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soleilpinto · 1 month ago

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Cruising in Papaya: Secrets and Schedules ˚‧｡⋆🍁

“Life’s Better on Saturn ” ˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚ (Saturn, SZA)

Synopsis: Y/N Laurant, a glamorous socialite, meets Lando Norris during a race weekend, sparks fly between the two, but as their feelings deepen, they struggle to balance their secret relationship with their public lives, all while navigating the pressure of the fast-paced F1 scene.

Genre: (Some) Angst, Fluff, Romance

AU: Social Media and Written!au

Pairing: Lando x Afab!Socialite!Reader

Warnings: A few hate comments(?), that’s really it

Note: I have proved my point about not having as much free time as before now 😭 but it’s ok because I still love you guys and I’ll try to be consistent.

Cruising in Papaya Masterlist. (Prev./Next.)

@teawithtiffie Is it just me, or has Y/N been in Monaco way longer than usual? Girl, don’t you have a yacht waiting in Saint Tropez? What’s keeping you in the Riviera? 👀

@EliteGossipHQ Y/N Laurant spending extra time in Monaco post-GP is very interesting. Considering she’s usually hopping to NYC or Saint Tropez, I’m starting to think there’s a reason she’s sticking around...

@TheItGirlFiles Y/N in Monaco for longer than a weekend is suspicious. She’s a Saint Tropez loyalist. What (or who) has her sticking around?

The soft hum of Lando’s Mercedes-AMG GT echoes through the streets of Monaco as the city shimmers in the midday sun.

You’re seated in the passenger seat, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly while Lando maneuvers through the winding roads.

Your eyebrows knit together as you come across a string of tweets speculating about your extended stay in Monaco.

You roll your eyes and let out a small sigh, placing your phone face down on your lap.

Lando glances over at you briefly, his sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his tone light but curious.

“Nothing,” you say, waving it off, though your expression betrays you.

He quirks an eyebrow, smirking as he turns his attention back to the road. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

You huff a small laugh, shaking your head.

“It’s just people online. They’re wondering why I’m still in Monaco instead of hopping off to Saint Tropez or New York.”

Lando grins, his dimples showing as he glances at you again. “And they think it’s because of me, don’t they?”

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know exactly,” You purse your lips, feigning nonchalance.

His chuckle fills the car, warm and teasing. “I mean, they’re not wrong, are they?”

“Lando,” you warn, though there’s no heat behind it.

He shrugs, tapping the steering wheel lightly.

“What can I say? People are observant.”

You lean back against the seat, staring out at the glistening water as the car curves along the coastal road.

“It’s just... exhausting sometimes. The speculation, the assumptions. Can’t I stay in Monaco just because I like it here?”

“You do like it here, though,” he says, his voice softer now. “But also... we both know there’s more to it.”

You glance over at him, his easy confidence making you smile despite yourself.

“I just don’t want to give them more fuel for the fire.”

He nods, thoughtful. “I get it. The media and fans—they can be relentless. But if it helps, I don’t think they really know anything. They’re just guessing.”

“And you’re okay with that?” you ask, tilting your head to study him.

Lando shrugs again, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Let them talk. It doesn’t change what’s actually happening. That’s between us.”

You smile at his words, feeling a sense of ease settle over you. “Fair enough.”

As the car pulls into the entrance of a chic, tucked-away restaurant, Lando shifts the car into park and looks over at you.

“But for the record,” he says, his voice teasing again, “I’m flattered that I’m apparently so irresistible that you’ve ditched your yearly Saint Tropez trip for me.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “Always impossible, Norris"

He grins, hopping out of the car and coming around to open your door.

“And yet, here you are.”

You roll your eyes playfully, stepping out as he offers you his hand. The whispers and speculation may follow, but for now, you let it fade into the background. It’s just you, Lando, and the sunny streets of Monaco.

@gridsidegossip Okay, Lando’s been seen out and about with someone in Monaco, but like… can we just chill and not jump to conclusions? He deserves some peace

@turn1tea saw pics of lando with a girl in monaco. no clue who she is, but let’s not be those fans, yeah? privacy >>> drama

@latebrakersclub y’all, the speculation about lando and this random girl is wild. can’t they just chill without us turning it into a netflix special?

@papayaparadise she looks classy and unbothered, and honestly, good for lando if they’re close. could be a friend, could be more, but it’s not really our business

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laurant.yn monte carlo summers

littlefoxhermes ooh mystery man

lettiemng 😍

It had been a week since your time with Lando in Monaco, and now you were back in Saint-Tropez, caught up in family business and the familiar rhythm of socialite obligations.

Monaco had been a whirlwind, but with Lando, it felt different—effortless.

For a brief moment, you had stepped away from the carefully curated image you’d spent years perfecting, and in his company, you felt lighter, freer, like you could breathe without the weight of expectation pressing down.

It was a fleeting escape, but one that lingered in the corners of your mind, refusing to be forgotten.

The moonlight spilled across the marble floors of your family’s sprawling mansion, the grand chandeliers casting a faint glow in the otherwise quiet halls.

The echoes of the evening’s charity ball still lingered—polite applause, clinking glasses, murmured compliments—but now, the stillness was a welcome reprieve.

You slipped off your heels, sighing in relief as the cool stone kissed your bare feet.

Your gown, elegant and tailored to perfection, swept softly against the ground as you made your way up the curved staircase to your suite.

The festivities had been exhausting, a whirlwind of forced smiles and endless small talk, but at least you had survived another night of keeping up appearances.

As you eased into the velvet chaise in your room, your phone buzzed on the side table. Lando’s name lit up the screen, and a teasing smirk tugged at your lips. He had a habit of calling at odd hours, always managing to keep you guessing.

Swiping to answer, you brought the phone to your ear.

“Calling me this late, Norris? Should I be flattered or suspicious?”

His laugh came through the line, warm and easy, and it sent a flicker of something soft through your chest.

“Both,” he said. “Flattered because I thought of you. Suspicious because I need a favor.”

You leaned back against the cushions, raising an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see it. “A favor? Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” he replied quickly, though there was a hint of nervousness in his tone that intrigued you.

“I just… I heard you’re going to be in Barcelona next week for a PR event.”

Your smirk deepened. “Word travels fast, doesn’t it?”

“It does when you’re involved,” he quipped.

There was a pause, and then he added, “Look, I was wondering if you’d want to come to the race and extend your stay a bit. Be my guest.”

Your fingers idly traced the embroidery on the chaise’s armrest as his words sank in. There was a tentative vulnerability in his voice, a rarity that made you pause.

“Your guest, huh?” you mused, dragging out the words just enough to keep him on edge.

“Yeah,” he said, then added quickly, “No pressure, of course. I just thought… it’d be nice to see you again.”

Your teasing softened at the honesty in his tone. “Hmm… I don’t know, Norris. I might be too busy schmoozing with PR executives to sit around watching cars go in circles.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?" He groaned, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“So I’ve been told,” you quipped. “Alright, fine. I’ll come. But don’t think this gets you off the hook. You’ll owe me.”

“Deal,” he said, relief evident in his voice. “I’ll sort everything out.”

After the call ended, you set your phone down, gazing out of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The city lights of Saint Tropez sparkled in the distance, but your thoughts were already in Barcelona.

The idea of seeing him again, of stepping into his world, stirred something unfamiliar within you—an anticipation that tugged at the edges of your otherwise composed demeanor. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, a mixture of intrigue and mischief sparking in your chest.

Barcelona wasn’t going to be just another trip.

