And Verstappen has won the Bahrain grand prix! with Checo in P2 and Sainz in the Ferrari in P3. Now the fans have spoken, and new-comer Aisha Patel has been voted driver of the day, rightfully so, securing a solid P5 finish after a challenging battle on the track. it's fantastic to see her scoring valuable points in her debut race. And let's not forget the incredible debut of the Porsche F1 Team! It's clear that they're a force to be reckoned with in the championship.”

A view of Max passing through the finish line is shown, sparks flew behind his car as he speeds through and turned into the parc ferme. Aisha is also shown, her eyes steely from within her helmet and as she stops her car she clambers out of the cockpit and rips of her headgear, a scowl evident on her usually cool face.

She pushes open the gate to the media pen, narrowly avoiding Max, who spared her a dark glance from over his shoulder before turning back to the interviewer.

“Yeah, people make stupid decisions sometimes,” She heard him answer the unintelligible question. Aisha could already feel the anger burn her throat as she whipped her head around and met Max’s eyes, he stared back, an inferno raging within his blue iris’. She opened her mouth to speak but was stopped by her Media manager, pulling her away gently, Aisha followed tearing her eyes away from the Dutchman. Yet, she could still feel his heated gaze on her.

Aisha scoffed passing by Carlos and Checo, who were conversing in fast Spanish, and headed towards the common media area, where eager and ravenous reporters began to clamber on top of one another as they caught sight of her sweaty face and stringy hair.

“Aisha! Aisha!”  They called, loud voices breaking through the microphone and blowing through the audio.

Aisha huffed and went towards the tell-tale white microphone, the sky sports logo sprawled all over the foam cover,

“Hi Aisha, congratulations on the P5 today,” Mark started, holding the microphone out for the visibly annoyed driver.

“Thank you,” She snipped, but blinked a few times before forcing herself to continue, “Y’know could’ve been a P2 finish for Porsche today, but I’m happy with both Pierre and I’s finish, at least we scored some valuable points.” Aisha robotically recounted her PR training.

“Definitely a tough break for you out there,” He nodded solemnly, “Care to walk us through what happened with Checo on lap 43?”

Aisha sucked in a breath, looking behind her where her PR person stood, arms crossed over her Porsche shirt as she shrugged, “Yeah, of course, it’s disappointing end to my race, P2 would probably be a dream, but Checo made a-“ Aisha bit her tongue momentarily, looking into the few dozen camera’s pointed at her, until she noticed Checo’s reflection walking behind her, heading to the cool-down room, “-a dickhead move absolutely dangerous, there was contact because he couldn’t use his eyes, and that caused me to spin out. It’s racing, I know, but you don’t see race winners or legends making moves like that.” Aisha hissed.

Mark stared at her, mouth agape before he recollected himself and forced a flabbergasted laugh, “Well, that’s one way to put it.” The other surrounding reporters were close to drooling at the mouth, their own mics pushed further through the gaps as they imagined the debaucherous headlines they could create from her outburst.

“How were you feeling during that moment?”

“Truthfully?” She tilted her head, “Pissed, but you probably didn’t you marky-moo, my radio probably told you that. But after I managed to regain my original position, I was more determined to just finish the race with a solid end.”

He laughed at that but stilled when Checo emerged once again from the cool-off room, “Checo!” Mark called, oblivious to the thunderous haze that overtook Aisha. She checked behind her shoulder, and her upper lip curled with malice,

“I’ll let Checo say his bit- “She murmured, “Excuse me.” And left the pen, heading towards the Porsche garage whilst avoiding eye-contact with Lucy, her fuming PR manager.

“Hey! Checo!” Aisha called out, throwing down her headphones, leaving her race engineer in concerned confusion as she approached the red bull driver, amid his team, oblivious to the storm about to hit him.

“Oh, hey Aisha-“

“Do not, hey, me.” She snarled, “What the fuck was that on track? Were you trying to kill me back there? You could’ve overtaken me in so many other ways.” Aisha approached him, prompting Checo to take a simultaneous step back, hands raised.

“It’s racing Aisha, I had to make a split-second decision.”

