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aquarelliwrites · 4 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

Liked this? Check out my masterlist!

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misskattylashes · 4 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 · 28 days 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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carsthatnevermadeitetc · 1 year 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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vintagelasvegas · 16 days ago

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Sands, December 1952

SANDS HOTEL & CASINO: TIMELINE

'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 opened 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.

'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. Sands opens 12/15/52 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 two percent 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.

'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.

'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, 1/4/73.

'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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letswrites · 4 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.

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc 16 #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc f1 #scuderia ferrari

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bosses-stay-flawless · 4 days ago

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R. I. P Quincy Jones. ❤️ My parents loved his music and made sure everyone knew it!!! His impact will always be felt across many genres of music.

He worked with so many of the greats. My favorite song/ album that comes to mind is Fly Me To The Moon by Frank Sinatra. Many of you know I’m a big Sinatra fan.

The first collaboration…

Frank Sinatra and Quincy Jones’ very first collaboration was in June 1958 to raise money for the United Nations Refugee Fund. Jones, who found success in Europe before he found it at home, was working in Paris for Barclay Records when he got a phone call from the office of Princess Grace Of Monaco stating that Frank Sinatra wanted him to assemble an orchestra for a concert to be held at the principality’s Sporting Club. Elated by the prospect of working with one of his musical idols, Jones handpicked 55 musicians and took them with him on a train down to the French Riviera.

On his first meeting with Sinatra, the singer offered few instructions. “He didn’t say more than ten sentences to me the whole time,” remembered Jones. “He walked into the rehearsal, hit me with those steely blues, and said, ‘You’ve heard the records, you know what to do.’”

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satoshi-mochida · 10 months ago

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Some games I hope get a localization announcement in 2024

Due to the new 30 image limit, I had to change the list a bit.

From previous years:

Ciel Nosurge DX /Ar Nosurge DX(Please, Koei Tecmo/Gust)

Asatsugutori

Kochira, Haha Naru Hoshi Yori

Murder Detective: Jack The Ripper

Buddy Mission: BOND

AIR for Switch

Knights in the Nightmare Remaster

Medabots Classics Plus(it seems there was a weird legal issue about a scam company using the Medarot name for NFT crap that was settled in the actual owner's favor recently)

Yoru, Tomosu

Memories Off Historia Vol. 1 and Memories Off Historia Vol. 2

Death Match Love Comedy!(set in the same world as Raging Loop)

Yokai Watch 4/4++(Level 5 seems to be hopefully getting a second wind, so maybe this will come over, too)

Dragon Quest X Offline

Blue Reflection Sun(I'm mostly interested in this just for the story details from before Blue Reflection: Second Light. I think someone on the Blue Reflection wiki might be translating/summarizing the story, though.)

Kanon for Switch

Mizen Tantei: The Protea Cases

Gensou Shoujo Wars

Gizoku Tantei Nosuri

Kanda Alice mo Suiri Suru.

New additions.

Fitness Boxing feat. Hatsune Miku: Isshoni Exercise

Riviera: The Promised Land Remaster

Xicatrice

Murder Mystery Paradox: Fifteen Years of Summer

Yggdra Union 3-in-1 Special Edition

Natsu-Mon: 20th Century Summer Vacation

Hayarigami 1-2-3 Pack

Bar Stella Abyss

The witch of the Ihanashi

everlasting flowers

Suspects Room: Keishichou Monzen Sho Torishirabe Han

Bonus:

SINce Memories: Off the Starry Sky

Magatsu Barai

Amnesia World for Nintendo Switch

Heaven Burns Red

To All of Mankind(with fixed bug and DLC issues)

Exile Election

Revue Starlight visual novel

Hoping for more information on Fate/Extra Record; there hasn't been any in a while(that I'm aware of).

I put some of Nippon Ichi's VNs from a few years ago on here in the off chance that, after bringing Process of Elimination over, they'd be willing to bring more over, too.

It's nice to see a bunch that were on last year's list actually got brought over or are in the process of coming over.

