#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

[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?"

[vivwritesfics]

Horse Girl - LN4

High school sweethearts Lando and Y/N are very in love (she also happens to be Flo's best friend and they met through their yards) (any words you don't understand are probably just unimportant horsey terms dw about it) (also idk anything about flo's riding journey, so i made it mirror mine)

Lando Norris x reader

2.3K

"Flo," Y/N called as she appeared at the stable door. She had Gismo's bridle over her shoulder and her riding hat already on her head. "Think I borrow your martingale?"

Flo left her brush on her horses back and turned towards her friend. "I have conditions."

"Give them to me."

Flo held out her hand, checking things off on her fingers. "You clean it for me at the end of the week, you muck out for me tonight and we go on a hack."

Y/N let out a sigh. "I'm going out with Lando tonight," she said.

Being in a long distance relationship with an F1 driver wasn't easy. Y/N had to stay in England to take care of Gismo and Sooty while Lando was living in Monaco and travelling the world.

When Y/N could, she got somebody to look after the horses and spent a week with Lando in Monaco. When Lando could, he spent the week at Y/N's, visiting his family and watching her ride.

Y/N tried to spend as much time over the summer and winter breaks with him. But this year Y/N began competing Gismo. Lando travelled with her when he could during her competitions. He always had his camera with him, posting her on the jpg account.

Lando and Y/N had been friends for a bloody long time. When Flo started riding lessons, she was stuck behind a girl on a fat little pony that refused to do more than a walk. When their lesson activity had them riding side by side, Flo and Y/N became fast friends.

They went from a weekend lesson together to being at the yard every single day. They loaned the same horse, Y/N riding him for half of the week and Flo riding him for the other. Most of the time they'd be there on the same day, mucking out his stable together and cleaning his tack together. On Flo's day's to ride, Y/N was the one who sorted the jumps and picked up the shit.

When they were younger, when they'd spend all day at the stables, Y/N would sleep over at the Norris house. Flo lived closer to the yard so it just made sense.

Staying at the Norris house meant meeting Flo's big brother. Y/N had heard stories of him before, stories of his karting and his dreams of being in F1.

And then Y/N met Lando. He was the kind of boy who, when Y/N slept over, he wouldn't leave them alone. He was the annoying big brother that stopped by to make a comment on the film they were watching, steal some of their snacks and run off to play his PlayStation.

When they were teenagers, Y/N fifteen and Lando seventeen, things changed. He kept on with that whole annoying big brother image until he was around fifteen. And then he didn't care about teasing the girls - he was too busy winning in F3.

But at seventeen, he started to see Y/N a little differently. She was fifteen, almost sixteen when she watched him win around Silverstone. When he saw her afterwards, he saw her in a new light. Maybe it was that post win haze. But no, because the feelings didn't go away.

Lando waited two and a bit years before he made a move. He was in F2, then, waiting to take his place on the McLaren F1 team. Y/N and Flo were show jumping at the lower levels and Flo was Y/N's show groom for when she tried her hand at eventing.

Lando came up with every excuse in the book to join Y/N and Flo when they went eventing. He offered to drive the trailer for them, offered to groom and tack up Sooty for her. Of course, Lando had no idea what he was doing when it came to grooming and tacking up.

Flo was heavily judging her brother, but she let him come with them. He stood by the trailer, feeding Sooty mints while Y/N and Flo tacked up.

Before Lando entered F1, he knew he had to make his move. Y/N had agreed to help Flo with her horses for the night while she was off doing something unknown. It was November and Lando had just turned 19. It was now or never.

Lando made his way down to the stables. It was dark and freezing, the stables lit by floodlights. Y/N had mucked out Flo's horses and had moved onto hay. Her own horses hadn't yet been taken care of; she could deal with them once she was done with Flo's horses. Lando walked across the yard, trying to avoid getting mud on his shoes. "Y/N?" He called, looking from stable to stable.

Y/N emerged from a barn. She was in her black riding pants, mud splashed up the side. The mud disappeared under her coat and she wore a knitted beanie on her head. "Lando? What're you doing here?" She asked as she walked out of the barn with hay in her arms.

Lando let out a laugh when he saw the mud up her side. "Did you fall off or something?"

She let out a laugh as she threw the hay over the stable door. "Yeah, Sooty decided there was a gremlin hiding in the corner of the arena and freaked out," she answered as she bolted the stable door shut.