“We all make decisions, Perez,” She snarled, hands balling up into fists, “You don’t see Charles or Carlos or anyone with half a brain doing what you did? You messed up my race!” Aisha’s voice begins to raise, drawing attention of the red bull personnel, since the pair had manged to slowly move up to the entrance of the garage, and prompting a few camera men, who were following around Lando and Oscar to pan over to her.

Aisha groans, smacking her palm against her head a few times as a display of aggression before turning back to a very sweaty, nervous driver, “Never mind my race- you had fucking so many other options, why? Why did you decide to clip my wheel? Is it because being overtaken by a woman was so embarrassing, for red bull’s number two, you couldn’t handle it?” Aisha mocks him, before starting to approach his frozen form, a violent fire burning in her eyes and spreading to her limbs, igniting them with her fury.

Just as there was merely a centimetre between the two, a pair of strong arms hooked themselves around her elbows, holding her hand away from Checo, who had started shouting about his “personal safety”.

“Are you fucking stupid?” A gruff voice whispers into her ear.

Aisha kicks out, a futile attempt to free herself, “Let me go,” She whips her head around, her hair flying,

“Can you stop? I will literally knock you out.” The voice continues, grunting when her foot narrowly misses his groin.

“Fine-“ She huffs, going limp as she shoots daggers into Checo’s retreating back being escorted by a flurry of blue clad workers, “Fine, let me go,” She mumbles.

The man drops her onto the floor instantly, allowing her to stumble over her feet. Aisha finds her footing once more and spins around to meet his eyes, “Max?”

Max stares down at her, his eyes squinted with annoyance, “Who else? You’re in front of the red bull garage.” He rolls his eyes and steps a large stride away from her.

Aisha blinks once. Twice. Before scoffing and crossing her arms, “Yeah. Thanks.” She snarks before walking away from him, leaving the dutchman standing, fuming in his spot. She manages to skip over the McLaren crowd but had attracted almost half a dozen cameras on her, the large intimidating lens’ were pushed into her face haphazardly, narrowly missing her face a few times.

Aisha had to hold herself back from stealing the cameras from their holders and smashing them onto the ground. She could feel a self-depreciating throb begin to build in her head, the memory of all the idyllic children watching her, and those who had felt represented by her made tears prick at her eyes. In that moment, with too many lens’ focussing on her quivering lip, she hoped that they wouldn’t catch the salty sadness that threatened to stream down her face

The post-race interview scene fades away, and a familiar red bull jersey is announced into the scene, the dark blue merging pleasantly with the dark grey background. We’re introduced to Checo’s frame, a placid smile on his face.

“Hi checo,” The interviewer greets the driver, who nods in acknowledgement, “Well, Bahrain was an intense time for you, especially the on track accident with Aisha, would you care to talk us through the whole thing?”

Checo clears his throat briefly, “Yeah, uhm, it was a tight battle with her, and she was holding her ground y’know, but I saw an opportunity to make a move and I took it.” He shrugged once, reverting his gaze away from the camera, “And, as an unfortunate by product, she ended up spinning out, but it’s racing, these things happen.”

“I think everyone knows that she seemed quite upset about the incident, did you have a chance to speak with her afterwards?”

“uhm, people say things when they’re angry, and Aisha was frustrated but I’m here to win races, that’s what I’ve been hired to do. Once again, it was a choice that I had to make, and it’s hard to consider everyone’s emotions while I do it.”

“Max, we recently interviewed Checo, and he had some…words to say about the situation in Bahrain, specifically with Aisha after the race. Now, we saw that you had intervened just in time, what was going on during that moment?”

Max shifted in his chair, slipping down slightly, and crossing his arms over his chest, “Yeah, I could see that the situation was escalating, with Aisha getting increasingly angry, it would’ve ended pretty badly.”

“You sound so sure about that.”

“Trust me, I know anger when I see it, and I know that races can get heated especially when avoidable occurrences aren’t avoided, but I also think that emotional regulation is crucial to compete.” He distractedly runs a thumb over his bottom lip.

“Does this change your initial views on Aisha entering the sport? Since you were pretty, pessimistic.” The interviewer cringes just as the words escape their mouth.

“I wouldn’t say I was pessimistic,” He quickly rejects, “But I think she had something to prove, just like any of us, she isn’t exempt from it. And she, raced like any of us would’ve in the moment, so do I suddenly think of her as a saint? No, but do I think that she’s building up to something? Maybe.”