...seriously, KT, please bring Ciel Nosurge DX/Ar Nosurge DX over.

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houseofbrat · 7 months ago

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Timeline of events, Part 2

[part 1]

01 MARCH 2024: Prince William ignores a “How’s Catherine?” question from someone at Wrexham during his St. David’s Day visit to Wales.

Thomas Kingston’s death revealed to be “catastrophic head injury” due to gunshot, i.e. suicide.

Victoria Murphy writes in Town & Countryabout the UK’s Editor’s Code of Practice prohibiting writing about the lack of information available to the public regarding The Princess of Wales’s condition.

02 MARCH 2024: Roya Nikkhah reports Queen Camilla’s annual March time-off as a sudden vacation instead of a regularly scheduled annual break she always takes at this time of year.

04 MARCH 2024: TMZ & Backgrid establish proof of life of The Princess of Wales and her mother.

UK media is pressured by Kensington Palace to *NOT* publish the photographs in the UK, even though everyone else in the world can see them online.

05 MARCH 2024: Richard Palmer notes that there is no legal reason why the pictures of Carole and Kate cannot be published due to them being on a public road.

The British Army is forced by Kensington Palace to amend their Trooping the Colour once the UK media started circulating stories about Kate’s appearance in June, which is two months after Easter.

Dominic Ponsford in the (UK) Press Gazette wrote about the media blackout regarding Carole & Kate’s driving pictures.

Kate’s uncle Gary Goldsmith briefly comments on the lack of Kate information on Celebrity Big Brother.

06 MARCH 2024: King Charles has a meeting with the Canadian PM and officially greets two ambassadors.

Kensington Palace “spokesman” to (US) People magazine: “His focus is on his work and not on social media,” a spokesman says.

Normal people on reddit notice this bullshit and comment on it.

Emily Andrews comments on the “invisible contract” between UK media and Kensington Palace, e.g. the "huge pressure" to not publish the photo of Kate & Carole.

London’s Air Ambulance Charity, whose gala benefit William attended on 07 February 2024, announced they did not receive enough government support.

08 MARCH 2024: King Charles photographed in a car on Windsor Castle grounds.

Prince William demonstrates proof of life when he visits The Oval in support of for-profit company, Notpla, and seaweed.

10 MARCH 2024: A Mother's Day photo is published and released to news agencies of Kate with George, Charlotte, and Louis.

Later that day, the Associated Press (AP), Agence-France Presse (AFP), Reuters, and Getty all "killed" the photo due to "manipulation."

11 MARCH 2024: Kate "apologized" for the photo manipulation on Twitter saying: "Like many amateur photographers, I do occasionally experiment with editing. I wanted to express my apologies for any confusion the family photograph we shared yesterday caused. I hope everyone celebrating had a very happy Mother’s Day. C"

Kate is photographed next to William in a car leaving Windsor Castle.

Prince William attends The Commonwealth Day service with Queen Camilla and other members of the BRF while King Charles spoke to the service via pre-recorded video message.

International media goes wild with the revelation that Kensington Palace released a photo that was "manipulated" and rejected by major, international news outlets.

12 MARCH 2024: William attends the private funeral service for Thomas Kingston at the Chapel Royal, St James’s Palace.

14 MARCH 2024: William visits WEST Youth Zone in White City, London.

Meghan Markle launches a lifestyle brand, American Orchard Riviera," on Instagram.

AFP Global News Director, Phil Chetwynd, states that Kensington Palace is no longer a "trusted" news source.

William attends The Diana Legacy Awards in London in the evening.

Jessica Reed Kraus, aka HouseInHabit, publishes a "source" saying Kate had "surgery on her bowel," yet the "source" did not know that that kind of surgery could be classified as "abdominal."

17 MARCH 2024: Forbes publishes an article with the rumor that the BBC has been told to be on alert for an announcement from the Royal Family regarding Kate's health.