With Flo's horses done, Y/N started looking after her own. As she mucked out, Lando talked to her and gave Gismo attention. "So, McLaren, huh?" Y/N asked as she moved Gismo away from the stable door. "You excited?"

"You know it, baby!" Lando cheered. But his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and he scratched at the back of his neck. "Are you gonna come to any of my races?"

"Yeah I'll go with Flo."

But that wasn't what Lando meant. He cleared his throat and rocked on his heels. "What if Flo doesn't go to any? Will you?"

Y/N stopped and put her broom against the stable wall. She crossed her arms over her coat and turned towards her best friends brother. "What are you trying to say, Lan?" Because there was clearly something he wasn't getting across.

Lan. He loved it. He loved when Y/N called him Lan. He somehow went even more red as he looked at her. "I want you to come to my races with me, whether Flo is there or not."

Y/N's eyes went wide. "Oh holy shit, Lan. I'd love to." She looked back at Gismo. "But I can't. Not when I've got these guys."

"Let me take you on a date then, before I go."

That was five years ago. Now, everybody was waiting for the couple to get engaged.

They were in the process of trying to move in together, but that meant Y/N moving the horses with her. Trying to find a stables just outside of Monaco that wasn't over the top expensive seemed too be an impossible task. Lando was happy to pay any amount of money to have his girlfriend and the horses there with him.

But Y/N didn't want to do that. She didn't want to have to rely on Lando to pay for everything. She was going to make it to Monaco, to be there with him, on her own.

Until then they were stuck with the odd date night whenever Lando could come back to England. If Y/N could, she paid somebody to look after Sooty and Gismo while she went to Monaco or to the odd race.

"Is he meeting you here?" Asked Flo as they walked across the stables, towards where they kept their equipment.

Y/N nodded her head. "Should get here just before I'm done with Gismo," she answered. "Pretty good timing if you ask me."

Lando was an incredibly supportive boyfriend. He had to be, with Y/N supporting his Formula One career. Whenever Lando could he came to one of her shows. No matter if she was eventing or jumping or doing dressage, Lando was watching with his camera.

Flo let out a sigh as she passed the martingale to Y/N. "You know, it might actually be nice to see him," she said as she and Y/N made their way back over to the horse.

Y/N quickly got herself and Gismo ready. She led him out to the arena and mounted. She rode him around the arena, warming him up and sending him flying over jumps as she waited for her boyfriend to appear.

Boyfriend. It had been weird saying that at first. After he and Y/N had their first date Lando was whisked away into the world of Formula One. They called a lot in that time, but it was strange. Their dynamics had changed but they weren't together yet.

It was a while before they got to have a second date.

A month after the second they had their third. That was when Lando officially asked her to be his.

That was five years ago.

As soon as Lando turned up to the stables, he knew white trainers had been a mistake. Actually, bringing such an expensive car had been a mistake. But, he got out anyway, locked it, and walked to where he knew he would find his girlfriend.

Lando was in awe every time he watched her ride. He couldn't tear her eyes away as she sent Gismo flying over the jumps, throwing her hands forward to let his neck stretch.

Lando had sat on Gismo before. He was the calmer of the two horses, the only one Y/N trusted to take care of Lando.

When Y/N finished jumping and brought Gismo back down to a trot, Lando clapped. Once upon a time he had whistled for her, but Sooty had spooked and Y/N had fallen off. Lando hadn't done it since.

"Lan!" Y/N called as she steers Gismo towards him. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," said Lando as Gismo put his head over the fence, searching him for treats. When he discovered Lando didn't have any, he resorted to getting attention instead. "Missed you as well, Gremlin."

Y/N took two minutes to cool Gismo down before she jumped off. She took him back to the stable and untacked him in record time, all while Lando watched. It was incredible watching her do the thing she loved, he realised. She must've felt the same way about him.

As soon as she was done, it was time for date night. Y/N finally managed to wrap her arms around Lando, holding him close. "You're gonna stink of horses," she said as Lando squeezed her even tighter.

"I don't care," he answered before he kissed her.

Keeping one arm around her waist, Lando walked her out to the car. Her boots were muddy on his cars interior, but Lando didn't care. She could have walked shit into his car and he wouldn't have cared.