@f1fanatica y/n laurant's instagram says ‘business meetings’ in barcelona, but it’s giving very suspiciously aligned with the gp schedule energy

@SocialiteFiles Is it just me, or does Y/N Laurant suddenly always seem to pop up in the same cities as major F1 races lately? First Monaco, now Barcelona. What’s the tea? 👀

@OversteerAndSpill Y/N Laurant in the same city as Lando Norris… again. At this point, it’s not even subtle. She might be the mystery woman he was with in Monaco 👀

@GridWhispers If Y/N’s showing up in Barcelona this week of all weeks, I’m officially convinced she’s either a closet F1 fan or something’s up

The Spanish sun beat down on the bustling paddock, a mix of excitement and chaos swirling around you as the Grand Prix weekend unfolded.

You stood near the McLaren hospitality, a smile lighting up your face as you chatted with Kika, Alex, and Lily. It had been surprisingly easy to connect with them; their warmth and playful energy made you feel instantly at ease despite your initial nerves

“I still can’t believe this is your first real F1 season,” Kika said with a laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You fit in so effortlessly.”

“Effortlessly chic, too,” Alex teased, nudging your arm. “We need the details—how did you and Lando happen?”

Lily leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes sparkling. “Yeah, spill! He’s been so private about it, and now here you are.”

You chuckled, trying to keep your expression casual despite the heat rising to your cheeks. “It’s not as dramatic as you think,” you said with a teasing lilt.

“We met in Miami at a brand event, and… well, he asked my manager for my number.”

Kika gasped, grinning. “He went through your manager? Classic gentleman move.”

“Right? It’s very him,” Lily said, laughing softly. “But clearly, it worked.”

Before you could respond, a familiar figure appeared in your peripheral vision, and your heart skipped a beat. Lando was making his way toward you, his McLaren team polo and sunglasses only adding to the casual confidence he carried so effortlessly.

“Speak of the devil,” Alex murmured with a sly grin.

Your friends straightened slightly, their curiosity unmistakable as Lando approached. He glanced at the small group before his gaze locked onto you, his easy smile softening into something warmer.

“There you are,” he said, his voice carrying over the noise of the paddock. “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to.”

As he stopped before you, you felt the subtle shift in the air. Despite the chaos of the paddock, this moment felt private, shielded.

The high walls of the hospitality area kept you out of sight from prying cameras, though you could still hear the occasional buzz of fans and press lingering nearby.

“Just making friends,” you said lightly, gesturing to the girls around you.

“Good ones, I hope,” he teased, his gaze flicking to your newfound companions.

Kika, Alex, and Lily exchanged knowing smiles before giving him warm greetings, but they didn’t linger.

“We’ll leave you two,” Lily said, winking at you as they wandered a few steps away, pretending to focus on the commotion further down the paddock.

“Subtle,” you murmured under your breath, earning a chuckle from Lando.

For a moment, it was just the two of you. The sun glinted off his sunglasses as he slid them onto his head, revealing his bright blue eyes. His smile softened further, and he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

“You doing alright? I know this is all a bit... much.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m fine. The girls are sweet—definitely making it easier to blend in.”

The sound of cameras clicking faintly in the distance didn’t faze him, but his eyes darted briefly toward the noise. “Good thing we’re out of their line of sight,” he murmured, his tone light but pointed.

“Think they’d lose their minds if they saw us talking?” you teased, your voice low.

“Probably,” he replied with a grin, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. “But let’s not give them the satisfaction just yet.”

As the moment stretched, the noise of the paddock seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in your own bubble of calm. His steady and reassuring presence was enough to remind you why you’d decided to dive into this world.

liked by lando, francisca.cgomes and others

laurant.yn viva barcelona x

lilymhe it was so lovely to meet you !!

alexandrasaintmleux 😍

lettiemng gorgeous girl

The frenzy started with a single blurry photo: Lando standing outside the McLaren hospitality, leaning slightly toward you, his trademark grin unmistakable even in the low-resolution image.

Your face wasn’t visible, but your elegant outfit—a flowing dress paired with delicate heels—gave netizens just enough clues to start piecing things together.

By the next morning, social media was ablaze with speculation.

Some tweets were harmless:

"Okay, but who’s Lando’s mystery woman? She’s got great style 👀"

Others? Not so much:

“Bet she’s just another socialite after his money 🙄.”

“What if Lando’s using her to climb the Monaco social ladder? That girl screams old money.”

“She probably doesn’t even know the difference between a pit stop and a podium.”

Scrolling through the chaos, you sighed, tossing your phone onto the couch in frustration. It wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with public scrutiny, but this felt different—more personal.

The idea that people were dissecting your character without knowing a thing about you struck a nerve.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay calm. You weren’t one to crumble under pressure, but the weight of the backlash tugged at your chest. You needed clarity—needed to talk to him.

Grabbing your phone, you found Lando’s name and pressed the call button. He picked up after just two rings.

“Y/N,” he greeted, his voice warm but laced with concern. “I was about to call you. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you said, though the word came out sharper than intended. You softened your tone. “I’m fine. Just… annoyed.”

“About the fans?” he guessed.

“Got it in one,” you replied, pacing the length of your living room. “They think I’m using you for money. Some of them even think you’re using me for mine. It’s ridiculous, but it’s everywhere.”

There was a pause on the other end, and when he spoke again, his voice was steady. “You know none of that matters to me, right? They don’t know you. They don’t know us.”

“I know,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “But I want you to be aware of what’s being said. I don’t want this to catch you off guard or make things harder for you.”

“It doesn’t make anything harder,” he said firmly.

“If anything, it just makes me want to be with you even more. I hate that they’re treating you like this, but you’re stronger than any of them give you credit for.”

His words settled over you like a calming wave. “I just don’t want to be the reason you get dragged into drama.”

“Y/N,” he said softly, “you’re not. If anyone’s dragging us into drama, it’s the people behind keyboards who don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. I like you—no, I care about you—a lot. That’s all that matters to me. If you’re willing to keep going despite all this noise, then so am I.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his words, the sincerity in his voice making your chest tighten in a way that felt both overwhelming and reassuring.

“I care about you too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Then let’s make it official,” he said, his tone lighter now but still filled with intent. “You don’t have to deal with this alone anymore. I don’t care if they talk—I just want to be with you.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, the warmth of his words melting away the frustration that had clouded your mind earlier. “Alright, Lando. Let’s do this.”

His laugh came through the line, soft and genuine.

“Good. Now, what are you doing tonight? Because I feel like celebrating.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you still put up with me,” he teased.

You hung up feeling lighter, the doubts and backlash shrinking in the face of his unwavering support. You knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but with Lando by your side, you were ready to face it together.

He ended the race in P2 that day, and maybe it was a coincidence, but you were probably his lucky charm.

taglist: @bakingpiastries @linnygirl09

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 2 months ago

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Oldsmobile

April 29'th 2004. The last Oldsmobile rolls off the line. You may be surprised to learn, that for a long time Oldsmobile meant innovation. Here are just a few of the Automotive technologies Olds pioneered in it's 100+ years in business:

1898: Olds Motor Vehicle Company exports the first American car, a steam-powered automobile, to Mumbai, India.

1901: The first speedometer offered on a production car was on an Oldsmobile Curved Dash.

1901: Oldsmobile was the first to procure parts from third-party suppliers.

1901: Olds produces 635 cars, becoming the first high-volume gasoline automobile producer.

1901: Oldsmobile becomes the first manufacturer to publicly promote their vehicles.

1902: The Oldsmobile Curved Dash is the first mass-produced vehicle in America.

1903: Oldsmobile builds the first purpose-built mail truck.

1908: Oldsmobile rebadges the Buick Model B as the Oldsmobile Model 20, possibly creating the first badge-engineered car.

1915: First standard windshield introduced by Oldsmobile.

1926: Oldsmobile is the first to use chrome plating on trim.

1929: Oldsmobile creates the first Monobloc V8 engine in its Viking Sister brand.

1932: Oldsmobile introduces the first automatic choke.