Roya Nikkhah for The Sunday Times published an article whereupon a "royal source" said, "I can see a world in which the princess might discuss her recovery out on engagements. If she was going to do it, that’s how she would do it.”

Matt Wilkinson of The Sun publishes an exclusive that Kate was seen "out and about" in Windsor.

18 MARCH 2024: Video of Will & Kate shopping at the Windsor Farm Shop circulates on TMZ and The Sun. Kensington Palace doesn't complain about it publicly.

Russell Myers of The Mirror publishes an "exclusive" report regarding Kate's "return to public life."

The royal.uk website has some minor changes regarding The Duke of York and The Duke & Duchess of Sussex.

19 MARCH 2024: William visits Sheffield, England, as part of his Homewards program.

Russell Myers of The Mirror publishes an "exclusive" regarding allegations of Kate's medical records being breached at The London Clinic.

Kate Mansey of The Times publishes an article about how William does not collaborate or work with his father.

20 MARCH 2024: The London Clinic responds to the allegations of Kate's medical records being breached after 29 January 2024.

Daily Mail's Ephraim Hardcastle: Kate was unable to attend the Irish Guards' St Patrick's Day parade... But put £2,000 behind the bar for them instead

Daily Mail's Rebecca English's EXCLUSIVE: What William really thinks about the Kate conspiracy theories. And why it's been so heartbreaking for him to see her reputation trashed in the same way as Diana's

Prince William visits the Welsh Guards at Combermere Barracks, Windsor, where the photos were taken by the Ministry of Defence/Welsh Guards.

21 MARCH 2024: Hannah Furness of The Telegraph publishes an article stating: "The Princess of Wales has been working from home on her early years project to improve the lives of babies, as she eases back into normal life after her abdominal surgery. Kensington Palace confirmed that she had been kept up to date with her campaign and the “overwhelmingly positive” results of a study she inspired."

Tatler magazine publishes a cover story on Prince William by Wesley Kerr. "The burden of leadership is falling upon Prince William - but as former BBC Royal Correspondent, Wesley Kerr OBE, explains in Tatler’s May cover story, the future king is taking charge."

Daily Mail: Kate Middleton has been working from home on her early years project considered her 'life's work' as she recovers from abdominal surgery - amid hopes she will return to public life by Easter

People magazine repeats the Kate paid the bar tab story.

Jackie Annett, The Mirror: "Kate Middleton spotted out in Windsor again - this time with George, Charlotte and Louis" “…[Kate] comes here quite a lot, it’s on her doorstep and Adelaide Cottage is a couple of 100 yrds away. They were at the tennis on Sunday-my friend plays there & Kate was watching the children, they’re there all the time”

22 MARCH 2024: Kate announces she is undergoing "preventative chemotherapy" for cancer.

Lambrook's Lent 2024 term ends. School on break until summer term starts on 17 April 2024.

24 MARCH 2024: People magazine: Kate "wrote every word herself,” a palace source confirms to PEOPLE of the Princess of Wales' video speech, which was released on Friday and filmed two days prior in the gardens of Windsor Castle. A family friend adds, “She wrote the words herself, delivered it personally and wanted to decide when the time was right to hit the world with this news.”

28 MARCH 2024: Valentine Low says it's not clear when William pulled out of Constantine's memorial service--some say day of, others say two weeks prior to the service.

31 MARCH 2024: King Charles & Queen Camilla attended the Easter Mattins service at St. George's Chapel, Windsor Castle.

01 APRIL 2024: Daily Mail: "Princess of Wales was FORCED to reveal her cancer diagnosis after news threatened to leak: Sources reveal Kensington Palace was contacted about Kate's illness and needed to get ahead of the story… so who revealed her secrets?"

02 APRIL 2024: Natasha Anderson & Emily Jane Davies's story about Kate being "FORCED to reveal her cancer diagnosis" is deleted from the Daily Mail website.

