#hamilton unofficial quotes

[pickingupmymercedes]

Your future was Ferrari - 1 / ?

Chapters - 1 / 2 / 3

Reupload

summary: She was finally making her dreams come true, but as the old saying goes "when it rains, it pours" and maybe the nudge Charles gave her might get her somewhere she would never find on her own.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Ferrari Engineer!Reader!

warnings: alusion to mature content.

wordcount: +3K

a/n: Reuploading this one with some minor changes because I'm actually going to write more chapters

a/n. 2: I'm creating a different and specific taglist for this series, so if you want to be tagged, let me know.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

MILD CONTENT UNDER, -16 PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

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The fireworks over the Yas Marina Circuit lit up the Abu Dhabi night sky like a kaleidoscope of dreams, each burst of color a fleeting reminder of the 2023 Formula 1 season that had just come to a close.

The air was filled with the scent of champagne, burnt rubber, and the saltiness of the Persian Gulf. The circuit transformed into a playground of celebration. Teams packed up their garages, exchanging handshakes, hugs, and promises to do it all over again next year.

But for you, this wasn’t just the end of a season—it was the beginning of something you’d spent your entire life working toward.

You stood at the entrance to one of the end-of-season parties, your fingers nervously smoothing down the wrinkles in your pants for what felt like the hundredth time. The fabric refused to cooperate, as if it, too, was mocking your attempt to look like you belonged.

“I don’t belong in this type of party,” you muttered under your breath, your inner voice dripping with sarcasm.

Oh, sure, Y/n, because a girl who spends her days elbow-deep in engine grease and data logs is totally the life of the party. What’s next? Are you going to start quoting torque specs to the drivers?

This wasn’t just any party. It was the party though. The one where the who’s who of Formula 1 gathered to toast their successes, drown their failures, and, if the rumors were true, make deals that would shape the next season.

And you had your own reason to celebrate. After years of grinding, of sleepless nights and endless sacrifices, you were finally moving to Ferrari.

The red team. The dream team. The team your father had whispered about in bedtime stories when you were just a kid.

It was surreal, and yet, here you were, standing at the edge of it all, feeling like an imposter in your own skin.

The venue was a blur of opulence—crystal chandeliers casting soft light over sleek, modern furniture, the hum of conversation punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter.

The air was alive with the clinking of glasses and the low thrum of music. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for a familiar face, someone to anchor you in this sea of glamour and fame. And just as the first tendrils of panic began to creep in, you saw him.

Charles. Your former colleague from your Alpha Romeo days. His face lit up when he spotted you, and he waved you over with that easy, confident charm that had always made him so damn likable.

“Y/n!” he called out, his voice cutting through the noise like a beacon. “You made it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of nerves raging inside you. He pulled you into a hug, and for a moment, the tension in your shoulders eased.

As the night wore on, Charles became your unofficial tour guide, introducing you to everyone he could find dressed in Ferrari red. The conversations were a mix of technical jargon and casual banter, the kind of small talk that came easily when everyone was riding the end of a season.

But beneath the surface, your mind was racing. This was your world now. These were your people. And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still on the outside looking in.

It wasn’t until Charles leaned in, a mischievous grin on his face, that the night took a turn you hadn’t seen coming.

“I dare you to go hit on Lewis,” he said, his tone light but his eyes sparkling with challenge.

You blinked at him, your brain short-circuiting for a moment. “You must be joking” you replied, your voice tinged with disbelief. But Charles’s grin only widened, and you realized he was dead serious.

“Come on” he urged, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’ve had the biggest crush on him since forever. What’s the worst that could happen? He says no? At least you can say you took the chance.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your lips.

Because deep down, a part of you was curious. Lewis Hamilton wasn’t just a seven-time world champion; he was a legend, a god in the world you loved so much.

And yeah, maybe you’d had a crush on him since your late teen years, but that was before you knew better. Before you knew the stories, the rumors, the endless parade of women who had come and gone in his life.