"I brought that dress you like," Lando said. Before he'd gotten to the stables he'd stopped at Y/Ns apartment to get something for her to wear.

"You're the best, Lan," she said as she sorted the music.

I won't bore you with the details of their drive to their drive to the restaurant. Once they pulled up in the car park Y/N tried her best to get dressed in the not very spacious car, since their was no way she was getting in in her state. She combed her fingers through her hair, brushing out any hay.

"Goddamn," said Lando as she stepped out the car. Y/N slipped her hand into his and she walked in.

The restaurant was nice, rather fancy. The pair shared a candle-lit Italian dinner, with music playing softly in the background. Y/N listened eagerly as Lando spoke about his last race. "I really wish you were there, though," he muttered as he finished his dinner. "I can't wait for you to move to Monaco."

"I know, Lan. I can't wait either," she replied. They were making progress. Y/N had found a stables near enough by and it wasn't too pricy. She had a key to Lando's apartment, where she was staying for the weekend while he was away at another race.

As soon as they were finished eating, Lando asked for the bill. "No dessert?" Y/N asked with a frown. Lando loved his dessert, but today he was rushing.

"Nope," Lando answered as he paid. "My trainer would kill me."

As soon as he had paid, Lando escorted Y/N out of the restaurant. He walked her over to the car, stopping half way to do up his laces.

"Thanks for tonight, Lan," she said as she turned towards him.

But, when she did, Lando wasn't doing up his laces. He was down on one knew, an open ring box in his hand. Inside of the ring box was, well, a ring. It was simple, a band with a small stone, just the way Y/N liked it. "I know we haven't moved in together yet, but I really wanna marry you."

There was a moment where Y/N couldn't answer him. She was in complete and utter shock. The only talks of marriage had been tabloid speculation, no indicators from Lando himself. "Holy shit, Lan," she said, because that was all she could say.

It wasn't a question of whether Y/N wanted to marry him. Of course she did. She wanted that more than anything.

"Holy shit Lando Norris. Of course I'll marry you."

[stepintothelimelight]

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄ HASN’T EVERY LITTLE CHRISTMAS WISH BEEN SENT?

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　° I hope the holiday

will find you well… ✧ ⁺

PART 2 of the Spitfire Saga

TRAILER: A blue Christmas in Monaco

(Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader (platonic), Sebastian Vettel x fem!driver!reader (platonic), 2017!f1 grid x fem!driver!reader)(SMAU + written work)

For more Spitfire content go to my account and it’s my pinned post since tumblr hates me and won’t let me link anything :)

WARNINGS: ANGST, family issues, mentions of death/ mourning, language maybe? fluff (a little), google translate french, sexism, slut shaming, complicated family relationships

fc: pinterest girls

Aaaaannnnd ACTION!

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yourusername just shared a story!

Caption: [skiing w my favs 🩶]

Replies:

yourbestfriend1: With the boys? yourusername: with the team!! 😜😜 yourbestfriend1: Oh right I forgot you’re a pro driver now and go on free ski trips with LEWIS HAMILTON yourusername: Lewis isn’t here ☹️ yourusername: i think he’s a little salty about merc replacing Bottas so soon yourbestfriend1: did he expect them to race a driver down? yourusername: 🤷‍♀���

charles_leclerc: Why no invite for me? yourusername: sorry i don’t associate with rookies charles_leclerc: you’re a rookie as well Chérie. yourusername: sorry i don’t associate with non race winners charles_leclerc: f1 changed you 😞 yourusername: i don’t mean it charlie 🫶 yourusername: next time me n u n artie can go 👍 charles_leclerc: liked a message

lewishamilton: Sorry I couldn’t make it. Hope you had fun! yourusername: I did! See you in Feb for preseason! 🩶

yourmominsta: A little jealous! yourusername: liked a message

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

You cradle your phone in both hands and stare down at the little red heart. Double tapping your own mother’s message should not make you feel this gross and torn apart inside.

You stare at your instagram chat with her for a few more minutes than you’d like to admit, then shut off the phone altogether and lay it facedown on the bed next to you. 

You’re somewhere in the Swiss alps with your performance team, taking a few days to ski before the holidays. You, luckily, have your own room in the little hotel that is somehow associated with Mercedes as a whole. 

There’s a gnawing in your chest. Should you have responded to you mom with actual words? 

Things at home have been rocky lately. 