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bracketsoffear · 7 months ago

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Caterpillars (E.F. Benson) "In the beautiful Villa Cascana on the Italian Riviera, all is not as it seems. Why does the hostess leave a perfectly charming bedroom unoccupied? Why does Arthur Inglis present our nameless narrator with a caterpillar in a cardboard pill-box one lunchtime? And rather more bizarrely, why do luminous, bloated and gigantic versions of this creature haunt his dreams? Or could it possibly be that he is wide awake?"

SPOILERS BELOW CUT

Ratman's Notebooks (Stephen Gilbert) "When his nagging mother discovers a rat infestation, the anonymous writer of these notebooks sets out to drown the pests, but finds himself unable to go through with it. Instead, he befriends the rats, learning to train and communicate with them.

Before long he has the idea of using the rats for revenge against a world in which he has been a failure. His target is his hateful boss, Mr. Jones, who treats him with supreme disrespect and plans to fire him and replace him with someone less expensive. The narrator records his plans in chilling detail as his campaign for vengeance progresses from vandalism to robbery to the most horrific of murders…"

At the end of the story, the narrator is visiting the Stanleys in England. It turns out that Inglis is riddled with cancer. No operation is possible to save him. Mrs. Stanley can’t help but thinking he caught it at the villa even though she took precautions to clean that vacant room and have no one stay there. It seems that someone had died of cancer in that room a year before. The notion of cancer as something infectious may, given the state of medicine at the time, been prevalent (and some cancers are caused by infectious agents).

I don't think that I need to explain why caterpillars either supernaturally spreading a lethal disease or being a metaphor for said disease is peak Corruption.

#corruption poll #the corruption #poll #the magnus archives #leitner tournament #Caterpillars #E.F. Benson #Ratman's Notebooks #Stephen Gilbert

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malina-33 · 1 year ago

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Summary: It’s summer 2022, Nortern Italy, Miles and Alex are on vacation before The Car tour.

And they are happier than ever.

Word count: 3,5k

A/N: I missed the everyday cozy life of their relationship, so I wrote this :) Creative-crisis conversations presented as well, but they don’t take far away from the happy ending. Inspired by "Call me by your name", so for a better atmosphere, I advise you to include this playlist in the background.

Also, English is not my first language, so if you find grammar mistakes, feel free to point them out to me!

Enjoy these two sweeties💕

The wide shirt's hem fluttered in the warm wind, three buttons at the top were casually undone, and the sleeves were carelessly rolled up to the elbows. Alex, covering his eyes, lay on a soft sun lounger under the shade of the terrace's arches of their small villa in Portofino, stretching out his long legs. His chest rose and fell slowly in sleep, while his hands rested relaxed on the armrests. Silken curls played with the gusts of breeze, but surrendering, they fell onto his face and tickled his nose, causing the man to unconsciously wrinkle it like a child.

Miles couldn't take his eyes off this literally biblical scene. "Taking Al away to the Italian Riviera for two weeks before the tour started was my best decision" the man thought smugly. Only God knew when they would be able to spend such peaceful time alone again, without rushing anywhere and hiding from anyone. And now, leaning against a marble column with his hands folded on his chest, Kane smiled until wrinkles formed around his eyes, unable to believe what he was witnessing. These sprawling palm trees in their backyard, the deafening trills of southern birds, the sweet sea air, and a serene tanned Alex in a milky linen suit, quietly dozing off after lunch - all of this was now accessible only to him, Miles, and he savored every second of this vacation that sometimes seemed surreal, like a calm before the storm. But he persistently pushed away such thoughts, continuing to revel in his own paradise.

They had already spent 10 days here, the first 3 of which they didn't venture beyond their plot on the hill, which offered a breathtaking view of the coast and emerald water. They were lingering in bed for a long time under the biting rays of the sun, plucking mandarins straight from the tree, and listening to vinyl records of Celentano on the veranda in the evenings, intertwining in each other's arms, merging and becoming the one. Then, finally realizing that missing the opportunity to stroll through such picturesque streets would be a crime, they started going out in town under the mountain after the sunset, when the heat subsided and the cicadas began their twilight concert. Every time they ordered a new pasta dish in local restaurants, hoping to try them all, but that was Italy...