Lewis Hamilton wasn’t the kind of man who settled down. He was the kind of man who left a trail of broken hearts in his wake. And you? You weren’t naive enough to think you’d be any different.

But you were also three drinks in.

“Screw it,” you muttered under your breath, your inner voice chiming in with a sarcastically.

Famous last words, Y/n. Famous last words.

You found Lewis near a bar, his presence commanding even in a room full of stars. He was dressed in a tailored suit that hugged his frame perfectly, his dark eyes scanning the room with an air of quiet confidence.

For a moment, you hesitated, your brain screaming at you to turn around and walk away. But then you remembered Charles’s dare, and the part of you that refused to back down took over.

“Hi” you said, your voice surprisingly steady. “Are you Lewis Hamilton? Because you’ve been driving me crazy.”

Lewis turned to you, his eyebrows lifting in surprise before a slow, amused smile spread across his face. “That was actually a good one,” he said, his voice warm and rich like honey.

“Was it?” you replied, laughing despite yourself. You hadn’t expected him to actually be charmed by your cheesy pickup line, but here he was, looking at you like you were the most interesting person in the room to him.

“That, and you’re really hot” he added, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your stomach flip. His hand brushed against your waist, the touch light and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter, dancing, and stolen glances. Lewis was everything you’d imagined and more—charming, witty, and disarmingly genuine.

But beneath the surface, you couldn’t ignore the voice in your head reminding you that this wasn’t real. Lewis Hamilton didn’t do real. He did fun, fleeting, and forgettable. And you? You were just another one.

And yet, when he leaned in before leaving to another party, his lips brushing against your cheek, as he whispered “Be ready by 14:00 tomorrow. Wear something light” you felt something shift. It was just a kiss, just a moment, but it was enough to make you wonder.

You moved to get your phone so he could put his number but he stopped dead “I don’t do phone number, love. I’ll be sure to pick you tomorrow, your hotel lobby.”

You hesitated for a moment, secrecy a huge red flag for you, but then again, it wasn’t anyone, it was Lewis and he had every reason under the sun to be like that.

When Lewis pulled up to your hotel, the sight of him behind the wheel of a sleek Mercedes, dressed in casual shorts and a t-shirt, was almost enough to make you laugh.

It was so… normal.

And yet, nothing about this situation was normal. You were about to spend the afternoon with him, a man who had been a fixture of your dreams—and your teenage bedroom wall.

The absurdity of it all wasn’t lost on you.

“Hey,” he greeted you with that easy, confident smile as you slid into the passenger seat. “Ready?”

“Still don’t know what ‘this’ is, but let’s do it” you replied, your tone light but your mind racing as you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat when he flashed you that grin.

Lewis chuckled, his eyes glinting as he pulled away from the curb. “I do hope you’re just as courageous as you were last night” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Approaching me the way you did? Bold.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. “Please. You’ve probably heard that line a hundred times.”

“Maybe” he admitted, glancing at you with a smirk. “But it’s not the line that matters. It’s the person.”

You snorted.

Smooth, Lewis. Real smooth.

As Lewis maneuvered through the streets, he made small talk in an attempt to break the mounting tension. His easygoing demeanor and genuine interest in getting to know you better were both disarming and endearing.

"So, have you ever done anything like this before?" Lewis asked, casting a sideways glance at you.

"Getting into a date I know nothing about, with a dude that could be potently trying to kidnap me?! Nah, this will be my first time" you mused, seeing how his features lightened the more you opened up.

"I thought skydiving would be fun."

A thoughtful pause followed before Lewis blurted out casually, like he was suggesting a trip to the grocery store

Your stomach did a backflip. Skydiving. Of course.

Because why wouldn’t Lewis Hamilton take you skydiving on a date? It was the kind of over-the-top, adrenaline-fueled gesture that screamed “Lewis” and it also happened to be exactly the kind of thing you’d always wanted to try.

“No way” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief. “For real?”