“Aisha!” A voice calls from behind her, Aisha smiles at the fans who had offered her a notebook to sign, she watched them walk away before responding,

“Yeah?” She tucks away her pen into the silver, Porsche gym bag that hung from her shoulder.

Lando jogs up to her, tapping his card against the scanner before pushing through the gate and reaching her side, “Great race, you handled it...well…” He trailed off, unsure of how to spin off his compliment.

Aisha laughs at that, throwing her head back, ”It’s okay Lando, you don’t have to say anything” She tugs at the sleaves of her tight black jacket, the hugo boss label stretched over her chest as she pulled at the fabric, “I- I can get pretty mad,” Aisha shrugs, kicking an imaginary pebble with her shoe, rustling her oversized tracksuit bottoms, the three parallel lines on both her legs fluttered with the airy clothing.

“Yeah, that probably didn’t go down to well on camera,” He itches the back of his head, “I actually came to ask if you’re staying at the same hotel as the rest of us, Oscar took my car and I’m stranded.”

“Lando…” She sighs, adjusting the strap of her bag, “If you wanted to ride in my Porsche, you could’ve just said so.” Aisha gestured to her silvery 918 Spyder, the high-end sports car shimmered beneath the spotlights of the private car park.

Lando hissed through his teeth and grinned, “You caught me.” He held his hands up, “It’s the only way I can be photographed in the car without causing an uproar.”

Aisha tilted her head at him, “Oh, so nothing else is convincing you?”

“Hmmm, that, and maybe the very beautiful and scary woman who drives it?” Lando offered, holding out his hand for her to take.

She looked down at his open palm before searching the area around them, the rest of the grid had departed long before, leaving just her car and another in the parking. Aisha squinted her eyes at the remaining automobile, a Honda NSX, the only owner being none other than a certain grumpy blonde, who was more focussed on his back seat than on the couple who still stood in the middle of the concrete.

Accepting his hand, she revelled in the feeling of her fingers intertwined with his, soft skin against coarse knuckles, a warm aura enveloped her being as she guided them towards her car, pulling out the flat fob to click open the expensive machine.

Yet, as she watched Lando retreat into the passenger’s seat with an amazed, “oh damn.” and went to unlock the trunk to slip her duffel bag into, she felt an icy gaze glued to her back.

Aisha turned once behind her to where Max was sitting in his driver’s seat, eyes glued at first on Lando, an unrecognisable expression painted on his face before he slowly slid it up to her face, and his once oddly neutral gaze turned into an annoyed squint.

With that, the dutchman tore his eyes away from a now, slightly agitated Aisha, towards the open road and pulled out of the car park, speeding away to what she assumed would be the hotel.

“Hey,” Lando leaned over the dash, reaching for her hand that rested on the headrest of her seat, the other braced on her car door as she watched the retreating Honda, “You okay?”

Aisha jumped out of her disturbed haze, and back to where Lando was now rubbing his fingers over hers that had tensed enough to turn her milky brown skin into a pale white, “Yeah- I’m fine, just checking for reporters.”

“I’m that embarrassing?” He teased, watching her intently as she fastened her seatbelt and smiled at the sound of the purring super engine.

Aisha snorts, “No- not at all, just making sure that McLaren’s golden boy isn’t photographed inside a Porsche- with the grid’s certified crazy woman.” She pressed on the gas.

“Yeah, but…what if I want that?”

“What?” Aisha’s eyebrows knitted together; eyes still glued to the unfamiliar roads ahead as the GPS stopped squawking at her for a brief moment.

“I don’t care if you’re the crazy woman…You’re just, you. I don’t care about the rest.” Lando smiled lazily, his eyes studying her quickly flustered face.

“You’re a horrible flirt Norris.” She grumbled.

[23fallencomets]

American ricochet

f2, imola

mateo frowns, logan sighing heavily next to him. their cars, while not horrifically damaged, would be out for the remainder of practice.

“that was the shittiest race line you could’ve taken.” mateo grumbles, his voice slightly muffled by his helmet. logan shrugs, the sun glinting over his own, the american flag on display.