It started the week of Abu Dhabi. Since you were already F2 world champion, you had planned to pay the fine and skip the final race of the season, since it was thanksgiving.

In all honesty, you didn’t decide that. Your mother and father did, then held an hour long screaming match with you, which ended with your mother storming out and you in tears. 

“Don’t you love us? Don’t you want to be with your family?”

“No, of course not. To her, we’re nothing.”

They’re not nothing. You wish they were nothing, that what they thought didn’t mean anything to you.

But they aren’t nothing, and you still would move heaven and earth for your family’s approval, so you had decided to stay home for Thanksgiving, whether it jeopardized your career in motorsport or not. 

Until you got the call, they had won. You were going to miss the last race of the season, possibly the last race of your career for a family dinner. 

And then Toto called and you sprinted out of Calc, turned your car on and sped to the nearest airport, shooting a text to your mom on the way.

She had not been pleased.

A voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like Seb’s tells you that there shouldn’t be a world in which you make yourself sick worrying about what you mother is going to scream at you when you get home. 

You wish you could text him. Call him, tell him what’s wrong, but you can’t, or you won’t.

You don’t want to bother him, and you already have one set of parents that hate you, you don’t need him and Hanna to get fed up with you, too. 

You can’t, however, stomach yet another family dinner when your mother, father, aunt and uncle are all ragging on you for following you dream and being a little too busy. You know they all wish you were normal.

It’s not worth it, you decide. Going home is not worth it.

So you pick up your phone and tap on Charles’s contact, realizing only belatedly that your presence at their home would be an intrusion on their mourning.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Christmas in Monaco is … everything you remember your childhood christmas to be. Unconditional love, laughter, light.

There are times, of course, that you all feel the lingering hole that is the absence of Herve, who was the patriarch of the family. 

Pascale, bless her soul, she does her best, and seems genuinely glad that you’ve come to celebrate with them. 

“Y/n, mon amor!” she exclaims as you walk through the door, Mercedes duffel bag thrown over your shoulder. “I was so happy when Charles told me that you were spending Christmas with us!”

She wraps you in a hug and you freeze up, willing the tears that are stinging your eyes away and easing into the embrace. There is t a time in your recent memory that your own mother hugged you like this.

Pascale snaps her fingers at Charles. 

“Charles, monte son sac dans la chambre.”

He sighs and takes your duffel over one shoulder, ascending the stairs to the bedroom you will be sharing with him.

“Come,” Pascale orders you in English. “You must be starving!”

it’s a flush of hugs and chatter and drinks flowing, sitting around this table with the Leclercs. Enzo and Arthur don’t question your presence. You assume that Charles has told them you are constantly having issues with your family. 

Charles sits to your right. Pascale heads the table and Lorenzo sits across from Charles with Arthur to his right. Lorenzo asks you and Charles about the upcoming season, congratulates you in your win. 

“Charles will not stop talking about it!”

“It’s impressive!” Charles defends, his ears pinking. “She’s the youngest to ever win!”

You pat Charles’s shoulder. 

“It’s ok, Charlie. I know I’m just so amazing.”

He mutters something in French that you don’t catch, but Pascale slaps his shoulder.

“Do not use those words at my table!”

The entire table erupts in laughter and you look around. This is the first time in a long time that a family dinner has actually felt like family.

There is a mattress in Charles’s closet that you’ve slept on for hundreds of nights throughout your lifetime. It’s a little lumpy, but the trick is to lay down a comforter under the bottom sheet and that smooths out all the bumps. 

You’ve showered and changed into your pajamas while Charles makes up the makeshift bed at the foot of his own. 

He casts a dirty look at your black Mercedes t-shirt. 

“This is a Ferrari-only household,” he scolds you with no actual bite. 

“I don’t see you driving for Ferrari.”

He rolls his eyes at you and takes one of his pillows and sets it at the head of your bed. He’s pulled the sheets tight, just like he always used to.

“When was the last time you slept here?” He asks you, breaking the weird silence you’ve fallen into. 

“Um,” You set your clothes next to your duffel. “2015? I came and stayed to watch your first home F3 race?”

He was seventeen, you fifteen, and you’d been in the height of your awkwardness, and to make matter worse, he still hadn’t discovered deodorant. Altogether, not a fond experience.

He makes an affirming noise and lays down on his bed. 