Lewis’s grin widened, and you could see the relief in his eyes. “Glad you’re onboard”

The skydiving center was a hive of noise, the air buzzing with excitement and the occasional burst of nervous laughter.

Lewis led you to the instructor, who walked you through the safety protocols with the kind of ease that only comes from years of experience. As you suited up, your mind raced with a mix of excitement and fear, but when Lewis caught your eye and gave you a reassuring nod, you felt a strange sense of calm wash over you.

Just before the jump, Lewis pulled you aside, his expression serious for the first time since you’d met him. “Are you okay with this?” he asked, his voice firm. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah. I can’t wait.”

As you reached the desired altitude the plane's door opened, revealing the vast expanse of the sky below. The rush of wind and the sheer height were both exhilarating and intimidating.

Locked in tandem with your instructor and Lewis paired with his, you prepared to take the leap.

And then the world around you turned into a blur of colors and sensations. The initial rush was overwhelming, but as you acclimated to the sensation of freefalling, a profound realization began to form in the back of your mind.

Upon landing safely back on solid ground, silence was all you could muster.

The gravity of the experience left you momentarily speechless, lost in thought. Noticing your quiet demeanor, Lewis approached you, his concern evident. "Did you enjoy it?" he asked softly.

"It was... intense. I'm still processing it." You hesitated, trying to find the right words. Lewis nodded, sensing there was more you weren't sharing. "Is everything okay? You seem a bit lost in thought."

At first, you brushed off his concern with a simple, "It's nothing." But Lewis gently pressed on as you got back to the car, his hands reaching for yours encouraging you to open up.

Taking a deep breath, you finally confessed, "The jump made me question how little humankind really was, how vast and boundless the world truly is."

A smile spread across Lewis's face, his features almost successfully hiding the happiness that you had gotten the point he tried to show everyone "It has a way of putting things into perspective, doesn't it?"

The drive back to your hotel was quiet, the tension palpable in the confined space of the car. The city lights began to paint fleeting shadows across Lewis's face as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow.

His tattooed hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his focus split between the road ahead and fleeting glances in your direction.

"Would you like to grab something to eat? I don't want to let you go just yet," Lewis ventured, his voice laced with a subtle reluctance, yet an underlying desire.

Your eyes met his, a playful glint shimmering in your gaze as you assessed the situation. His profile, illuminated by the soft dashboard light, was a stark reminder of his reputation and allure.

"Sure, where to, then?" you replied, your voice light and teasing, yet laced with a hint of challenge.

Lewis chuckled, his lips curling into a knowing smile, the glint in his eyes intensifying. "It’s gonna sound so pretentious, but my hotel has this amazing pasta."

A soft laugh escaped your lips as you leaned back, the audacity of this man. Of course, that's where the evening was headed.

You were just another name on his list, a fleeting encounter in the grand tapestry of his life.

“Are we really going there, Lewis?” you said, raising an eyebrow at him. Your mind racing with a thousand reasons why this was a bad idea.

His fingers reached out, brushing against yours that rested on the console between you, feeling the warmth and strength of his grip, a silent acknowledgment of the mutual attraction and intrigue that simmered beneath the surface.

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your lips.

He was a force of nature, and you couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him. Even if you also knew better than to think this would end well.

“Okay” you said finally, your voice tinged with reluctant amusement. “But if this pasta isn’t the best thing I’ve ever tasted, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Lewis’s laugh was like music, and for a moment, you forgot why you were supposed to be keeping your distance.

As he parked the car and led you towards his suite, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. The soft lighting and luxurious rooms added to the intensity of the moment.

Lewis swiped the keycard, and the door clicked open with a soft beep. He stepped aside to let you in, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you crossed the threshold.

The gesture was casual, almost polite, but the heat of his touch burned through the fabric of your shirt.

The suite was exactly what you’d expect from someone like Lewis—luxurious, modern, and impeccably designed. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the Abu Dhabi skyline, the city lights twinkling like stars.