In the mornings, they descend to the pebble beach, where Alex could lie for hours, reading books, while Miles were snorkeling in the Ligurian Sea, growing tired of waiting for his lover and retaliating by playfully splashing him with cool droplets. They would play in the water like teenagers, dunking each other or taking turns piggybacking. When the sun would started to scorch their skin, they would go to the local deli for ready-made lasagna with eggplant, always getting a few types of cannoli, new bottle of wine, olives and fruits. They would then retreat to their villa for the rest of the day, either playing the guitar, the only one they brought from their stuffy LA studio, or playing board games (for which Miles constantly called Alex "nonno," while he calmly continued to roll the dice), or falling asleep under the shade of the leafy trees right on the grass.

Miles hadn't laughed so often and so loudly, and more importantly, so genuinely, since their last joint tour. He felt an immense universal joy that was bursting from his chest, causing his cheeks to ache from the ever-present smile on his face. He felt alive next to the dearest and only person who truly understood him, which Alex had been for the past 17 years.

"How have we put up with each other for so long, Milo?" Turner laughed, finishing his glass of semi-sweet red wine.

And Kane replied seriously, capturing his alcohol-glistening gaze: "I no longer know how to live without you, Al."

And it was the absolute truth. They often had conversations like this, but Alex never actually put up with Miles, he did love him. He only put up with being apart from him. And it was always important for both of them to hear this small confession, like a spark of a cricket in the foliage, but a heart-wrenching one, even after a year, or 10, or 20 years of their relationship.

Relationship? Friendship, love, presence by each other's side, support, musical inspirations, passionate desires, care, hurt, forgiveness, kisses, hugs backstage and on stage, touches all over their bodies, eloquent glances, and ending with a single word proposals. That's what their relationship was. And if Miles were offered to never be a musician but to love Alex, he would still agree without any hint of hesitation, somewhere deep inside bitterly realizing that if Alex were faced with such a choice, he would have to think about it.

But at this moment, Miles didn't want to think about it at all, he only wanted to listen to his lover's steady breathing and bask in the fading sunlight with him. Miles walked around the column and silently sat down on the edge of the lounge chair. He lightly ran his hand over Turner's knee, not wanting to disturb, and then traced chiseled fingers slightly higher, along his thigh. However, even these gentle movements made Alex squirm, furrowing his brow and rolling over to the other side.

"Shh, sleep, my dear, I didn't mean to wake you," Miles whispered, soothingly continuing to stroke the man's leg.

"But I'm already awake," mumbled Alex sleepily, opening his eyes and immediately squinting in the bright light.

"What a shame," Kane sang mockingly, secretly delighted by this fact because he had missed Alex during the silence at their villa and mindless wandering through the rooms while he slept in the fresh air, "Will you move over?".

Alex squeezed himself into the corner of the lounge chair, making space as much as the single bed allowed. Miles approached him with a cunning smile, lying on his side, unable to fit his broad shoulders on the mattress even if he was alone, and invitingly opened his palms. Turner simply snorted and muttered something about a smug cat, pressing his back against Miles' contrasting cool chest compared to the scorching heat outside, covering man's hand that rested peacefully on his waist with his own, and intertwining their legs.

"So, you woke me up just to sleep together all cramped up? I don't want to anymore," Alex slowly stroked Miles' wrists, who closed his eyes in pleasure.

"Mmm, I just got bored being alone, you've been sleeping forever!"

"Mi, maybe an hour and a half at most," Turner said in a lecturing tone, turning slightly to give Kane a disapproving look.

"Well, I call that forever. Anyway, since you're already awake, let's think about our plans for the evening," Kane quickly changed the subject, kissing Alex's back of the neck, "I saw a poster for a local concert in the neighboring town. We can rent a scooter to get there, it's just a few kilometers away."

Alex burst out laughing at the last words, turning in his lover's embrace and almost touching noses with him.