1935: Oldsmobile offers the first all-steel roof on an automobile.

1940: Oldsmobile introduces the Hydra-Matic, the first fully automatic transmission.

1948: Oldsmobile offers one-piece curved windshields, along with Buick and Cadillac.

1949: Oldsmobile introduces the Rocket, the first high-compression OHV V8 engine.

1952: Oldsmobile introduces the "Autronic Eye," the first automatic headlight dimming system.

1953: Oldsmobile switches its lineup to the 12v charging system.

1962: Oldsmobile creates the first production turbocharged car, the F-85 Jetfire.

1962: Oldsmobile also creates the first production car with water injection, the F-85 Jetfire.

1966: The Oldsmobile Toronado is the first mass-produced front-wheel-drive American car.

1969: First use of chromed ABS plastic exterior trim on the 1969 Oldsmobile Toronado.

1969: First electric grid window defogger on an American car, the 1969 Oldsmobile Toronado.

1971: The Oldsmobile Toronado is one of the first cars to feature a high-mounted brake light.

1974: The Toronado is the first American car to offer a driver-side airbag.

1977: The Toronado is the first American car with a microprocessor to run engine controls.

1982: First use of high-impact molded plastic body components on the 1982 Oldsmobile Omega.

1986: Oldsmobile introduces the Delco VIC touchscreen interface on the Toronado, shared with Buick Riviera.

1988: The first production heads-up display system is introduced on the 1988 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme Indy Pace Car.

1988: Oldsmobile breaks a world speed record with the Oldsmobile Aerotech at 267 mph, driven by A.J. Foyt.

1990: Oldsmobile updates the color touchscreen interface with a built-in cellular phone on the 1990 Toronado Trofeo.

1995: Oldsmobile introduces Guidestar, the first onboard navigation system on a U.S. production car.

1997: Oldsmobile becomes the first American car company to turn 100 years old.

2001: The redesigned 2002 Oldsmobile Bravada becomes the first truck to pace the Indianapolis 500.

#car #cars #muscle car #american muscle #oldsmobile

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vintagelasvegas · 4 months ago

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Sands Hotel & Casino '52-'96

Sands, December 1952

Kit Carson Club ('46-'50) Kit Carson Motel ('46-'64) La Lue nightclub ('50-'51)

'46: Kit Carson Club opened by H. Bynum, D. Anderson, G. Frisbee on US Hwy 91 outside of Las Vegas, adjacent to Kit Carson Motel. The club will later become LaRue nightclub, then the Garden Room of the Sands Hotel.

'50: Kit Carson Club reopened as LaRue nightclub by Billy Wilkerson, Nola Hahn, 12/23/50.

'51: LaRue closed by summer. Mack Kufferman buys LaRue and hires architect Wayne McAllister to build around the existing club. Kuffman and partners apply for gaming license. The project is called Sands by 12/51.

Sands ('52-'96)

'52: Kufferman gaming license denied in Apr., sells to Jake Freedman (RG 4/9/52, RG 6/13/52). Partners running the Sands are B. Barron, E. Levinson (casino manager), S. Wyman, J. Entratter (showroom & restaurants). Hidden partners are believed to include J. Stacher, M. Lansky. Sands road sign designed by McAllister, built by YESCO.

'52: Dec. 12, Sands opens with 200 rooms in five buildings arranged in Y-shaped layout. The guest wings are named after race tracks: Arlington Park, Belmont Park, Haileah, Rockingham Park, Santa Anita. Three other wings of equal size were added circa ’53-54 (two were named Churchill Downs, Hollywood Park), another by ’58, and larger wing by ’60. The total room count in ’60 was 465.

'53: Frank Sinatra plays his first engagement at the Sands and becomes 2% owner in Oct; Carl Cohen joins the Sands as shareholder and casino manager in Oct.

'54: Sign modification: Second reader board added below the main board, Feb or earlier. Antonio Morelli joins the Sands as musical director for the Copa in Jul.

'55: Sands partners assume control of the Dunes in Sep. They sell the Dunes in four months later.

'58: Jake Freedman dies 1/19/58; Jack Entratter becomes Sands president.

'59: Sign modification: Attraction board attached to the sign, Feb or earlier. Baccarat begins at the Sands. Sands acquires the former Orinda Motel, property to the south, used for expansion of the Sands parking lot.

'60: Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr, Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop (the "Rat Pack") are first billed together in the Copa in Jan-Feb. during the filming of Ocean's 11. Senator John F. Kennedy visits during the Democratic primary campaign.

'63: Opening of Aqueduct hotel wing (83 rm) in Apr. Julius Gabrielle, architect (RJ 4/28/63). Sinatra surrenders ownership 10/7/63.

'64: Sands acquires the former Kit Carson Motel; Belmont and Arlington buildings (base of the Y) moved southward to accommodate construction of a hotel tower. Sign modification: The frame around the main marquee painted tan.

'65: Second sign in Aug; tower completed late in the year and officially opened Jan. ’66. Martin Stern Jr, architect.

'67: Howard Hughes buys the Sands, 7/23/67. Sinatra leaves his Sands residency after confrontation with Cohen, 9/11/67.

'69: Dean Martin leaves Sands to join Riviera.

'71: Entratter dies, 3/8/71.

'73: Cohen leaves the Sands, Jan. '73.

'80: Inns of America buys the Sands from Hughes heirs Summa Corp in Oct.

'82: Third sign, new porte-cochère, marking the completion of remodeling effort including new Copa room, 1/15/82.

'83: Summa Corp reassumes control of the Sands, 4/5/83.

'88: Kirk Kerkorian buys the Sands in Jan. Kerkorian sells to Interface Group led by Sheldon Addison in Apr.

'90: Sands Expo and Convention Center opens.

'94: Remodeling of the casino.

'96: Sands closes 6/30/96. Tower demolished 11/26/96.

Photos of the Sands

Sources include David G. Schwartz. At the Sands: The Casino That Shaped Classic Las Vegas, Brought the Rat Pack Together, and Went Out With a Bang. December 1952 photo courtesy of Slidetreasurehunt.

Construction of the sign, 1952. The pylon sign pedestal was 56’ high, 21’ wide, with the S at 34’ tall. Design by Wayne McAllister, fabricated and installed by Young Electric Sign Co. Photo: YESCO Corporate Records (MS-00403), UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

Opens Dec 15. Danny Thomas, Connie Rusell, Lou Wills Jr, Ray Sinatra Orchestra. Nevada State Museum, Las Vegas, 0007-0345.

Aerial view of Kit Carson Motel and the Sands, '62

#Sands #1952

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carsthatnevermadeitetc · 2 years ago

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Buick Riviera, 1966. The second generation of Buick's personal luxury car used GM's E-body platform it shared with the Cadillac Eldorado and Oldsmobile Toronado. Whereas they used the front drive Unitized Power Package (UPP) the Buick retained rear wheel drive and was powered by a choice of 7.0 litre and 7.5 litre V8 engines. Sales for 1966 were 45,308, a new record for the model

#Buick #Buick Riviera #1966 #2nd generation #GM E-body #rear wheel drive #1960s #pillarless hardtop #pillarless coupe #personal luxury car

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aquarelliwrites · 7 months ago

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Go For Broke, Chapter 1: First Loser, Second Loser

the Monaco 2022 Grand Prix weekend retold. // series masterlist

Picture the Monaco riviera on a Thursday morning. Mechanics buzzing around cars and stacks of tyres, reporters and photographers streaming in through the gates, and a Ferrari driver sitting squeezed between the pit wall monitors and the wall on the second story of her garage. A thick pane of glass muffling the chatter and racket growing louder by the minute.

Away from the overwhelming sea of rich tourists, camera lenses and microphones, sleep clawed at the edges of her vision and the cobwebbed peripheral hallways of her mind. The iced coffee and half-eaten pastry on the floor next to her weren’t doing a good job of holding it back on their own.