But what caught your attention were the little details that made it undeniably his. A pair of timberland boots tossed carelessly on the floor, a stack of notebooks filled with scribbled notes on the coffee table, a half-empty bottle of water on the counter.

It felt like stepping into his world, and for a moment, you felt like an intruder.

“Make yourself at home,” Lewis said, his voice low and warm as he moved past you to the kitchen. “I’ll order the pasta.”

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest. 

Great, Y/n. Just great. No big deal. Just the man you’ve had a crush on since you were, what, eighteen? Totally normal.

You wandered over to the couch, your fingers brushing against the notebooks. The leather soft from holding, and you couldn’t help but wonder how many races they’d seen. How many victories. How many moments that had defined his career.

“You’re not subtle, you know” Lewis called from the kitchen, his tone teasing. “I can see you snooping from here.”

You glanced up, your throat getting dry you caught him watching you with an amused smirk. “Not snooping” you protested, your voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing. “I’m just… appreciating these”

Lewis laughed, the sound rich and warm, and you felt your stomach do a little flip. “Uh-huh. Sure, you are.”

He walked over to you, his movements like a predator stalking its prey. You forced yourself to stay still, to meet his gaze head-on, even as your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

When he reached you, he plucked the notebook from your hands and tossed them aside, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re overthinking this” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Just relax, yeah?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your lips when he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gesture so tender it made your breath catch.

For a moment, you forgot how to think, how to breathe, how to do anything but stare at him.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t like the playful, teasing kisses from earlier or the night before. This was something else entirely—slow, deliberate, and so damn intense it made your knees weak.

His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no. You could feel the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your mind a jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions. 

Well, that just happened.

Lewis’s lips curved into a smirk, his eyes dark with amusement. “Told you to relax.”

You rolled your eyes, but the effect was ruined by the way your hands were still clutching the front of his shirt.

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, and this time, you didn’t hold back. Your hands slid up to reach for the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

It was intoxicating, the way he made you feel—like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

The sound of the doorbell ringing pulled you apart, and you both froze, eyes still closed. For a moment, neither of you moved, and then Lewis groaned, resting his forehead against yours.

“The pasta” he muttered his voice thick with frustration. “Of course.”

You laughed, the sound shaky and breathless. “You ordered it. Should probably answer the door.”

Lewis sighed, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he pulled away. “Don’t go anywhere.”

As he went to answer the door, you took a moment to catch your breath, your mind racing.

Okay, Y/n. Deep breaths. You’ve got this. Just… don’t fall for him.

When Lewis returned, carrying a tray of food, you were sitting on the couch, trying to look calm and collected. He set the tray down on the coffee table and sat beside you, his thigh brushing against yours in a way that made it hard to focus.

“Hungry?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You nodded, but your eyes were on him, not the food. “Starving.”

Lewis chuckled, his gaze darkening as he reached for a fork. He twirled a bite of pasta onto it and held it out to you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Open up.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a smirk. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, his tone unapologetic.

You rolled your eyes, but you opened your mouth anyway, letting him feed you the bite of pasta. It was delicious, but you barely tasted it, too focused on the way Lewis was watching you—his gaze intense, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes and back again.

“Good?” he asked, his voice rough.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Amazing.”

Lewis’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile, and you felt your stomach do a little flip. Your heart racing and your mind spinning along with it.

And then Lewis set the fork down, his eyes dark with intent. “Want more?”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Of you. Yes.”

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

Your heart raced as you met his gaze, captivated by the sincerity and respect in his eyes. Despite the playful banter, daring adventure and certainty you held that you were a hook up, Lewis's concern for your well-being was there and it shocked you for a bit.

With a shy smile, you nodded. "Yes, I'm sure," you replied, your words also echoing the desire you felt. The tension was palpable as Lewis leaned in, closing the distance between you.

The world around faded as he led you to the bed, his lips meting yours every few seconds. His hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer so you could really feel him.

As you both pulled apart, catching your breath from the intensity of the moment, a playful smirk crossed your lips, a thought crossing your mind.