“you took the same one!” logan replies, kicking the gravel with the tip of his boot. mateo continues to grumble, arms crossed against his chest as they watch the others cars pass by.

they’re taken back to the paddock, getting checked and cleared by medical. the annoyance had ebbed away as they made their way back to their designated garages, logan back to carlin and mateo back to campos.

practice is still going on so he sits by his engineers, watching olli’s practice and comparing it to his—at least up until both him and logan crashed.

it wasn’t a big crash either, mateo had come up alongside logan when something went wrong with logan’s car, sliding both of them onto the gravel. still though, the race line was shitty to begin with anyway.

mateo sits through a few media videos, two interviews, an hour long debrief with the team and a quick conversation with the mechanics before he’s being ushered into the little trailer.

olli is in there, slouched over the table and clearly asleep. he carefully nudges him around, olli grumbling until he’s laying on his side. mateo finds his blanket and tosses it over him before taking the small couch.

he quickly leaves, finding the carlin trailer and logan’s familiar giggles. the door is left open and he finds logan on the floor, grin wide on his face when he see mateo.

“hi babe.” he says, tone light as mateo glances at a knocked out liam.

“unblock me you dick.” mateo says, lightly nudging logan with the toe of his shoe, “that was mean.”

“you government named me,” logan sniffs, turning away. mateo groans, plopping onto the floor next to him, he’s on some padding that’s way more comfortable than whatever they had over at their trailer.

“i’ll pay for dinner.”

“you can’t because i’m already doing that.” logan says, hands on his chest, “outqualify me and i’ll unblock you.”

mateo smacks his stomach, smiling when logan jerks in response. the two end up smacking each other, their giggles turning into full on laughs.

“can you guys take your weird ass flirting elsewhere,” liam grumbles, tired eyes blinking at them, “some of us are trying to sleep here.”

“didn’t you have a meeting at 5?”

liam shoots up, patting around for his phone, “what’s the fucking—you cunt! get out of my way!” he shouts, hopping over them, barely ducking down to grab his shoes before he’s out the door.

mateo snorts, “he didn’t set an alarm?”

logan smiles, “jack was in here earlier and disabled it.”

mateo flops down next to him, “so you’re not gonna unblock me.”

“nope.”

[cazzyf1]

Lore about Carel Godin de Beaufort

Because this man seemed to live for causing chaos for the laughs wherever he went ✨️

Called his car 'Fatty Porsche', as it was the only car he could fit into with his large frame.

He would race in his socks, no shoes, to reduce the length of his feet.

He tried to stay as light as possible and loose weight by only eating tasteless biscuits while travelling and making his team do the same.

He once explained on TV that it was safer to pass a crossing at 150 km/h than 50 km/h as you spend less time at this crossing.... 

One of his biggest pranks he committed as a kid was that he tied two rubber cables of 100 yards in length to the back of the Chevrolet in which two Amsterdam magistrates came to visit his father at Maarsbergen. When the judges prepared to leave along the driveway, young Carel almost choked with pleasure as he saw the Chevy's acceleration slowly grind to a complete stop, after which the car suddenly shot back and smacked into the tree he had attached those cables to. Unfortunately, Carel had been uncareful in moving out of his irate father's view, upon which the old man stormed into the house to come out with his hunting rifle. Carel couldn't care less, as he had long since run for cover behind the park's rhododendrons.

Carel once brought a car battery with a big horn with him into his classroom. In those days, classrooms were quiet places where only the teacher spoke, unless a pupil was requested to. So it was a nasty surprise for the teacher when suddenly this horn shattered the silence

During a practice lap around Nürburgring he decided to wear a Beatles wig to amuse the crowds as he raced around.

As a kid, he attempted to drive a VW Beetle under a trailer; he did not succeed.

Another pastime as a child was tying matchboxes to tree branches and then using a Canadian army Jeep to take a run at them, jumping from his seat to try and pull them from the trees.