"Oh, Kane, you don't even have a driver's license! And the fact that I rode 100 meters on it in a clip means nothing."

"We'll figure it out somehow, it can't be more difficult than tuning a guitar for the first time."

"Well, since I have such an experienced and confident driver, I can't deny myself the pleasure," Turner teased, pouting his lips and furrowing his brows like a college girl.

"Gosh, how cheap that sounds, Al. Those are second-rate tricks from middle school. Did I teach you to flirt like that?" Miles rolled his eyes, hiding a smile in the corners of his mouth.

"No, I think we just fucked right away," Alex retorted, immediately receiving a playful jab in the ribs, "Hey! Am I lying?"

"Do I need to remind you who first put his knee between my legs in the dressing room, huh?" Miles smirked, tucking Alex's overgrown locks behind his ear and stroking his slightly stubbled cheek. He looked angelically peaceful now, despite his unholy words.

"And do you regret it?" Seeing the silent denial, he continued, "Well, neither do I. So you don't need to teach me how to flirt, maestro. If we want to find a free scooter before sunset, we need to start getting ready. I was also planning to take a shower," Alex casually mentioned, slyly avoiding eye contact and running his hand suggestively along Miles' waist.

"Well, that's better already, at least the hints are subtler, but you've lost your touch. I'll have to remind you."

"Oi, you better do it indeed" Turner whispered in his ear. Honestly, he was amused at how they, two grown adults, were behaving as soon as intimacy was mentioned - it was like they were back in 10th grade of the school.

Once he calmed down, he reluctantly slipped out of the warm embrace and gracefully got up from the sun lounger, stretching and rising on tiptoes to better loosen his stiff limbs. Miles settled himself more comfortably, royally occupying the vacant spot and propping his head on his hand, watching Turner's toned body with a hungry gaze. He could do this for hours, knowing every mole, wrinkle, and scar.

"What are you looking at? Trying to find gray hairs?" Unable to withstand his scrutinizing eyes, the frontman softly spoke. Now he had his hands in the pockets, exposing his face to the sun and wind, which cautiously peeked onto the veranda through massive columns. Somewhere far below, the sound of the waves and children's laughter could be heard. Idyllic.

"It's too early for you to worry about that. I just can't get enough of looking at you. Clearly, this lifestyle suits you well, even though I fattened you up a bit, considering you were all skin and bones when you arrived."

"Afraid of breaking me?"

"I am," Miles admitted, not completely sure if he interpreted the question correctly. Turner smiled disarmingingly, the way he only smiled at him, leaned in, still keeping his hands in pockets, and planted a chaste kiss on the man's forehead before disappearing through the door.

"Catch up, or I'll manage without you," Alex said over the shoulder, fully aware that he wouldn't be able to handle anything without Miles. Not in life, not in the shower.

***

Comparing guitar tuning and riding a scooter turned out to be inappropriate, as Miles pointed out rather immodestly, getting behind the wheel, because the second one was elementary. During their short ride along the coast, Alex couldn't stop capturing breathtaking views with his vintage Canon. The peach-colored waves gently licked the shore, competing with each other for ownership of every stone on the beach, while the numerous bushes along the road swayed in the wind.

The neighboring town turned out to be Santa-Margherita-Ligure, welcoming the men with the warm glow of lights strung between each café and the loud Italian laughter that didn't quiet down until late at night. Leaving their mean of transport on the waterfront, they headed towards the main square, where light jazz melodies could already be heard. Ordinary chairs stood right on the historical cobblestones, occupying almost all the space, and a small mobile stage had been set up in the center, where musicians were tuning their instruments.

Taking seats in the corner of the front row, the men waited for the performance to begin.

"Have you forgotten what it's like to be on the other side of the stage?" Miles whispered, his lips almost touching Alex's ear.

"Sometimes I even prefer it here," Turner sadly smiled, "no obligations, masks, rehearsed lines, or unjustified expectations. You just exist in the music without thinking about how to reproduce it. I miss that."