"Do you have a condom?" you asked, your voice filled with anticipation. Lewis's eyes widened slightly at your forwardness, a hint of surprise flashing across his face before a confident grin replaced it. Without a word, he reached for his pack on his suitcase, pulling out a condom and holding it up for you to see.

"Of course, you'd have packs with you," you mused, your voice dripping with playful mischief and a hint of mistrust.

The allure of the moment, the intensity of the connection, and the thrill of the unexpected encounter had led you both to this point, and you, for sure, wouldn’t turn back now.

His hands found their way to your waist, lifting you effortlessly on the bed. The soft fabric of the sheets beneath you, the warmth of Lewis's embrace, and the intimacy of the moment combined to create a sense desire that was intoxicating.

He was going to be yours, if only for one night. And in that moment, there was nothing more you could wish for.

As the first light of dawn hit the curtains, the sound of running water from the shower echoed in the room. The luxurious suite was bathed in a soft glow, the remnants of past night still lingering in the air.

You stirred from your sleep, the sheets tangled around you, Lewis's scent lingering on every fabric, surface and memory. The night before played in your mind, a mix of passion, connection, and lust that had led to a whirlwind of emotions.

With a sigh, you sat up, the reality of the situation settling in. You knew that this was a fling, a one-night stand. Despite the intensity and allure, you were aware of the nature of what had happened.

Gathering your belongings quietly, ensuring that nothing was left behind, the weight of the morning, filled with the silence and anticipation of how you were about to leave, added to the bittersweet nature of the encounter.

As you slipped out of the room, the sound of the shower continued, the steam and warmth of the bathroom contrasting with the cool, early morning air. The suite was filled with what if’s and wishes, mostly yours, mainly yours.

The thrown-out pieces of clothing a reminder of something you were meant to never see again.

You brushed those feelings aside though, telling yourself that this was for the best. You had to protect your heart, guard against any attachment.

After all, Lewis Hamilton was Lewis Hamilton, a superstar in the world of Formula 1. And you were just an engineer, living out your dream but still feeling out of your league.

Surely, it meant nothing for Lewis and you would probably never see him again.

Your future was at Ferrari, somewhere he would never step foot in.

Or would he?!

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[chaotic-history]

"While waiting [for Émilie], [Voltaire] seemed attached to several horses, for he had made the little 'abbé' Linant come to Rouen and even offered hospitality to another young man named Lefebvre, a budding poet aged 20 like the other, and like a certain Lamare, the third ephebos that he cosseted and who was also an abbot. The first had already made a trip to Paris to keep his acquaintance with [Lord Bolingbroke]. This boy seems to have had equivocal relations with Cideville, which makes this phrase from a letter from Voltaire from May 29 to this advisor, a letter prior to the return of the 'chubby abbot', amusing: 'When he wants to come back to Paris, I will rent him a hole near my house; he will furthermore be the master of dinner and supper every day in my retreat.' He practically offered him to share his bed. The presence of these two young men by him distinctly reminds one of the young 'writers' that the abbé Desfontaines, the famous pederast, had had near him for so long, and who served at once as mignons and secretaries. Even if he did not take up with them the liberties that he had formerly had with Thieriot in M. Alain's study, he still cherished this extreme familiarity with young people." - Voltaire et Frédéric II by Roger Peyrefitte.

FIRST off, why are we stating as fact that any "liberties" happened with Thieriot. There is zero proof. There is circumstantial evidence in that you could interpret V's letters to Thieriot as being kinda gay and then infer that "liberties" occurred, but even if we are interpreting the letters as gay, that's still a big jump to make from 'V felt more than just friendship for Thieriot' to 'they definitely slept together', which there's no real evidence for.