You pull back your covers and he shuts off the light, and for a while it’s just the two of you breathing. He always tries to match your inhales and exhales.

“Your family,” he blurts into the dark. “Why aren’t you with them?”

Your heart squeezes. 

“I think they think I think I’m too good for them.”

He pauses.

“Repeat? slower?”

You laugh softly. Sometimes you forget his English isn’t the greatest. 

“They think that I think that I’m better than them. My mom, especially. When she was growing up I think she idolized her parents and I don’t idolize her in the same way. She’s really scared that she can’t control me like they controlled her.”

Charles mulls that over,

“And your father? “

You sigh into the darkness. 

“I don’t know. He’s always working and he doesn’t like that I have my own opinions and stuff, because he’s very … he needs to be right. 

“And then my brother, we get along when our parents are being crazy, but it’s not like we’re close. I was gone for most of our childhood and now he’s in school.”

There’s a shifting in Charles’s bed, the you hear his feet pattering on the floor. The mattress beside you dips, then he’s laying next to you, his shoulder touching yours.

“This is very uncomfortable.”

You scoff out a laugh.

“It’s not that bad.”

“It is. My bed is much more comfortable.”

“Then go back and sleep there!” 

He shifts next to you, rolling on his side then back to his back. Lying here, next to him, it’s hot. You scoot over an inch so you can still feel him but you’re not touching. 

His breaths become slower and deeper.

“I’m sorry,” He tells you just as you’re drifting off to sleep. “That you feel like your family doesn’t want you, but… “

His hand pats yours three times. 

“I’m glad you’re here. Makes it more bearable.”

You fall asleep then, and wake up with you back to him. You sit up as the cold light streams through the blinds and look over at him. His face is smushed and a bead of drool pools on his pillow. 

“Charlie,” You whisper. “Charlie, wake up.”

He sits up like you just ran an electric shock through him. His hair is smashed to the side and he used the back of his hand to wipe the drool.

You giggle.

“C’mon, I smell breakfast.”

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twitter:

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charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: A bittersweet Christmas celebration. Will be missing you forever, Papa. x

tagged: arthur_leclerc, yourusername, lorenzotl

liked by max33verstappen and 56370 others 

view 72891 comments:

user1: Merry christmas, charles! 

user2: Repose en paix, Herve ❤️❤️

user3: The fact that Y/n spend Christmas with the Leclercs is 🤨🤨

↳ user4: fr i knew she and charles were close but … girl… he has a gf …

↳user5: Oh I bet his GF HATES her

↳user77: Yeah, AND it’s the Christmas right after they lost his father, like intruder who?

yourusername: ❤️❤️❤️

♡ by creator

↳ user65: HOMEWRECKER

↳user66: She’s actually such a skank. I don’t know why people put up with her.

user6: I know it’s been debunked a bunch of times but CharY/n would be so 😍😍

↳user7: he has a girlfriend and she’s always said he’s like a brother to her

↳ user6: if my bf had a friend as close as her I would end it

↳user7: the thing is that she has been seen out and about with Giada. They’re good friends 😳

user8: Doesn’t Y/n have her own family to spend Xmas with?

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As soon as you say ‘It’s fine’ you know you’re done for. ‘Fine’ is never fine.

He calls you, you try to avoid the question, but then he hits you with -

“Y/n.” In his disappointed/worried voice. And it works like it always does. You tell him everything - from when it started when you were in F3 to now, how you’ve driven your family away. He listens. He’s a good listener when he wants to be.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks at the end. You take a shaking breath.

Because I didn’t want you to realize I’m no good. Because you would leave me, too. Because I can’t not love them and I don’t know why.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you going home for the new year?”

You’ve been waiting on a text from your mom. That’s how it goes. Fight, spend a week in the silent treatment, one of you reaches out, you make up, then you fight again. You promised yourself that you’re not going to be the one to reach out this time.

“I don’t know.”

“If not, come to my house. We’re having a party.”

Your words catch in your throat.

“I don’t want to intrude-“

“You’re never intruding,” he assures you. “I’m your mentor, remember? I have to look out for you.”

My parents are supposed to look out for me.

“Okay,” you breathe out. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Seb.”

“Merry Christmas, Spitfire.”

Your mom texts you. She grovels. You get on a plane an hour later and go back home.