A long, quiet stanza shattered with the note of a simple “Ciao.”

“Fuck!” Her hand came up sharply - to punch her teammate in the face, or rest over her heart to calm it? She couldn’t know.

“Wouldn’t have pinned you for fight, puzzone. You seem more like a flight type of person.” He - Charles - laughed, fiddling with the vlog camera in his right hand. “Good morning, by the way.”

“Good morning, my ass. Gave me the scare of my life just now.”

The liar grinned. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“Sure. What are you doing up here, anyway?” Giving the floor right next to her a little pat, she prompted him to sit down and join her behind the wall of computers. It’s not like anyone was there to tell them they were in the way.

“I’m recording a behind-the-scenes vlog this weekend. This seemed like a good place to get some aerial footage, but I was going to go up to the terrace as well, to see which was better.” His answer was enthusiastic, and she smiled and nodded as he continued to talk about his camera specs and when the lighting on track should be the best. Alas, it didn’t distract him as well as she’d hoped. “Why are you sleeping up here?”

“I couldn’t sleep very well last night.” Understatement of the century. The heels of her palms rubbed her eyes in a vague attempt to somehow rectify an entire night’s worth of tossing and turning.

“How come?” Finally setting his camera down, he glanced back at her. “Oh, you smudged your, um..”

“Eye pencil? Of course I did.” With a sigh too deep to be indicating exclusively frustration over her messed-up makeup, she swiped whatever smudges she could from her under eyes. “I don’t know. At first, everything was too loud. Then it got too quiet, so I had to put on music. Then it was too hot, then too cold. I think I also spent a while staring at the ceiling.” And crying. That part went unsaid, though. “I’m just a bit nervous about the weekend, I think.”

Did she say ‘understatement of the century’ earlier? She was fairly sure this beat the record. It was a miracle she'd managed to keep down the few bites she did.

He grimaced slightly, extended his hand to hold hers, gave it a slight squeeze even. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“No worries. Not your fault, monello.”

A smile reappeared on his face at the childish nickname. “Come on, you’re the only one of us who actually likes media day.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She managed a small smile. Now that she was distracted, he managed to swipe the rest of her pastry - not without earning a slap to the wrist in the process.

“Hey!”

“You weren’t eating it!” He yells in complete defense of his actions. Had she been actually hungry, she might have killed him then and there.

“It’s fine. I was done with it.”

Media didn't suck as much as she expected it to. Not that it usually did.

There were the ever-present questions, of course. It was a mental checklist, maybe bingo card, every week:

Are she and Charles dating? (No.)

How does it feel to be the first woman in Formula 1 since Lella Lombardi to score points? (Good, but there should have been women before her.)

Which brands of haircare or skincare did she use? (Lots, but what did it matter when she wore a helmet most of the time?)

Does she feel like she can keep up with the rest of the grid? (This one usually just received a blank stare until the interviewer got too uncomfortable to wait for an answer.)

Was it sad that she got excited to actually talk about the car she'd be driving? Incredibly.

The rest of the interviews were crammed full of hopes that Charles would finally do well, that the team would do well as a whole, that- well, you get the point.

Minutes later, the photographers that managed to walk out first got treated to a great shot of supposedly sworn enemies - two Ferrari drivers and two Red Bull Racing drivers - standing near the exit of the media pen and watching reporters file out.

Chatting with Sergio - Checo, she and everybody else called him - was the best way to spend the, seemingly, geological eon Charles and Max took to debrief each other about… well, about everything. Those guys didn't talk all that much outside of the paddock, and they were practically neighbors. It's weird.

She always found Checo more approachable, anyway. Whenever she even walked past his Dutch teammate, she could practically feel his icy gaze shooting daggers through her. If looks could kill, she'd have died a hundred times over.

Not that she didn't return the glares - she found it quite enjoyable to produce a staring contest out of thin air, and it would usually end up with him looking away, the slightest of unnoticed blushes settling upon the tips of his ears.

Today, Checo had a delightful surprise - a guy on Twitter doing imitations of F1-related personalities. She laughed along at the stuttering blunders of Will Buxton and the monotone accented voice resembling Checo's uncannily, and even the one of Max struggling to open a can of Red Bull and swearing profusely upon receiving radio instructions, but what really got her to look aghast was the next impression. Of her.

“Come on, that's no girl voice!” She was sure they were attracting attention with their laughter, since their teammates both looked over in confusion. “He sounds like he inhaled helium!”

“No, no, he sounds correct to me.” Checo faux-wiped a tear from his eye.

“It absolutely does not!”

“Here, Charles, Max, take a look at this.” They complied - and unfortunately, did not agree with her.

“I don't know, that pretty much sounds like you. Whenever I hear you speak it's like a caffeinated chipmunk squeaking at me all angrily.” Max laughed, and she felt blood rush up to her face, embarrassment and anger mixing dangerously.

“I don't know, Verstappen, you not being able to open a can of Red Bull on your own also seemed fairly accurate.” Her sweet tone did nothing to disguise the way the words dripped with acid. He grimaced like they actually burned.

“Sorry, schat, my mistake. Truly, will you ever forgive me?” He turned away - to speak with her teammate once more.

The guy was fucking insufferable. And the nicknames he gave her only fueled a desire to crush him out on the track. What the hell did schat even mean?

Charles squinted behind his sunglasses. “What in the fresh hell are they doing?”

A long, obnoxiously loud slurp identical to that of a nearly empty plastic cup that used to store iced coffee sounded off from next to him. “Will you stop that?” He huffed a laugh.

“Stop what?” The second slurp managed to sound more ear-grating than the first. He wasn't sure how that was possible.

“Just… look over there, right?”

The pair stood on the third-story terrace of the Ferrari garage - a feature unique to the Monaco race - and stared out into the harbor. The Red Bull Energy Station was a raft, and it was huge, so the commotion near their swimming pool was easily visible to anyone higher than the second floor.

“That's Max and Checo, Charles.”

“No, idiot, I know that. Look at what they're doing.” He gestured, exasperated, so she cocked a hip and leaned forward over the railing to get a better look.

“They're putting rubber ducks in the pool. Or just a bunch of…” she squinted as well, “tiny yellow blobs. I’m guessing ducks, though?”

“I'm at a loss for words.”

“Charles, you are so dramatic. They just had me blindfold you to drive a sim lap in Imola a couple of weeks ago.”

“That's different.”

“We've done shit more insane than releasing a couple dozen yellow duckies into a pool.”

“Okay, and?

They observe as Max seems to… fish one out of water? A couple of moments later, he's speaking to someone on the phone, and Checo looks like he'll burst if he doesn't let go of his laughter.

“This has to be for the YouTube channel, right?” She half-turned to him to see the confusion and disbelief visible all over his face.

“Definitely. Max wouldn't agree to do that if it wasn't some sort of PR.”

“Okay, loverboy.” His encyclopedic knowledge of Max would annoy her to death if she didn't know every fact she could dig up about him. Some would call it obsessive - she'd just explain it as studying her rival's weaknesses.

“What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Okay, see, he just looks like he's crying again!” Charles’ voice raised a little.

“I don't understand why you're so worked up over this.” It was his turn to observe his teammate's nonchalant, if a little curious, exterior.

“You're- ugh. Whatever. Now he's just calling someone again.”

“Oh, to be a fly on that deck. I'd kill to know what Checo was laughing at.” With a final slurp, she rediscovered one last sip of her drink that had missed her entirely.

“Ooh, be careful.” His voice was laced with a teasing undertone behind her.

She shot Charles a confused look.

It's Friday now, and all their successful data gathering in both practice sessions earned them the privilege - she'd beg to differ - of an ice bath. She's tried and failed to kick, scream, and claw her way out of them (metaphorically, of course) before.