Second of all, there is no evidence of anything going on with Linant. Nancy Mitford suggested it as well, with the reasoning being that Linant was stupid and useless and why else would V keep him around, which is the same argument that's been used for V and Thieriot being gay. But a relationship between V and Linant being a possible explanation for something does not mean that that's evidence for a relationship, and Mitford doesn't cite anything V wrote as potential proof. And also like. The man resorted to full-on referring to his plays + la Henriade as his children to an extent and (unofficially) adopted Marie-Françoise and pretty much Reine Philiberte and Villette as well. And reading the letters about Linant from V to Cideville, and V talking about Linant's improvements in writing, it very much sounds like he's just proud of Linant and sees himself as a father figure. Again, also just a possibility, but it works equally well as an explanation and it fits into an already established pattern, plus it's based on what V actually wrote.

Thirdly, I would like to emphasise the "aged 20". "Aged 20" is not the same as what the "famous pederast" was doing.

Fourthly, saying that that quote about Linant coming back to Paris is "practically offering him to share his bed" is the single most batshit far-fetched gay interpretation I have ever seen in my life, and I was in the Hamilton fandom for three years. Genuinely how do you even get there. Bitch could've invited Linant to stay with him but he specifically said he'd rent him a different place. How does that equate to inviting him into his bed. This part alone is what's gonna convince me of Peyrefitte's bottom V thesis cause I can interpret two letters in that way and I can no longer be self-conscious about how I interpret literally anything, because it's still gonna be 10 miles more sane and evidenced than anything Peyrefitte's said.

@enlitment I apologise deeply for making you read this, but here's a taste of why the book sucks... Turns out I actually stopped reading on page 20 lol cause that's where my yelling at Peyrefitte in the margins stops.

[isacksteban]

About the "I can understand why he [Daniil] chose to stay standing considering his situations but unsure how the others justify their choice".

It is possible the (initially six, more later) who didn't kneel could have had each had subtly different reasons/combinations of reasons. Some never attempted to explain why they stopped kneeling, so we'll probably never know. Others either explained (including all the initial non-kneelers), or events around the time/other drivers' explanations/circumstances relating to the request suggest possibilities.

Of course, it is impossible to rule out actual racism, and some of the drivers said things that suggested some insufficiently-examined attitudes were at play. Two said things I regarded as outright racist. However, anti-racism is itself an iterative process and we know a lot of them were starting from a low base; most wouldn't have had occasion to put much discretionary thought into the topic before 2020 beyond "racism = bad". (In most countries represented by F1 drivers, the way racism is presented to white people tends to make it sound more like a peripheral issue, in some cases a semi-historical one). There were no American drivers and Lewis Hamilton was the only Black driver on the grid, hence why so much of the racism focus ended up on Lewis and Lewis alone.

Other causes known at the time:

International semiotics - single different meaning of kneeling. I'm starting with this because Daniil quoted it as his official reason for not kneeling. The kneel originated in the USA because, among other things, in the USA, kneeling has long been the unofficially accepted means of respectfully protesting something (in quarters which accepted that protests could be done at all when national anthems are playing). Specifically, that in Russia kneeling is something one does towards God or one's national representation (e.g. flag) If this is a common belief in Russia (I've not looked into this for Russia specifically), Daniil kneeling would lead to confusion and people getting the wrong message. Daniil did not want to suggest that racism is worthy of worship or fealty! Not every country is as knowledgeable about USA cultural facets, or as keen to adopt them for particular causes, as the UK is.

International semiotics - multiple different meanings of kneeling in the same place. Italy has a more complex version of the issue. I had the misfortune to be stuck in a social media argument between three Italians who had different, incompatible meanings to kneeling. One accepted the USA version wholeheartedly and was criticising Charles Leclerc for not kneeling. Another considered the kneel to be a submissive act implying anti-Italophone sentiment, in this context in the shadow of the Anglophone request (in other words, racism against Italians), and thus criticised Sebastian Vettel for kneeling. A third one was negative about kneeling, but more mildly because they felt there was too much social pressure to kneel and that this nullified any possible meaning for kneeling or not kneeling. I saw more one-sided versions of this happening in newspapers, and the Italian-based teams, drivers and backers (think Ferrari, Alpha Tauri - so, this also covers Daniil -, Antonio Giovinazzi and Alfa Romeo) would have seen these. It is hard to imagine a bigger fail on a subject than failing to be seen as anti-racist due to using a gesture seen as racist and claiming it is for anti-racist means. It turned out there was no way to win that argument with the whole Italian population, and probably no way to avoid what eventually happened (the kneeling/not-kneeling issue ended up discussed in the Italian government, with at least one representative loudly stating the "standing is the proper way to avoid being racist" stance. This would probably have gone better had said representative not bundled a whole bunch of racist cant into other parts of their speech!).