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yourusername

yourusername: gettin ready 💪💪

F1 2018 and last semester of hs here i come

liked by mercedesamgf1, yourbestfriend1 and 817279 others 

view 5389 comments

yourbestfriend1: okay miss influencer 😍

♡ by creator

user10: Y/n on twt: 😃👹🤡😼🧌 Y/n on insta: 🩵🌃🎹🫧⭐️🪞

↳yourusername: it’s called duality babes 💋

↳user10: OMG

↳user16: her addiction to memes though 🤣 she can’t even do an aesthetic post without one

gg_giada_gianni: jolie fille

↳yourusername: c’est tout toi ❤️

↳user80: Y/n and giada saw the romance rumors and said hold my beer

user20: Why didn’t you spend Christmas with your family??

leclerc_pascale: Wonderful to spend Christmas with you, darling

↳yourusername: awwww thanks for letting me crash your xmas 🫶🫶

↳arthur_leclerc: Don’t worry, she likes you more than she likes any of her actual children

↳ charles_leclerc: Sadly true

user11: Still can’t get over the fact that she’s still in school

user12: U don’t deserve that seat

susie_wolff: Such an inspiring young woman, Y/n!

↳yourusername: Hi susie 😚

yourmominsta: So proud of you, ladybug!

↳ yourusername: ❤️

user13: why would they let a woman in the car?

↳ user14: she’s already driven it

↳ user15: and won her debut race ?

max33verstappen: Merry Christmas! I wouldn’t train too hard, since you’ll never beat me again! 😸

↳yourusername: 😺😺😾🔪

user17: I didn’t know she played piano?

↳user18: she plays off and on. Her youtube has a few videos of songs she’s covered and written

↳ user17: multitalented queen 👑

user19: Oh, to be eighteen and already signed to a top F1 team

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✧ ⁺ ⁺ oh, noel

oh, noel ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

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Aaannnnnnddd scene!

DIRECTOR’S CUT: a little short and bittersweet holiday special (in august 👻)

Want to join the taglist? drop a comment below or message my inbox

🏷️: @octavikravecell218

[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.

[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

[russellius]

THE TIMES: The Formula One driver and his father, Steve, on failed driving tests and sleeping in horseboxes

George

My earliest memories are of living in a mobile home while my parents built a house in a field in the middle of nowhere, near Wisbech in Cambridgeshire. I rode a pedal tractor around the site, hurtling through corners and reversing with a trailer.

At 25 I am the youngest of three. Cara is 37 and works as my personal assistant. Benjy is 36 and caught the karting bug when he was just 11. He was a brilliant driver, becoming a national and world karting champion. Unfortunately, even starting at such a young age, it was already too late for him to have a professional career. I took up karting when I was six and he helped me a lot. Benjy was like a mentor. He eventually gave up racing at university, so Dad’s focus was on me.

I didn’t see much of Dad during the week. He got up early and came home late running a business selling seeds and pulses. As a kid you miss having your father around, but it’s only now that I appreciate he was doing it so I could race at the weekend. Dad didn’t come from a lot and did well to create a successful business. We weren’t poor but we weren’t wealthy like the families of some F1 racing drivers now.

After long hours at work Dad drove us in a camper van to racetracks around the country. It was very much a family affair. Dad was the mechanic, Mum did the cooking and collected data on my driving. When I drove well, there were celebrations and the mood was great but because everyone was so emotionally and financially invested, when I suffered a poor weekend the mood was bad.

Dad has always been hard on the ones he loves. As a young kid, that was difficult to deal with. The pressure didn’t just filter down to me, it affected the whole family. I felt the weight of failure and expectation. If I made a silly mistake and spun off the track, I can now understand why Dad might have thought, “What the hell am I doing this for?” He had to work his arse off to support my racing, so if I didn’t put in enough effort, it must have been hard.

I now live in the world of F1, where tens of millions of pounds are spoken about like peanuts. Even in Formula Two or Three, every driver has to find huge amounts of money to get on the grid — it’s just crazy. When I was 16 and moving up through the ranks, I realised Dad didn’t have that sort of capital. I thought, “Oh shit, if I can’t find that sort of sponsorship or get picked by a team, my F1 dream is gone.”