He was banned from driving in Belgium once but decided he was going to race anyway and sneaked in, however, after doing a few laps, the race organisers noticed him and black flagged him, yet he continued for another lap anyway, holding up the world champion Jack Brabham

In Germany, he tied a Bratwurst stand to the back of his car, and it resulted in a lot of sausages covered in bits and pieces of stone and wood

While he was in France, he had slept during the afternoon at his hotel and discovered Dutch motorsport journalist Rob Wiedenhoff waiting for him in the lobby. Carel did not have any transport to the circuit, so they travelled in Rob’s Chrysler and en route made a detour to a garage where Carel’s Porsche was being serviced by the Porsche crew. The crate of beer they brought was warmly appreciated. But while travelling at speed towards the circuit gates, a French gendarme stepped in their way, instructing them to stop, but he pressed his left foot on top of Wiedenhoff’s right, with the Chrysler narrowly missing the officer.

At the Avus sportscar race, he clipped the top of the banked Nordkurve, his Porsche tumbling down into the trees at the back of the banking. Miraculously, the car performed a cat-with-nine-lives trick by falling on its feet unscathed. As if nothing had happened. Carel then went on to rejoin the race at the bottom of the banking. The race officials needed some time to convince themselves it was not Beaufort's ghost doing the honours before they pulled out the black flag to disqualify the battered Porsche…The next day, he had his picture taken at the scene of the event, Carel in his overalls, putting on a brave pose. The photoshoot distinctly lacked taste, as Jean Behra had been killed at the very spot, in the very same race

At another Belgian GP a couple of years later, he took an F2 Cooper onto the track to test it, simply driving it onto the circuit. Eventually the organisers noted from their entry list that the car’s number wasn’t on it and he was black-flagged.

During the French GP at Reims, when official practice had finished, it was noted that he and his orange Porsche were missing. Fearing an accident, the race organisers sent out a search team but discovered he had stopped at a distant part of the circuit to pick up an attractive female spectator, to give her a ride around the track.

At the Nürburgring 1000 km in 1956, Carel de Beaufort and Thieu Hezemans entered the Spyder but found the car had a leaking fuel tank. The whole weekend the hole was plugged by chewing gum. "I have never seen so many people chew", Carel later reminisced. "In the end, our guys had aching jaws, so we had to set the neighbouring crew members to work!"

For footage for someone he once raced with a camera on his car which fell off causing a big crash for Graham Hill.

He raced the Mille Migila without a co driver and got two trophies one for Mr Godin and one for Mr de Beaufort…

"I own the car I drove at Zandvoort. I bought it last year. It's prepared in the same way as the works cars, with the difference that I own it. When I get lucky it's even prepared better than one of the factory cars. Yes, that happens sometimes! At Zandvoort I beat Bonnier, and he's a factory Porsche driver. The thing is, works cars are prepared in advance and the mechanics do not have any meaningful contact with the drivers anymore. They just fly in to the track, to Zandvoort, or Monza, or the Nürburgring, and never visit the factory. My way is different from theirs. I go to the factory and tell them exactly what I want. On my return from a race I'll tell them all my stories and show the guys my time sheets and the photographs I took. In the evenings, I'll take them out to dinner. And in case they need to work late, I'll buy them a crate of beer and bring along a pile of food. And that's just huge, that's fantastic. Essentially it's the reason why I've been going great this season in that old car of mine. Mind you, it's three years old now and still I've beaten the factory cars on many occasions. I believe my profound personal contact with the guys at the Porsche factory is the key to that. I am very happy to be a privateer. You get much more satisfaction out of racing by beating the works drivers. It's no fun flying from Grand Prix to Grand Prix, jump into the car, do your thing and fly off again."

[thearchercore]

As a film major undergrad and then entertainment business major post grad. The artistic elements of the F1 movie drive me insane AND THEN THE FINANCIAL AND MARKETING ASPECTS TOO!!

Apple is pretty notorious for just blowing huge amounts of money on shows and films that no one watches. So, it’s not even the $300 million budget that surprises me . It’s how little anyone seems to understand what this film is about or who it’s even for!! AND I CANT EVEN TELL WHERE THE MONEY FOR THIS FILM HAS GONE EXCEPT ON BRAD PITTS PAYCHECK BECAUSE THE TRAILERS COLOUR GRADING IS SO BAD IT CANT POSSIBLY BE ON POST

Maybe it was just a terrible trailer but the reason films like Rush and Le Mans 66 (Ford v Ferrari in some countries) is that they had something for both racing and non racing fans. 