Partially equivalent local semiotics - In the USA, kneeling is the accepted form of protest during a national anthem. In Western Europe, the accepted form of protest is looking down while standing. Partly this is due to the ambiguity of the gesture's meaning - it is also a gesture of solemnity and respect (such as typically seen on Remembrance Sunday parades commemorating the end of World War I). Drivers may well have used it as an easy translation, especially if they were unsure whether the people at home would have understood the kneel in the manner the kneeling protesters intended. The anti-racism part would have been lost in translation but not the "respectful protest" element.

Drivers protecting their teams and possibly each other - Ferrari may have inadvertently done the best compromise strategy in the light of the previous two points. By ending up with one driver kneel, the other stand and both narrating why, it meant any given source could complain all it wanted about one driver without being able to say Ferrari as a whole was racist. The message got through. It also had the side effect that some of the criticism that would have been put onto Vettel was put into praising Leclerc instead, which helped protect Vettel's protest (it's not clear if that part was intended in the plan, but I'm 99% sure that protecting Ferrari did in Charles' case). Other teams where the drivers had split stances may also be explicable this way.

Distrust of BLM. Even at the beginning, a couple of the people who knelt said they wanted to distance themselves from BLM. It didn't help that at one point, the UK branch of BLM advocated violence (in the specific context of responding to an initiation of violence by police at a London protest, to protect self and others immediately around them). After that statement, several more drivers joined in and if I remember rightly, two of the drivers stopped kneeling. It was no good explaining to them that BLM was a franchise and not the organising force behind the kneeling movement, when the UK branch was the one the drivers not called Lewis Hamilton knew most about.

Pressure from teams. When I said Ferrari inadvertently did their best compromise strategy, this is because Fiat is known to have banned the kneeling gesture in its company during the hottest part of the kneeling protest.

Pressure from the FIA and Liberty. Both wanted their way, and only their way, of fighting/"fighting" racism accepted. Neither wanted anyone kneeling at all, much less in a way that TV could easily broadcast.

Protecting the right to choice in how anti-racism was marked. Liberty assured drivers they would be permitted to mark the anti-racism gesture any way that motivated them, provided it was clear they wished to end racism. Some drivers (notably Kimi Raikkonen) considered this freedom worth protecting. A couple of the drivers who did kneel mentioned that one reason they did so was because it was voluntary (either because they didn't like the idea of being forced into a stance or because they felt having the choice of how to position oneself lent meaning to their choice to kneel). Without that choice, it's probable fewer people would have knelt.

As you can see, there were quite a lot of reasons why people chose different stances for their anti-racism protest. I get the impression even the drivers who did racist things during the protest were less racist than the FIA and Liberty during that time.

very well worded,, unsure how to respond but i agree with everything you said!!

[toffyrats]

ya know what i’m bringing this back w more quotes!