Winning the F2 championship in 2018 was a big moment but I’ll never forget the day I signed for Williams F1 in September 2018. I was racing in F2 in Sochi, Russia, when Claire Williams, the deputy team principal at the time, called me in and offered a deal. Mum and Dad were the first people I told and they both cried. I told them to save their tears for when I won a race.

I joined Mercedes for the 2022 season, alongside Lewis Hamilton. It was a huge opportunity for me to learn and grow in F1, as well as show what I’m capable of. It was not an easy season for Mercedes but I feel very fortunate to be in this position, plus Lewis is such an incredible bloke on and off the track. He is so experienced, whereas I’m a 25-year-old who is just totally focused on trying to be the best F1 driver I can be. I’m pretty inspired by what he has achieved.

Dad is a strong character but he has become more emotional since his children have left home. He’s also friendlier now and doesn’t mind making a fool of himself from time to time. My only regret is that F1 doesn’t leave much free space to see each other but we do speak on the phone all the time.

Of course he still watches the pennies and will only fly economy — he won’t let me pay for their flights either. I know my parents can afford to fly business but it’s the principle for them. I want to make sure I reach a position with my racing where I can afford to give them the best in their retirement. They totally deserve it.

Steve

The F1 guys are OK on the racetrack but they are never as good as their dads on normal roads. George is always telling me to slow down as we approach a junction, though his mum thinks it’s fantastic when he takes her out and drives quickly.

There was just one occasion when George didn’t put the full effort in and it caused quite a commotion. He failed his first driving test at 17 because he thought that being a great driver on the track was good enough. He came home fuming that the examiner was wrong. We had to go back to the test centre in King’s Lynn so George could confront him. That didn’t go down well.

George was a cheeky little boy, a bit of a comedian. I worked a lot but it’s strange that I can only remember the racing side of his life, not watching him grow up at home. We enjoyed a nice life but had to work hard for it. I came from a family of farm workers with very little money and wanted to get away from agriculture and better myself but I ended up owning a wholesale seed business.

My wife, Alison, and I knew George was going to be a racing driver at the age of two. He was born on the track, coming to races to watch his brother and help out in the garage. He had a toy tractor that he rode around the pit lane and collected stickers from each race to stick on his “George Russell Racing” tractor.

As George progressed through the racing ranks it became more and more expensive. We invested in a motorhome to travel to races — before that I would sometimes sleep in a freezing horsebox. There were sacrifices. Alison and I didn’t go on our first holiday together until two years ago, on a trip to Lanzarote. By then we had been together for 38 years. People think that now George is in F1 we hang out with Lewis Hamilton and Toto Wolff, the Mercedes principal, every weekend in the sunshine, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Now Alison and I rarely go to races because we don’t want to interfere.

It was hard letting George fly the nest because we had been a close family, always doing our racing together. He is methodical and organised but his feet are firmly on the ground. There are plenty of people in the family to put him straight if needed.

There’s no magic wand to become an F1 driver — it takes hard work and dedication. It was only when I stood on the track with George before his first grand prix that I looked up at the enormous crowd and thought, “Oh my God, we’ve actually got here.”

[renerosin]

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

[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.

[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

[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.

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group F Round 1: #F2 vs #F7

#F2: 90s maid girls with guns

It’s the year 1999 in Akihabara, Tokyo, Japan. 17-year-old girl Nagomi excitedly moves there to work in a pig-themed maid café. Once she starts working, though… she realizes that the world of Akiba maid café is darker and more violent than she thought...

#F7: Transmigrator heals a reincarnation revenge story.

Dongfang Xianyun transmigrates as the eldest disciple of the Care-free sect. But the only thing that goes through his mind is to make sure he doesn’t end up dying by the hands of the “main character.” He believes he’s just a side character. He just wants to relax and survive all the mayhem surrounding him while dealing with one of his jealous sect teammates, who grew corrupted in the past life.

*Transmigration = similar to isekai, but the world where the characters get isekai’d to is not always a western fantasy type. And a transmigrator is one who transmigrates.

Titles, propagandas, trailers, and poll under the cut!

#F2: Akiba Maid War (Akiba Meido Sensou)

Propaganda:

It was animated by P.A. Works! As far as I know, they also worked on Buddy Daddies, Angel Beats, Ya Boy Kongming, etc. Cygames also contributed to this anime!! The story is creative as well. Who would’ve thought of a cute maid mafia anime? Keep in mind, this is a P. A. Works ORIGINAL. They went SO crazy on this anime. There’s also 12 episodes, which means that you can binge it all on one day and still be satisfied :D The OP and ED are also catchy, creative and unskippable. Despite its dark themes, it can sometimes get a little more “lighthearted” and silly, even in the most violent scenes ;P

Trigger Warnings: Flashing Lights, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore.