It was, however, a relief to finally get to take her hoodie off. It had been sensible clothing mere hours earlier, but it was positively stifling then. She let out a dramatic gasp at the freedom of weather-appropriate attire.

“What do you mean?”

“Getting changed? In front of everyone? What will the media think?” His voice was nothing but crystal clear sarcasm, with his face distorted in an expression of faux disapproval. “Scandalous. I thought I taught you better.”

A puzzled laugh escaped her. “Wh-? Why the hell are you shaking your head at me? I have a top on.” She gestured to the, realistically, fairly modest swimsuit top on herself.

“Did you even think of the poor engineers who will be so distracted from working on our cars?”

The level of this man's theatricality was show-stopping and infuriating simultaneously. “Charles. Darling.”

“Hm?”

“You were literally flashing your tits to, oh, I don't know, about… what, half the paddock? And thousands of SkyTV viewers? Like, ten minutes ago?”

“What? Me? I could never.” He even did a pearl-clutching motion at the very implication. She rolled her eyes.

“You are literally wearing less clothing than me right now. Like, if you turn around, you'll count approximately… two dozen Paddock Club girls drooling over your biceps as we speak.”

“No… Well, touché. They want us in the tubs now, though.”

“That's- yes, why else did you think I was undressing?”

“You can never know with you.”

She rolled up the towel in her hand in order to smack him as hard as she could, but he only laughed. “Prick.”

The ice bath was terrible. Awful. She wished she could be poetic and compare it to a breath of winter's night, or a fireless hearth - that would not do it justice. Plunging into the tub was the ninth circle of hell, with Dante and Virgil observing her slow and painful eternal fate.

The media people were having a field day with Charles. She didn't know how he managed to keep his composure enough to let them film thirst traps.

“Fuck me, this is miserable.” Her teeth were chattering so hard that she thought her lower jaw would soon start creaking on its hinges from the motion. She watched the goosebumps blooming all over her thighs and arms. And Charles was fucking laughing, the bastard.

“Mon dieu, I don't know what I did to wrong you,” she uttered through gritted teeth towards the sky, “but I swear never to do it again.”

The sky, of course, didn't respond. Her teammate thought it was a good time to pipe up, though.

“You took me out two years ago, in Alfa Romeo. This is karma.”

Her head snapped towards him, if only to lower her sunglasses and glare at him over the tops of the frames. He didn't bother looking up from checking his fingernails.

“That wasn't even my fault- Fuck, this is so cold.”

When the Ferrari social media girl let her know she'd start filming her then, the only thing she could do is nod curtly, jaw clenched.

“How are you feeling after FP1 and FP2?”

“Very… very positive about the weekend.” If nothing else, every single muscle in her body seizing at the freezing water might finally be the thing to give her better abs.

“And how are you feeling?”

“What, right now?” The girl nodded. “Arguably worse than before I got in. I'll be loving it when I get out in- when can I get out?”

The small gaggle of Ferrari employees around her laughed. “Oh, yes, hilarious, I bet.”

“Ah, you're being dramatic now. It's not a duck's cold.” His badly translated French idiom forced a small smile onto her face. Both of them being multilingual more often than not meant one of them being stared at in confusion over a poor choice of words that got mistranslated on its way over their tongue.

“I'm just saying, it's a perfectly pleasant and sunny day. I don't understand what need there was for a plastic tub colder than a Siberian lake?”

An ice cube hit her head. Her glare only made Charles smile sweetly.

“If I wasn't under threat of all of Monaco skinning me alive at any harm done to you, I'd throttle you right now.”

He blew her a kiss. Bitch.

Champagne bubbled past her lips on the second step that Sunday. It was a Red Bull 1-3, with an incredibly disappointed Charles down in P4. She only managed to spot his melancholic expression down in the crowd of navy and red when the Mexican anthem was playing its last notes.

The race was a spectacle by Monaco standards - an incredible 21 overtakes and a fight for P2 for the entire duration. She had barely managed to drag the Ferrari over the finish line on mediums so torn up, they might have punctured on the following lap. Really, she was just counting her lucky stars.

She blinked rapidly, wiping alcohol from her eyes. Or was it still sweat from the race? Taking a long drag from the bottle seemed to cool her down enough. Checo was chatting with Max, both of them soaked just like her. She was delighted at his win, and happier more when she realized she beat Max. A smile grew on her face uncontrollably at the thought of the way she practically skipped past the third step and straight into second place - his eyes burning holes in the side of her head the entire time. If looks could kill, they’d be cleaning her dead body off the floor before any trophies could even be handed out.

Had she glared back at him, he’d have turned his head abruptly to avoid notice.

To be entirely honest, she wasn’t even sure when a rivalry between them began to form. They never karted together - maybe she only saw him a couple of times when she was very young and he was in a category above hers. While he had skipped F2 altogether and left Charles his F3 seat, she was still fighting through regional F4 championships. When she was in Alfa Romeo with Kimi in 2020, he was already winning with Red Bull.

Maybe she had grown tired of the news of his wins; or he had had it with her successfully playing the media darling; or both of them started growing abrasive every time the other flaunted a better result as proudly as a championship win.

To put it shortly: If the two of them were involved, it tended to be tense.

Flashing Max a proud and mocking grin from behind Checo’s back only resulted in a scoff and a roll of his eyes. Or at least she guessed - the champagne stuck to her lashes made her vision a kaleidoscope a little more than she would’ve liked.

After they had their picture taken, she gathered her trophy against her hip and the open bottle limply in her other hand. Had she walked off the podium any faster than she did, she wouldn’t have caught his muttering.

“You always have to one-up everyone, huh?”

“Not everyone.” She smiled, sweetly. “Just you.”

“Aw, I’m honored.” He spoke in a tone that was anything but honored. “You only try so hard to keep up with me, schat?” Again with the ridiculous nickname. Was he calling her shit?

“In your dreams, Verstappen. S’not my fault I’m just so naturally talented, and you’re… you. You know?” Anyone who heard her dry reply might have doubted she even believed the praise she threw at herself. Except Max.

“Was it natural talent when-”

“Alright, children, enough.” Checo’s arms came around both of their shoulders as he led them off the podium. “Kid, do you want to come to the energy station- Max, don’t look at me like that- do you want to come watch the pool dive? Horner said he might wear a… what’s it called? The swimming underwear?”

“Um, Speedos?”

“Yes!” The snap of his fingers rang behind her right ear. “A Union Jack Speedo.”

“That’s… supposed to be enticing?”

He shrugged, letting go of both of them now that the trio was away from cameras. Max left immediately. “Invite Charles. I’ll see if I can get any other drivers to come.”

“Me and Charles? I thought we were practically Public Enemies #1 and #2 over there?”

“Ah, well… yes. Maybe don’t come in red.”

“Incredibly helpful as always, Checo.”

Raising his pointer finger at her, he looked more like a dad than ever before. “Don’t give me that tone.” He received only a sly grin and an eyeroll.

“Any plans for tonight?”

“You’ll see it in the groupchat.”

The Red Bull Energy Station ended up looking more like a millionaire’s- no, billionaire’s college pool party that afternoon, with more and more people filtering in by the minute.

In a show of solidarity towards her teammate, she had stolen the P2 champagne for him and herself to share in a walk around the marina. Already, they observed yacht owners getting ready for the afterparty of the year all around them.

“You look surprisingly somber.” He said after a long silence.

She simply took a long swig of lukewarm alcohol to avoid answering.

“Are you-” He stopped. Hesitated. “Is- Um, how are you doing?”

“Good.” A response typical for someone who most definitely was not good. “Very good.”

“Are you su-”

“Y’know, I’m very excited for tonight. I don’t get to party it up in Monaco much.” Cutting him off looked to be the best option right then. “Last year was more chill.”