Both based on true stories, with a compelling emotional core, recognisable actors (appeals to non racing fans mainly). Beautiful cinematic shots of cars going fast appeal to racing fans because those are views that you don’t usually get watching an actual race. 

the fixed cam shots of the drivers in the cars do nothing!! Because non racing fans will find them boring and racing fans would just rather watch a real race. Not Brad Pitt fucking about in an F2 car (which racing fans on Twitter have picked up on already!) The jet shots in top gun maverick (same director) worked because, hey people don’t usually see that sort of stuff, especially not from a pilots POV,  but we see fixed cam POV shots from car races all the time!! AND HOW ARE YOU DOING AUDIO FOR THAT??? is just going to be Brad Pitt breathing heavily the entire time??  

The exaggerated noises and car movements are fun to watch because F1 cars don’t move like that anymore! We don’t get to hear that classic WHOOOSHHH. hell even Michael manns terrible Ferrari movie was FUN because the story was interesting and the shots of the cars driving very fast around very scenic parts of Europe is entertaining. 

F1 (2025) is not based on a true story and the trailer was way more focused on the cringe “car for combat” line rather than what might actually make for an emotionally compelling story. An old racer thrown aside by the sport being dragged back to help an up and coming racer because that’s the only way he’s able to get back in a car. For the first time in his career He’s now the number 2 driver.

But it seems like we will get none of that and if we do the writing will be…uh bad!

ALSO THE TWITTER MARKETING!!! Who is that for!!! The only people who are interacting with that are already your target audience (F1 fans) they know the movie exists, they’ve already made up their minds about whether they are going to see it or not. And if non f1 fans see it they’d just be confused about it being a real f1 team and likely just ignore it. If this is your early marketing what on earth are you going to do next!! You can’t get Brad Pitt to do stunt drives for promotions cause he’ll probably die!! You are relying on name recognition to get non f1 fans to go the theatre and sign up to Apple TV for this and you didn’t even say FROM THE DIRECTOR OF TOP GUN MAVERICK in your trailer when that was the second highest grossing film of 2022 and had pretty much universal critical acclaim!!!! 

Brad Pitts old ass was also a terrible choice for this movie. Micheal Fassbender was right there!!! He’s literally done Le Mans, had an entire Porsche YouTube doc about his training and hypercar race attempts. And at 47, is a very believable age to play “retired driver but still young enough to come back” and he’d likely have been able to a lot of drives/stunts himself. 

I also dread to think how the real drivers are being included in this. I get wanting authenticity but these boys may look like models and actors but they are not!!! If anything I feel like it’d just ruin the emersion of the film because how jarring it’ll be to see real drivers, with their real names in a fictional movie!! 

This movie makes me crazy, it’s only been 1 trailed and some BTS info and I’m already like this. Watching the actual film ( which I do encourage people to pirate btw don’t give Brad Pitt money) is going to kill me 

i will be very surprised if they do pull it off because every move they've done so far was just objectively bad. naming it f1? awful. the ip will get lost in search engine tools because Real F1 will overshadow it. the trailer? no plot. brother is building a car for combat as if the FIA would allow anything like that. the closest we got was mclaren putting spikes on their car this year.

the trailer showed us zero plot, introduced zero stakes in the story. okay you're building a car, why? why do you want to win? what is the driving force of the story? the emotional core? why do i want to root for brad pitt's character if my driver is an actual character in the story??

so far the only people excited for it are real f1 fans that are going to see it to see max verstappen walk in the background in IMAX for 4 seconds. and those people take it as a joke, a hatewatch even.

they all know the f1 drivers can't act... like this whole thing seems so insane to me i cant believe how its an actual thing that's being filmed lol

and dont get me started on how the filming is taking two years (also bc of the strikes last year). two teams have completely different name. cars look different. suits look different...... like if they're fixing all in post god bless that team bc they'll be using more VFX than marvel

[certifiedbi]

as the biggest hater in the history of motorsport (after my mentor, valentino rossi), here's everything I have decided is wrong in the new F1 trailer

starting strong. in the first scene Brad Pitt states "redbull, ferrari, mercedes, aston, now mclaren all have the speeds in the straights. our shot is battling in the corners." . this is incorrect as mclaren has phenomenal corner speeds and aston martin does not have speed anywhere

2. this garage looks far too empty and also if the car is on the jacks why keep the wheels on? they are just in the way