Just like what I explained, it’s violent. A lot of guns. And a lot of blood. Yes, they kill fellow maids in like every episode ever lol. Also, since Akiba is known to have flashy street signs, like every city ever…. And the guns, of course…that’s why I put the Flashing Lights warning.

#F7: There’s a Pit in my Senior Martial Brother’s Brain (Wo Jia Dashixiong Naozi You Keng)

Official English title: What’s Wrong With My Big Brother

Alt Title: My Dashixiong Has a Pit in His Brain

Propaganda:

This series is kind of insane but also just a lot of fun! The thing is, the shidi (junior martial sect brother), Yin Feixing, felt betrayed by his dashixiong (eldest senior sect brother), Dongfang Xianyun, after he was seemingly rejected for ending up studying the demonic arts. After he dies, he decides to take revenge in the next life, and this is where our story starts off…

The only problem is his dashixiong has been replaced by a transmigrator. And our new Dongfang Xianyun is not as cold or uptight as the past dashixiong (but as the story unravels, was he even that bad?); rather, this version is silly and goofy and fun. And because he believes wholeheartedly that Yin Feixing is the protagonist, he doesn’t act the way a dashixiong is expected to—but it’s in this silliness that one can find sincerity…

So as Yin Feixing exacts his revenge, turning Dongfang Xianyun into a demonic arts practitioner, Dongfang Xianyun’s new soul means he won’t follow the same path as Yin Feixing. Rather than fall to ruins like Yin Feixing, his empathy and creativity means he challenges this entire world by making his fellow demonic practitioners into law-abiding heroes, even as people hate him for the demonic arts. So as multiple plots unfurl, we get a pretty emotional, thematically interesting story, even amidst all the (very funny) crazy comedy, and a clever parody of xianxia* and other transmigration stories. 😆

(*Xianxia (仙侠 xiānxiá) – literally means “Immortal Heroes”. Fictional stories featuring magic, demons, ghosts, immortals, and a great deal of Chinese folklore/mythology. Protagonists (usually) attempt to cultivate to Immortality, seeking eternal life and the pinnacle of strength. Heavily inspired by Daoism. Source)

Oh, and Gong Changsheng is best puppy! He’s such a good sunflower boy with the biggest crush on Dongfang Xianyun, and I love them so much. I think lots of others will love them too if they gave this series a chance. 🥺

The slightly evolving names for each season are fun too:

S1: 我家大师兄脑子有坑 (My Dashixiong Has a Pit in His Brain (aka “he’s really dumb/ridiculous”))

S2: 我家大师兄是个反派 (My Dashixiong Is a Villain)

S3: 我家大师兄有点靠谱 (My Dashixiong Is a Bit Reliable)

(Plus, besides the original manhua, there’s a fun chibi OVA where the cast are like actors!)

Trigger Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore. The donghua isn’t as intense as the manhua, but there is one character who flirts in a somewhat creepy manner.

If you’re reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

[sooodonewiththis]

So, there are many things wrong with everything the pitstop boys said on the screaming meals pod, but one thing I didn’t see people talk about but I personally found really weird is how they praised Rory for how incredible and groundbreaking and great for F2 Chasing the dream is.

Which is correct! But like.... if they have seen it, they really should have known who JM was. 

But fine, maybe they just heard about the show, seen the trailer, whatever. But then they go on later and say that the boys should do videos where they have a camera guy follow them everywhere at the raceweekend to show the people what they do, and... isn’t that exactly the idea behind Chasing the dream? 

So like... what exactly are you praising about the show that you clearly know nothing about?

What I’m trying to say is these guys talk out of their asses, which isn’t new, I just felt that is should be reiterated.

[nightwingxy]

GUYS I THINK FROZEN 3 JUST GOT ANNOUNCED AT AN EARNINGS CALL OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD SCREAMING WITH EXCITEMENT RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What's funny is it happened right after a Nintendo Direct and 4 years ago the F2 trailer dropped the same day as a Nintendo Direct