“...Yes, we went for a picnic up to that viewpoint with Charlotte and… who were you dating then?”

“Oh, Antonio? I wasn’t serious with him.”

“Oh?” He gratefully took the bottle when she offered it. “I thought you were.”

“It’s hard to be. You of all people should know how the media reacts to our relationships.” Among other things.

Having not even realized it, they were now standing before the Red Bull hospitality - if that was a correct term for the frat raft it appeared to be.

“Shall we?” He said. She swallowed.

“Might as well.”

To be fair, the deck was comfortable. And loud. Incredibly loud. They were offered Red Bulls - which they accepted, as they weren’t, y’know, animals. In a few minutes, she found herself sitting on the railing to get a better look over everybody else’s heads, while he leaned against it right next to her.

And to her mixed disappointment and relief, Christian Horner did not wear a Union Jack Speedo while jumping into the pool. He didn’t even jump - Max shoved him in after Checo.

The little party went on for a little while, but her social battery was dying and relying on Charles’ charms didn’t work as well as she’d hoped. When she announced her decision to leave to him, he agreed quickly, still carrying her souvenir bottle for her.

Unfortunately for them, nobody else had. The crowd was still there, much like a great number of immovable concrete walls, and they struggled to make their way to the stairs. Charles, being a bit taller and more broad-shouldered, went first in an attempt to push his way through. She, however, got separated fairly easily and had little control in being accidentally herded to the pool’s edge like cattle.

“Hey, wait-” Someone she had no time to see collided with her, sending her right into the water.

Or they would have, if her arm wasn’t abruptly grabbed by the most irritating, bothersome individual who she could have possibly crossed paths with at that moment.

He had an annoyed look in his eyes. “Watch it.”

“...Thank you.” It was painful for her dignity to say while he pulled her back to a standing position. Not waiting for a response, she hurried after Charles.

And left Max standing alone in the crowd.

NOTE: Honestly, I'm not that happy with this but I am glad that I finally got it out. Slightly anticlimatic for a first chapter? Yeah, nothing I can do about that now. Also this wasn't beta read, sorry for the mistakes you were forced to endure lol

TAGLIST: @falk0r3

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misskattylashes · 7 months ago

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I have finally written it!

The Car is a concept album about an almost middle aged, somewhat isolated man looking back on his youth, and where TBHC was all about what a mess his life was due to being famous. The Car is about him being at that point we reach where we’re old enough to have a past, but young enough to look forward to a future without making some of the mistakes you’ve made. It is also loosely set like a stage production.

The show opens where our hero is emerging from a personal and professional crisis. He has temporarily lost his great love, his ‘mirrorball’, his person made up of many broken pieces, but who shines great light into his world. They have let him down previously ‘where’s that appetite for the moment when you look them in the eye and say baby it’s been nice’. But this is still one of the worst things that has happened to our hero and is causing him to reflect on his life.

Next up we deal with fame and his superficial life. Parties full of fake people who blend into one, and socialising is a chore. But he can see both islands, his fake and vaccous life, and the other island, the one where he can be happy and be with someone who makes his spine tingle. Controversially I maintain Riviera is a metaphor for a French person and she is coming into land for said ‘formation display of affection’ ie fake ‘romantic’ photoshoot.

Next our hero is reflecting on the other terrible thing that happened to him. His magnum opus being vilified and rejected because it was so different to what he was known for (‘whilst wondering if your mother still ever thinks of me’ – he has been famous for so long his young fans’ parents were once fans too). The opening line ‘how I am supposed to manage my infallible beliefs while I’m socking it to you’. TBHC was his special interest, his true self, but he was still expected to be the relatable young rock star singing about girls and going clubbing. The song ends with another glimpse of the future. Time spent with his lover who can help him step away from being himself. Living in a society with other people who have lived hidden lives. But the song ends with ‘I’ll sing a tune’, so he goes back to being the performing monkey.

Jet Skis on the Moat is about the first tentative meeting with the estranged lover. Jet Skis on the Moat quite possibly being an injoke shared in happier times. The lover is equally depressed ‘didn’t recognise through the smoke, pyjama pants and a Subutteo cloak’ sparks images of someone who has let themselves go. Our hero points out that the lover left quickly, not giving their relationship a chance. But this not a time for reproach. If the lover wants to cry, he is there for him.

If this was a stage musical, Body Paint would close act one. Our hero realises what a mess he has made of his life trying to keep up so many different faces and thinking he could have it all. His inner voice is singing to the famous persona, pointing out how he can never shake the personas completely and ends up hurting himself as well as everyone else around him.

Act two starts with our hero looking back at his childhood. Foreign holidays, being expected to behave and play in a certain way, and already starting a life of pretence, by pretending to fall asleep on the way back, quite possibly because he didn’t want to communicate and preferred his own little world.

Next he looks back on his days with the band. ‘I’ve conjured up wonderful things’. His big ideas that the band were always excited to hear, and despite all his regrets, being with them has been a thrill. He doesn’t blame fame entirely for his shortcomings because he has enjoyed so much of it.

Hello You is our hero talking to the estranged lover once again. They’re still dragging out a long goodbye and our hero is saying sorry. He talks about times they spent together as youngsters recording an album in rural France ‘overtaking the tractor, waiting for sets of winds and bends to level out again, picking a moment along a country lane, the kind where the harmonies feel right at home’. He offers to go back to the start and capture that feeling they had as young boys.

If this was a stage show at this point the lover would come onto the stage and our hero would sing to him, asking him to be patient while our hero plays the role he has to for the people around him. But one day he hopes, when the time is right, they will get a third attempt at getting their relationship right.

The show ends with our hero alone, looking back on his life and refusing to carry on beating himself up for doing what it’s taken to find happiness in the past, be it having fun with the warm up act (the lover who started off as a warm up act for the band), or drugs (delivered to a hotel), he looks back and sees it’s what he’s needed to do keep sane. But he needs to remember that his life isn’t a race and things will happen in their own time.

#alex turner #arctic monkeys #the car #miles kane #arctic monkeys lyrics #alex turner lyrics

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theseshipsshallsail · 4 months ago

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MUSIC (THE SHORTHAND OF EMOTION)

It was his high school Latin professor who claimed one must be au fait with a number of languages in order to appreciate the world’s hidden meanings, and if Oliver’s learned anything in regards to the walking enigma known as Elio Samuel Perlman, it’s that while he may be fluent in English, French, and his native Italian, the medium of music remains his preferred method of communication; and via which, he expresses himself perfectly.

The frustrated chords of Chopin and Rachmaninoff, for example, born of their initial games of cat-and-mouse.

The melancholic strains of Elgar’s Nimrod when they were no longer speaking.

The beckoning call of Bach’s Capriccio when they were.

But then came the berm. A kiss that shocked him to the core. Two endless nights spent staring at the stars whilst Elio hammered away at the Bösendorfer’s ivory keys. Chain-smoking a pack of unfiltered Gauloises as he clung to his mantra of being good. Grateful. That what they had - a friendship unlike all others - would ultimately suffice.

Only it couldn’t.

Of course it couldn’t.

Under the harsh Riviera sun he’d been reborn, and not even the threat of familial disownment was enough to prevent his leap into the unknown.

The music was different, after that.

After I’ll see you at midnight.

After I don’t want you to go.

After I spoke to your father. He’s happy to extend my stay.

It was richer.

Brighter.

Infused in every carefree giggle: tap-tap-tapped over his too-full heart in the burnished light of dawn.

And Oliver? He loves it.

Loves him.

The inscrutable maestro who toppled his house of cards, and whose unconditional acceptance settled deep and warm and forever in his rib cage.