3. this is a scene from a race but there is no speed tape on the pannel edges. also at this angle it is painfully obvious that these are not real f1 cars and instead cosmetically modified f2 cars. like look at how narrow it is

4. clear visors have not been used in about 20 years and its far too bright not to have on

(yes okay i know this is about being able to see the driver, but I feel this kinda ruins the beauty of the helmet, not being able to read their faces so their bodies have to do all the talking. we needed that)

5. i have no idea if there are rules about this but leaning towards a launching f1 car feels pretty dangerous. also I don't think you should be launching a car so hard out the garage that it leaves rubber

6. i am 95% certain those screens arent even on

7. busiest place in the garage is miraculously empty for this guy to have his tantrum

8. you will gain no knowledge from stroking the ground

9. this is motogp culture. dont use it

10. showed this guy. what the fuck is his deal?

11. this is incredibly innacurate. alpines are never in front of anyone

[renerosin]

Pαυʅ Aɾσɳ in the F2 Chasing the Dream Trailer [2024]

[sportychurch]

FIFA 24 | PLAYERS NOT IN EA FC 24! 😭💔 ft. Hazard, Pogba, Antony…

FIFA 24 Players Not in EA SPORTS FC 24 Ultimate Team in FIFA 24 or FC 24! ft. Hazard, Pogba, Antony! Football Facts & EA … source

[niniluvsainz]

anyways i just posted my first george fic, but i wanted to talk about some “news” i’ve seen recently in the f1 community.

checo pérez quite literally has his seat threatened if he doesn’t perform by summer break? like, firstly redbull renews him for the next two seasons, but now they’re saying if he doesn’t perform this season he’s gonna be dropped? also, saying you renewed him just for confidence? christian horner i will hunt you down. and who is in talks to replace him… daniel ricciardo. moving on to daniel ricciardo.

daniel is also not performing what he should. given, yeah he’s in the shitbox. but he is also in news of “risking his seat for next season” but they’re gonna promote him to redbull? where’s the logic in that. he’s underperforming in a mid-field car, how is that helpful for him to be upgraded to one of the best cars on the grid. if i want someone to replace checo, it’s gonna be liam lawson. until the death, i will wish for liam lawson in that redbull seat.

next, ollie bearman to haas. ever since i knew ollie existed in the f1 world, i have been a fan. i’m not a big watcher of f2, but i’ve seen his stats. and saudi arabia? that was a mighty performance he gave! he absolutely deserves the seat next year, and i can’t wait to see him race in f1.

paul 👏🏼 aron 👏🏼 deserves 👏🏼 an 👏🏼 f1 👏🏼 seat 👏🏼!!! the man who is LEADING the f2 championship WITHOUT A WIN, who is leading based on pure CONSISTENCY, does not have a formula one seat for next year and this is an absolute crime!!!! (kimi antonelli hate incoming, cover ur eyes if you don’t wanna read this) paul aron deserves a seat much more than kimi.

KIMI ANTONELLI, MAN OF THE MERCEDES HOUR. needs more experience to be in f1. toto rushed the poor child. you pull him from f4 all the way to f2. you wanted him to be moved to f1 to replace logan, so he wouldn’t even have finished his f2 season. would’ve been from f4 to f1. is the man crazy?

lastly, carlos mf sainz. there’s rumors he’s holding on to signing because he’s also “replacing” checo, that versainz ship has sailed long gone. and as the biggest self-titled versainz 2025 truther before my dreams were crushed, i can come to terms that carlos will not be waiting for horner to drop checo mid-season. HOWEVER, i want carlos in that mercedes. goodbye williams, sauber, and alpine. give me carlos in mercedes 2025. see, listen to my mind logic. carlos to mercedes for two years, 2025 and 2026. 2026 will be the year audi comes in. carlos can see how audi performs, and if they have the potential carlos seeks carlos can move to audi. and once carlos’ 2-year contract ends, i can see kimi coming in to take the mercedes seat.

also did y’all see that whack ass movie trailer for f1? couldn’t come up with a better title. it’s just, f1. i love twitter, because they’re making pages about the movie’s team, such as the actual team twitter accounts, the drivers (team joshua or sonny? i’m team joshua), they even had nyck de vries on the team and he was also dismissed, gossip pages, it’s all over the place. it’s the best thing to come out of f1twt.

thank you for reading my rant 🫶🏼 it was nice to leave twitter for a bit and log in here.