“auuuhh but that’s so meeeeaaannn!!” -charlie morningstar (hazbin hotel)

“if you sing in musicals you’re going to end up in my mom’s refrigerator.” -chad danforth (hsm)

“oh my god it is sooo fantastamazing!!” -viva (trolls)

“how about when i get back we all strip down to our socks?” “OHHHKAYYY!” -philip hamilton (hamilton)

“don’t talk down to me!” -jedediah smith (night at the museum)

@hammyham-o-o @imobsessedwiththeatre @unicornsaures @unofficially-racetrack @ratsnu @lemonlord14 @dhmisfour no pressure !

toff starts a tag game

reblog with a quote from your fav character from atleast 5 fandoms that you’re in/used to be in!!

ok mine:

”your fingers might not be so burnt if you cooked with an air fryer!” -frye onaga (splatoon)

“you ever think about runnin in pictures? buy a ticket, they let anyone in!” -albert dasilva (newsies)

“now, what the heck happened around here? oh right- my doing!” -caine (tadc)

“what happened to you that made you hate fun?” -serafine savoy (lackadaisy)

“the romantic tension is so palpable… how can you guys even concentrate??” pavitr prabhakar (atsv)

hey guys 😏 @the-woild-is-y-erster @sluttylittlenewsboy @ftm-megamind @newsiesfixation @itsgrapes-exe @newsiesreference and anyone else that wants to join!!

[thebulletinhamilton-quotes]

Alexander Hamilton: Philip, finish your vegetables, there are children starving in France!

Philip Hamilton: Dad, there’s children suffering from obesity here in America, and I don’t want to join them.

[totallyaccurate-hamilquotes]

The real reason Peggy wasn’t in Act II

Alexander Hamilton: Peggy! We almost forgot about you but—Peggy? Why are you staring at the wall?

Peggy Schuyler: *slowly turns*

Alex: ...

Alex: THE ZOMBIE VIRUS HAS SPREAD I REPEAT—

Technically it’s from @thebulletinhamilton-quotes (your blog got me inspired to be apart of it so as a thank you here is a taste of my zombie au, *bows* if it is terrible I will not be upset if you delete it)

(This is incredible, I could never delete it!)

[thebulletinhamilton-quotes]

Washington, a history teacher: So, can anyone tell me what happened December 18th, 2019?

Peggy Schuyler: Baby Yoda wasn’t in the Rise of Skywalker and I was very disappointed in humanity.

[thebulletinhamilton-quotes]

Alex: no offense, but does it look like I give a shit? Spoiler alert: I don’t.

Thomas: D:<

[thebulletinhamilton-quotes]

Hercules: Is this one of those things where you are posing a hypothetical question but in reality it’s an event that’s actually occurred and you need my help immediately?

John: No

Lafayette: Yes

[thebulletinhamilton-quotes]

Hello I was wondering and if you could do some Jamilton please!! I also love your blog so much

Of course anon!!! Don’t hesitate to ask again. I was screeching (my form as a ptdectorial) so get ready:

Cabinet Meeting #4

Thomas: You’re so gross, Hamilton!

Alex: This isn’t about last night, Jefferson!

Thomas & Alex: *continue to argue*

George: ....

James: ....

Aaron: ...

[thebulletinhamilton-quotes]

Alex: Wow Angelica! What are you dressed up as?

Angelica: *dressed up as a police officer* Your future parole officer, Alexander.

Alex:

Alex: You know what, I’m somehow both terrified and impressed by this.

[thebulletinhamilton-quotes]

Henry Laurens: Son! Stop being so sappy! It’s unbecoming!

John Laurens:

John Laurens: I’ll be sappy whenever I want. I don’t give a shit. I love you dad but fuck off with your bullshit.

[thebulletinhamilton-quotes]

Lafayette: Someone just asked me why I did something like I’m some sort of nerd who does things because he has reasons.

[thebulletinhamilton-quotes]

Thomas Jefferson: exCUSE ME BUT I AM AN ABSOLUTE DELIGHT!

James Madison, reading a book: *snorts*

[thebulletinhamilton-quotes]

Angelica: So what do you think of feminism?

Thomas: A conspiracy, women are inferior—what are you doing?!

Angelica: *rewriting the Declaration of Independence* Give me a second, so what were you saying??

[thebulletinhamilton-quotes]

Jefferson, T-posing: Bet you cant stop this!

Hamilton, T-posing: Bitch you thought!

Burr:

Burr: So this is what happens in the room then?

Madison, crying: *nods*