They’re ensconced in the villa’s living room, the pair of them, one perfectly idle Wednesday afternoon: Elio plunking bits and pieces at randomas he makes the occasional note on a sheet of ubiquitous staff paper. Sometimes just a scale. Sometimes a whole refrain. Head bowed. Lips pursed. Seemingly unbothered by the portly bumblebee that entered through the unshuttered windows, and has since taken refuge atop the tall glass of apricot juice forgotten on the credenza.

Ostensibly, Oliver’s double-checking his next chapter’s pages for Signora Milani when the other man arches in a cat-like stretch; the hem of his Lacrosse polo-shirt revealing a pale swathe of skin at his hip. Rising from the plush piano bench, he wanders over to the corner, and Oliver’s curiosity sees him setting his revisions aside as Elio casts an eye over his parents’ extensive record collection: running his thumb along the stiff, cardboard spines.

His face is unreadable as he makes his selection. Slides the vinyl from its protective sleeve. Blows the dust from the vintage turntable, then aligns the stylus with the album’s outer groove. But the moment Édith Piaf’s voice crackles through the air - smothering the din of the knife-grinder’s whetstone - Oliver finds himselfcaptivated.

Non, rien de rien, it begins as Elio closes his eyes, swaying gently to the mournfully poignant tone. Non, je ne regrette rien…

He’s across the room without conscious decision: feeling a tad self-conscious when he offers an unsteady hand.

Feeling decidedly more so when Elio blinks at him owlishly, before finally reaching to take it.

Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait, the powerful lyrics continue, and his dance partner swallows - clearly bewildered - as Oliver pulls him closer, one palm cradling his slender waist whilst the other flattens their tangled fingers over his left breast pocket.

Time distils as he guides them into a rocking back-and-forth: Elio’s grip sliding from wrist to elbow, then further, lingering on the sweat-damp hair at Oliver’s collar. If he didn’t know better, he’d think him the picture of innocence, yet the fact that he does - know better, that is - has him grinning like an idiot when he recognises the genuine emotion beneath his slightly-flushed features.

The three little words that thus far remain unspoken, shining explicitly in his imploring gaze.

“No, I regret nothing,” Oliver translates in a halting whisper, thanking the decisions of his past that irrevocably shaped his future. “Because my life…” he continues, ghosting a kiss to the shell of Elio’s ear. “My joy…” Another, to the hinge of his jaw. “Sweetheart…” The anticipation is glorious. “Today, that starts with you...”

#call me by your name #cmbyn #cmbyn fanfic #elio x oliver #supportarmiehammer

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letswrites · 8 months ago

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C.L- Never be the same

Masterlist

Synopsis

Collaborative playlist

Chapter 1 everybody, let's get into this!!! Enjoy :)

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Chapter 1: A girl with hazel eyes and a hand full of scars

May, 2023

York Veterinary Center, NYC, USA

"You need some break from this!" Heidi said bending over the receptionist's counter "I don't have time for a break" she said while signing a few records "I bet you have you just don't want to" She sighed and stared at her "Probably you have a lot of doctors here. You work a lot and I am one hundred percent you can take a break for a whole week if you asked to. You just don't want to delegate" "What can I do in my time off?" "Don't you have any hobbies, family or friends?" "I have. I have time for them on the weekends" "What about a trip? I know you like the French Riviera" she looked out of nowhere with a dreamy expression on her face "Yes, Monaco personally" "See? Talk to your boss, take a a few days off, go to Monaco" "Nah, I would need to save some money for it" she thought a little "So come to Miami with me" "Miami?" "Yes" "What do you have to do in Miami?" "Go to the beach, watch Miami Heat play, watch Formula 1" "Formula 1" she always forgets Heidi dates Daniel Riccardo "Do you like it?" her last ex was crazy about it. It have been 6 years since they broke up and she haven't seen one race since then "I haven't watched a grand prix for a while now" "Really?" "Yes. 6 years" "Wow. It's a lot" "Yeah. Is Daniel still racing?" "Not at the moment but he's Red Bull's reserve driver" "That's nice" Heidi disagreed with that "Did you attend a race already?" "Never" "Come with me then! I can get you a VIP pass with Dan" She actually missed watching the races and she always wished to go to watch one in person. It would also be expensive even with the tickets on Daniel but less than Monaco for sure "Alright, H, I go with you" "Really?!" "If I get the day off, yes" "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'm so happy!" She jumped over her and hugged her friend "Okay, now let me work" "Alright"

...

May, 7th, 2023

Miami International Autodrome, Miami, USA

Charles was everything but satisfied with his position that weekend. Carlos started from 3rd position and him from 7th. What a good way to start a race. The thing that made him most angry was how could super Max win the damn race starting from 9th in the grid when he couldn't even gain one single position?! At least he maintained in 7th while his teammate lost 2 positions ending in 5th. Things were shady between the Ferrari's drivers that year. And the "crème de la crème" of the weekend was an annoying journalist wanting to talk to him at all costs

"Is it a good time?" It wasn't a good time, he hadn't stopped Super Max and he climbed the grid to get the pole. But even so, he smiled politely "Yes, sure" he wasn't convincing himself but seemed to convince the lady "Good! Charles, how do you feel?" Broken. Useless. "Not in my best mood, but... Looking forward to better days" "That's the spirit. Can we do something to up your mood?" Force Max to retire next season "Just keep supporting me, seriously, your love messages... Mean a lot to me" the interviewer opened a warm smile "You're lovely" he opened the same smile "I'm just being honest" and he was "would you like to make a retribution for a fan?" No! At least not right now. I was just hoping that you all would leave me alone to hate myself for the crap I'm feeling today "Sure" "Great! Please follow me" Nice! Now he had to relocate. "Wait here" she walked a few feet towards a tall man "Excuse me" She started. The man who was laughing with two girls turned to the lady who Charles knew as 'the interviewer' "Daniel Ric? Are you the fan of mine?" Daniel opened his big signature smile "No. I mean, I am but the surprise isn't for me but for this little one here" Daniel stepped to the side and showed a little girl, who was about 6 to 8 years old, wearing Ferrari's whole outfit. The journalist squatted and asked the girl "Hello. My name is Valeriana, I’m a journalist, do you want to meet my friend?" 'We are not friends' Charles thought. The kid nodded "Charles, would you like to join us?" "Sure!" he said shyly and the child tapped her mouth as she was meeting Santa "Oh, my God" he didn't know why but her reaction gave him the power he wanted back. He smiled and offered a hug to the little one, lifting her up with one arm only "I didn't know the fan was her. Could have warned me so I would have aligned my hair" he told Valeriana running his fingers on his hair, causing everyone to laugh "Hi, nice to meet you, princess" she was still the same way, frozen like a photograph "She's a shy lady, don't be offended" Daniel placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed lightly "Hi!" she said quickly just for him "Hi! How's your name?" he replied warmly, a smile on his face "Celeste" "That's a beautiful name. Is it French?" "Yes" "Nice to meet you, Celeste. I'm Charles" "You're amazing" "Do you think?" "Yes" "Well, thank you, Celeste. You're also amazing" she blushed, wishing to disappear "Would you like me to sign your cap?" "Please" "And take a picture?" she nodded affirmatively " Okay, let's do it. Will you take the picture, Dan?" "Sure!" Daniel grabbed Celeste's mother's cell phone and photographed them "There you go" "Does someone have a pen?” Charles asked. People started to look around for a black marker as if God had asked himself, and the first person who did it was a girl, one of the girls who was talking to Daniel when he first came to the scene "Here" she had a strong American accent and her hands had tons of scars. He didn't feel as hypnotized as he was at that moment in a while. She had brown, straight, short hair but long enough to be tied, hazel eyes, and light skin which he figured out was soft even with all the scars when his fingers brushed on hers at the moment he grabbed the marker "Thanks" she nodded. Charles placed Celeste on the ground and knelled to sign her cap and shirt "There you go, Celeste" she hugged him "Thank you!" he hugged "You're welcome" Then he stood up "Say goodbye to Charlie, Celeste" Daniel told her "Goodbye" he smiled, she was so cute "Bye bye" then she ran for her mother . "Thanks, Charles" "It was my pleasure" then he walked away from the journalist and walked towards the owner of the pen "Your pen, miss" "Thanks" she grabbed it quickly "Would you like me to sign something for you?" "No, thank you" "Or a picture?" "I'm good" Wow, she was tough "Do you know I..." "You're Charles Leclerc, I'm aware" "Oh... okay"' he coughed "Goodbye, then" "Goodbye" If little Celeste didn't appear to cheer up his day, he would be damned.