Kane anxiously studied Alex's face from the side, trying to understand if he was speaking in a state of creative melancholy inspired by the upcoming concert or if he was simply revealing his deep pain that had burdened him all this time.

"Hey, I didn't mean to put you into existential ponderings. We can talk about it if it really bothers you, but not now. I purposely brought you here to relax and spend these last days with an empty mind, not to reflect on one careless question"

Miles didn't condemn him, but rather tried to hide his own anxiety behind a feigned admonition. He gently squeezed Alex's hand, caressing his knuckles with his thumb, and warmly smiled, knowing that this was the only support he could offer in public.

"Sorry-sorry-sorry," Alex babbled, running his hands forcefully over his face and organizing his thoughts, "forget about those words, we'll come back to it another time. You can hit me if I utter another sad-philosophical phrase that upsets you tonight."

Miles only laughed at that, patting his friend's knee, and, unable to resist, left an unnoticed kiss on his cheek, indicating that he would never fulfill his request in their lifetime.

Lost in conversations, they hadn't noticed that all the chairs had been taken and the band on stage was counting down seconds until the performance began, tightly gripping their bows in their hands. The increasingly suspenseful sound of the violin filled the entire square, eliciting sudden shivers from the audience and instantly isolating them from the rest of the world. Alex's full attention was now focused on the five people on stage, the sound that seemed to exist right in his head, and the melting night air. Rarely could he simply enjoy the melody without trying to dissect it into notes or analyze the lyrics.

Miles usually smoothed out the crease between his eyebrows that arose from such contemplation with a kiss, and he was ready to do it now, but as his gaze slid across the side of the face, he unexpectedly saw a serene smile on partially open lips. Turner leaned back in his chair, holding his hands between his thighs and slightly covering his eyes, which indicated his complete absence in our reality and his presence in his own, understood only by him and undoubtedly bringing him pleasure.

The concert lasted only an hour, not abundant in a wide repertoire. Towards the end, young men and women, children, and even racy grandmothers and grandfathers stood up from their seats to dance right in the square, laughing loudly at their clumsiness. Alex and Miles only watched this scene with warm smiles, tapping their feet rhythmically on the stone pavement, not wanting to attract unnecessary attention to themselves. The clock on the tower, located on the western side of the square, as was customary in all ancient city planning laws, struck 10 o'clock exactly at the moment when the musicians, in the heat of the final chord, sharply raised their bows towards the pitch-black sky, ending the performance. The square drowned in applause and whistling, evoking familiar motives from men's careers.

The air intoxicated their heads, and not wanting to return back so early, they turned into the depths of the city. Turner continued to photograph the local architecture and Miles against its backdrop with mocking skill, not allowing the camera to hang peacefully on his chest for more than two minutes. And when tourists would disappear from their sight, Kane with the agility of a cheetah would press Alex against the nearest wall of another you-know-who-lived-in-this-house-you-lustful-bastard building, pulling him into a tempting kiss and, despite all protests about his indifference to history, smiled contentedly on his lips, feeling Alex pull him closer by the collar of his leopard-print shirt.

They would laugh drunkenly, without drinking a glass, immediately receiving Italian curses from open balconies in response. They would play tag on narrow streets, after which they breathed heavily, resting their elbows on thr knees and joking about their advanced age. They would eat mango ice cream, licking the sweet drips from each other's fingers, and would never stop thinking for a moment about how lucky they are to be loved here and now.

***

They returned to the villa at midnight, exhausted from their long walk, hastily discarding their sticky clothes as they collapsed onto the unmade bed. Alex, resting his chin on Miles' chest, looked at him with such devoted eyes that Miles' heart skipped a beat at the impossibility of resisting those bottomless depths. In the moonlight, his sharp features softened, Alex's fingers gently tracing along the line of his jaw, while a warm smile lingered beneath his closed eyelids, etching itself into Miles' memory with fiery strokes.

"Mi, are you asleep?" Alex asked in a barely audible voice, listening to the rhythm of Miles' heartbeat beneath his cheek.