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

Brad Pitt's F1 film 🏎️ 🏁

Meet APXGP. Sonny Hayes and Joshua Pearce. Watch the trailer for F1, in cinemas on June 25. Brad Pitt's F1 film trailer looks promising.

After over a year of hype that has included plenty of at-track filming, Formula 1 is about to hit the big screens on 25th June 2025.

The real drivers in the sport famously have incredible reaction times that allow them to safely operate the vehicles. Brad and Damson are both driving in this film and in order to get them into these race cars, it required months, literally months of training, and the actors notably got the support of Lewis Hamilton, a driver who holds multiple records in the world of Formula One racing and is a producer on the new film 🎥

They bought six F2 cars, and real F2 race cars, and worked with Mercedes AMG, the Formula One team, and their engineers to build real race cars that could carry their camera equipment, recorders, and transmitters for making this film. So every time you see Brad or Damson [Idris] driving in this film, they're driving on their own in one of these real race cars on a real F1 track. So that's kind of how they approached the making of this film.

The film follows the fictional APXGP team; in the film, young star Damson Idris is in need of mentorship, which encourages the team to seek out the assistance of veteran racer Brad Pitt, who has turned to the endurance racing world after his Formula 1 career came to a close.

In F1, Brad Pitt plays Sonny Hayes – a former Formula One driver who is recruited back into the sport when a friend (Javier Bardem) teams him up with a young talent named Joshua "Noah" Pearce (Damson Idris). The talented ensemble cast also includes Kerry Condon, Tobias Menzies and Shea Whigham, and the film, with action that will demand the big screen experience.

That’s when F1, the Formula 1-sanctioned film starring Brad Pitt and directed by Top Gun: Maverick‘s Joseph Kosinski will hit the big screen in the UK 🇬🇧 on 25th June 2025.

#F1 #BradPitt #DamsonIdris #Formula1 #film #JosephKosinsk #APXGPteam #racer #F2cars #Lewis Hamilton #producer #drivers #racing

Posted 16th March 2025

[f0point5]

I don’t think I did my due diligence of F2 before watching it because I’ve never heard of the people who are at the front.

This is like watching a trailer for a show and then finding out the characters in the trailer were not even the main characters.

[iubescsateurasc-filmonline]

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Vineri, cu patru zile înainte de alegerile prezidențiale din SUA, Statele Unite au înregistrat 100.000 de cazuri noi de Covid-19. Această cifră a înregistrat cea mai mare creștere a cazurilor de coronavirus într-o zi la nivel mondial.

În total, Statele Unite au suferit 9 milioane de cazuri de Covid-19 până vineri, sau aproape 3% din populație, cu aproape 229.000 de decese de la izbucnirea pandemiei de la începutul acestui an, potrivit unui raport Reuters, 31 octombrie, „&f2&” .

Autoritățile sanitare din SUA au confirmat vineri că 100.233 de persoane au fost testate pozitiv pentru Covid-19 în ultimele 24 de ore.

Numărul de vineri a stabilit cel mai mare record zilnic de Covid-19 din SUA pentru a cincea oară în 10 zile, depășind cel mai mare vârf zilnic de 91.248 de cazuri noi din ziua precedentă.

Raportul reprezintă, de asemenea, cel mai mare număr de victime zilnice din lume în timpul pandemiei, depășind vârful record al Indiei de 24 de ore în cazuri zilnice de 97.894 înregistrate în septembrie.

Vineri, zeci de state au raportat individual un număr record de noi cazuri zilnice.

Cazurile grave de Covid-19 sunt, de asemenea, în creștere, deoarece spitalele din șase state raportează că au cei mai mulți pacienți cu boală de la începutul pandemiei. Numărul pacienților cu Covid-19 internați în spital a crescut cu peste 50% în octombrie, până la 46.000, cel mai mare de la jumătatea lunii august.

Printre statele cele mai afectate au fost cele mai contestate în campania dintre președintele republican Donald Trump și democratul Joe Biden, și anume Michigan, Carolina de Nord, Ohio, Pennsylvania și Wisconsin.

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