...

Later that day

"Come on, it will be funny. I promise" Lando threw an arm around Charles's neck and forced him to walk toward the club "Lando" the British man pretended he wasn't listening "Lando" he still didn’t give a shit "Lando!" Charles shouted. Lando stopped and the Monegasque got rid of him "What!? Don't want to have some fun?" "Lando..." "Even Max is here, mate!" he turned to where his friend was pointing. Max was holding hands with Kelly and right beside them Daniel holding hands with a blonde lady he assumed was his girlfriend and with them, the hazel eyes princess who caught his attention earlier that day "Look in my eyes and tell me you don't want to come with me. Do this and I'll let you go"

of course, he wanted now, his girlfriend probably wouldn't but he was not going to do anything wrong "You won. I'm joining you" Lando smiled "Yes! Let's go" and they walked into the club. Already inside the duo decided to split

"I'll have us some drinks, go dance" "Will you find me?" "Sure! Who else would dance so badly in this club?” Charles threw him a deadly look “I’ll call you if I don't, mate" "Alright" Lando made his way to the bar and Charles to the crowd. Maybe dancing made his mind off the championship. Even though his mind was already on something else, the tough girl with honey eyes and scared hands. Charles was so distracted that he bumped into Heidi "Sorry, miss." her drink spilled on the floor “I can pay you another drink” She turned to face him "It's fi... Charles!" he looked confused "Do we know each other?" "I'm Heidi" he still had no clue "I'm Daniel's girlfriend" "Dani Ric?" "Yes!" "Oh! Hi, it's nice to meet you" "Nice to meet you too. Hum... are you here alone?" "No! I am with Lando" "He's such a nice boy, isn't he?" "He is" they smiled politely to each other "You came with Daniel, right?" "Yes, he's looking for a restroom" "Good" "I also came with a friend, she went to the bar to find herself a drink" Heidi looked from above Charles' shoulder "Look her there" he turned to where she pointed "Apparently she found your friend too". Heidi's friend was the girl he was looking for and she was walking toward him, giggling with Lando Norris "Fuck, Lando! You promised it would be funny" Charles thought. "Hey, guys!" Lando started "Heidi! How long. How have you been?" "I'm good, thanks" "Where's Daniel?" "Bathroom" "Oh! Right" "I see you found my friend" "Yes, hum..." he turned to her "That's Charles" "I met him earlier today" "Hello again" "Hi" "Your drink, mate" "Thank you" "Wow, I can't go to the bathroom and you guys already start the party without me" Daniel came to break the tension of the moment "Hi, Daniel" Lando and Charles said in unison "Babe, let's dance" "Alright. See you guys around" Heidi and Daniel walked away from the trio. "Charles, do you mind if I take her to dance?" OF COURSE I MIND, MOTHERFUCKER! YOU HAVE THE WHOLE CLUB TO DANCE WITH AND YOU WANT TO TAKE THE GIRL I LIKE TO DANCE?! Charles thought without actually being able to say cause after all he was taken already "No, not at all" "Alright" Lando offered a hand to her "Shall we?" she giggled "Okay". Charles gave a big sip of his drink "How can she be interested in him and not me?" he sipped again "I might have offered her a drink instead of an autograph".

....

A few minutes later she was walking toward his direction again. He was sitting on the bench with his third drink. This time she was not with Lando "Hello again for the third time today" she smiled politely "Hi again for the third time on this da. Can I sit here?" "Yes, please" "Thanks" "Where is Lando?" "He went back to the bar" "And you rather sit here with me?" "He left his friend alone in a club. I felt bad for you" "I thought you didn't like me" "I don't dislike you. I just have empathy" "You're kind" she smiled, politely "Thank you" "So you don't hate me?" "You are just way too convinced in my opinion" "I'm not!" "You seemed to be" "I know. I was just trying to impress you" "You chose poorly, Mr Leclerc" "I thought so. Sorry" "It's okay" "Are you from Miami?" "New York" "And what are you doing here?" "Heidi invited me to watch the race. She says I work too much" "What do you work with?" "I am a veterinarian" "Wow. So you're very clever" "I am" "And that's why you have so many scars on your hand" "Why did you choose the profession?" "I always went along more with animals than humans" he laughed "Vous êtes drôle" "Merci. Mais je t'avais dit la vérité" "Parlez-vous français?!" "Oui. J'ai apprendré a l'école" "J'ai pensé que vous êtes française" "I'm not. I'm American" "Well, I like animals too" "Do you have a pet?" "Are you trying to get a new client?" "No" she said seriously "I am just trying to talk" "Okay" he sipped his drink again “I don't. "And you? Any pets?" Yes, a black cat. Her name is Sabrina" "How cute!" she grinned, shyly "I would like a turtle too but I live in an apartment in Brooklyn" he laughed "I already saw turtles in Monte Carlo" Her eyes brightened "Monaco?" "Yes. It's where I'm from" "I dream of visiting Monaco" "You would love it. It's... perfect. Even with all its imperfections" She could see how passionate he was about his home country "I believe" he looked at her and for the first time in the night their eyes met and they smiled at each other. But, of course, Lando had to break it "Your drink, lady" "Thanks" "Move" She sat in between Lando and Charles and the Monegasque swore he couldn't breathe. But at the same time he could breathe so perfectly cause his nostrils were happily filled with her scent, her perfume

"What were you guys talking about?" "Monaco. I dream of visiting it" "Do you know I live in Monaco?" "You are both lucky" "Maybe you could visit me one day" "What?!" the other two said in unison "I... I couldn't" "Why not? Is that about money? I can pay for everything for you" "No, Lando, I can't accept that. Especially that we just met" he smirked "So we should know each other mor" She blushed "Yeah, maybe" Charles just wanted to die.

...

About an hour and a half later Heidi and her friend decided to go back to the hotel

"Well, I am leaving now guys. Thanks for the night. I had a lot of fun" "My pleasure, lady" Lando kissed her hand, she giggled and Charles rolled her eyes "Mine too" the Monegasque added "May I have your phone number?" Lando asked "I don't think so" "Your socials maybe?" She chewed her inner cheek "Sure" he smiled "Great!" He opened Instagram and gave it to he, she tapped her account. Charles had an eye on it, trying to get the username without having to ask her or Lando but he didn't succeed "There you go" "Thanks! I DM you" "Alright. Hum... Bye then. Till another day, maybe" "Bye!" The F1 drivers said in unison. As soon as she turned her back, Charles glued his eyes on Lando's phone. Of course, it was a private account. He didn't have much time to see the username cause Lando already was reaching for another drink but he saw a lipgloss on the floor. Had she dropped it on purpose? It didn't matter. Charles just grabbed it and reached out for its owner “Hey!” She turned back “Your lipgloss” “Oh my God! Thank you! It's my favorite” “You’re welcome. Hum… can I also have your Instagram? So we can talk” “Sure! Give me your phone” he did “There you go. I am waiting for your text” “Okay” “Bye, Charles. Enjoy the rest of your evening” “Bye. You too” and that was it, the beginning of their story.

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