"No," Miles replied just as softly, shifting slightly on the crisp sheets to find a more comfortable position.

"Do you remember what I told you today about not feeling freedom in music?" Alex continued, as if afraid to disturb his own thoughts, "well, I realized just now that I'm the one closing myself off from it. But you know when? When you're not here. I'm tired of pretending to be someone else without you, tired of feeling not myself without you. And today, there on the square, when you were holding my hand, it hit me that since we met, no one else has come this close to me. You were and still are the only person who truly knows me. Can you imagine?" His voice broke into a hoarse laughter that, truth be told, sounded hauntingly beautiful in the peaceful silence.

"No one really knows me except for you. And I've been afraid to show my true self to anyone but you. But today, for the first time in a long while, I was able to listen to music without thinking about anything else but your fingers on my hands. And I realized," he paused, unconsciously gripping Miles' shoulder tighter, "I realized that I can perform on stage, just thinking about your hands, and then I won't have to try to hide behind a fabricated image to entertain the audience. Damn it, at 36 years old, I've come to the realization that I can simply sing without pouring my own problems into the songs, but instead, just give people the sound. A sound that resonates in their minds, in their feet and hands, a sound that makes them feel alive. I can make at least one of their days truly happy, just like you make my life happy simply by being with me."

Throughout this entire time, Miles never removed his nimble fingers from Alex's head, combing through his hair and soothing him. He could listen to his voice forever, automatically arranging the words into lines for new songs. The sight of Alex — until it stole the air from his lungs, until it brought tears to his eyes, until his pulse faltered in his veins, until a volcano of warmth erupted in his chest. Until he feels alive again.

"Al, if you haven't realized in 20 years of performing what you do for the lives of everyone who attends your concerts, then I'm going to have to enlighten you now," Miles chuckled softly, continuing to massage his head, "everything you've done for the industry is your way of existing in this world. You don't know any other ways, and that's your strength, not weakness. Your music is literally you, it's not about trends or fan requests. It's about how you communicate with others. You have an incredible gift of conveying intangible values through your lyrics. I have no idea how the gears in your mind work, but damn it, you're exceptional. And I swear, anyone who has ever heard any of your songs has pondered the words, thought about what you wanted to say, and ultimately thought about themselves. Your music has meaning, it's not just a string of letters for the sake of rhyme. It's a dictionary of your life. And since the day we first met, I've been carefully studying all your meanings and embodiments, so my music is about you and for you. You are my only inspiration, and if all you need to write a new song is a notebook and an image in your mind, then all I need is you by my side."

Miles may have wanted to add something more, but unable to bear the weight of such declarations of love, Alex impatiently kissed him, exhaling loudly from the fulfillment of a desire that had been building throughout his entire speech. Kane, quickly finding another activity for his tongue besides talking, trailed it along Alex's lower lip, feeling every crack from the salty water.

Alex smiled like a child, whispering 'I lovelovelove you' into his man's lips, continuously running palms along his cheeks. They continued to gaze at each other for a long time, carrying on a quiet conversation interrupted by occasional kisses, shivers down the spine, and tearful thank yous for everything. Even the stars, cautiously peering through the open windows, blushed at their whispers under the thin blanket. Only with the first rays of sunlight, when words ran out and lips swelled from endless contact, men finally fall asleep in a tangle of intertwined arms and legs.

And if Alex were offered to never be a musician but to love Miles, he would without hesitation write a song about it. Because it would be meaningless to confront the person with a choice who made it 17 years ago.

---------------------------------------------------

A/N: I sincerely want to believe that this is how everything really happened for them. All in all, these two deserve a happy ending. I will be incredibly happy if you leave feedback after reading! Everything that was born in my head would very much like to find a response in you💔🥺

#alex turner #miles kane #milex #the car era #milex fic #milex fanfiction #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfiction #alex turner imagine #Milex oneshot #alex turner one shot #milex 2023 #alex turner fanfic #am7 era #milex au #tlsp2 #tlsp #last shadow puppets

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