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theferrarieffect · 2 months

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all this, just to say goodbye (soy lago - part 2)

masterlist

part 1 here! also readable standalone tho

lando x carlos (carlando)

summary: After Carlos breaks the news to Lando that he's leaving McLaren, things haven't been the same. On an Instagram livestream for McLaren, Carlos impulsively invites Lando to visit him, and when Lando shows up, it makes Carlos realize that he's been more than a little bit blind for a long, long time.

warning(s): bit of angst, okay maybe a lot of angst

all this, just to say goodbye

June 5, 2020

Carlos rolled the drawstring of his hoodie between his thumb and pointer finger, over and over, feeling the cord beginning to fray in his grasp. A bottle of Estrella Galicia—the non-alcoholic beer McLaren was having them promote—was sitting in front of him. Waiting for him and Lando to go live on Instagram.

It was the first time he would’ve seen Lando in weeks; or, more accurately, one month and four days. But who was counting?

Carlos. Carlos was counting. Ever since the first day of May, Carlos had replayed their walk at the MTC in his mind at least several times a day. When Carlos had told Lando about his contract, and impending move, to Ferrari. Meaning he was leaving McLaren, and leaving Lando.

For weeks, the British driver’s expression of shock, which quickly morphed into horror, haunted Carlos’ dreams. He’d expected some sadness and disappointment—of course. Even for teammates, they were close friends. But not this. Not “soy lago”, instead of a smile, not Lando turning tail and all but sprinting back to his car.

They’d texted since then, and Lando had both apologized for his reaction and told Carlos he was genuinely excited for him, and that he deserved to drive in the fastest car the grid had to offer. But Carlos was still nervous about the prospect of seeing him again, even if on video. In front of an online audience, no less.

He slid the bottle of Estrella towards himself, angling his phone so that the label was in full view. And hit the button to go live.

“Hi everyone,” he said. He pressed the volume up button a few times. “I’m gonna wait a bit, until everyone joins...”

This truly never got easier. Carlos didn’t know how streamers—like Lando—or influencers did it. He was painfully aware of how clueless he looked as he walked around his kitchen in search of something to prop his phone up against. If Lando didn’t show up soon...

Right on cue, his screen split, the bottom half now almost entirely occupied by Lando’s face. He was wearing a baseball cap backwards, hands pressed against the sides of his head.

“Oh no—” Carlos started.

“Oh!” squeaked Lando, laughing in embarrassment. Then he threw his hands up, indignantly. “Oh no? What was that?”

Despite the trepidation Carlos had felt about the call, seeing Lando’s face again somehow calmed him down. “Why were you so close to the camera, man?” he teased.

Carlos could tell Lando was panicking. “I was just, I dunno,” he fumbled. “I dunno.” Lando scooted back in his chair so that his head finally appeared an appropriate size. “How are you?” he asked, a little stiffly, fidgeting in his seat.

Carlos told him (and the several hundred people who had joined the livestream by this point) that he was back in the UK. He asked Lando whether he’d been running. Lando grimaced in response.

“I went for a run yesterday,” Carlos couldn’t help but boast.

They exchanged more pleasantries, talked about the weather, their quarantine haircuts. Lando whipped off his cap, and Carlos saw that the curls had slowly begun to climb back over his forehead after he’d shaved his head back in April. Lando poured his Estrella into a stout little glass.

A little awkward, Carlos thought, but not as bad as I was afraid it might be.

Lando was smiling, fingering the stem of his glass. Carlos was so preoccupied with the way his eyes were crinkled at the corners that he said, almost without thinking, “When are you gonna come to see me? When are we gonna see each other?”

Lando’s icy blue eyes flared wide open. Carlos immediately realized that he fucked up, big time.

“Uh,” Lando said, much quieter than his normal boisterous tone. Carlos watched him push his glass away from him, put his hands behind his head, which Carlos knew he did when he got an uncomfortable interview question from a reporter. Started looking down at his desk. Not at Carlos.

Carlos thought that now would be the perfect time to be smited by a meteor or something. He’d settle for a spontaneous alien abduction, too.

“Are you allowed? Are we even allowed to meet in the UK?” he valiantly attempted to backtrack.

Lando’s gaze remained askew, hands still behind his head. “Um...” He ran his tongue across his top lip.

“Maybe it’s a strange topic to have,” Carlos muttered. “Especially in front of 7,679 people.”

Lando finally looked up, giggling at the unnecessary figure. “I don’t know yet,” he said, suddenly serious. He started fiddling with the beer again. “I’d need to look at the rules.”

“For example, we could go for a run. Or not?” Carlos wasn’t sure when he’d stop shooting himself in the foot. Or through his brain at this point.

“I don’t think so...”

Mercifully, Lando changed the topic back to the sponsor. The rest of the livestream was uneventful, but Carlos couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking pathetic he must’ve sounded, practically begging Lando to visit him. And for what? To assuage his guilt about going to Ferrari?

What an ass. If anything, Lando probably resented him, and this—publicly pressuring him to travel during a global pandemic—just gave him another good reason to.

Carlos poured the now flat beer slowly down his sink drain, shedding his jacket and folding it neatly over a chair. He’d planned to hit the gym for a bit, if you could call the old bench and scattered dumbbells in his basement a gym, and he was halfway down the stairs when his phone buzzed against his leg.

Lando looked up the rules lockdown starts on the 8th so tbh i could swing by but it’s the 5th today so have to be soon

Whoa. Carlos didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t that. He quickly typed up a response, cringed, and carefully formulated a less pitiful one.

Me Omg! If you’re okay with that please come I don’t have any plans. If it works with you and you actually want to visit, feel free

The three dots that indicated Lando was typing felt like they were boring into Carlos’ eyeballs.

Lando okk see u on the 6th then prob like 4ish can i stay the night?

Carlos felt his heart jump into his throat. He swallowed stubbornly against the lump.

Me Yes, of course

Well, that settled it. The next 24 hours would just have to be one big cleaning rampage.

The next day, Carlos surveyed his tidy flat with satisfaction. He thought to himself that had he been like some of the other guys who had a penchant for massive homes, he would’ve been screwed. Not that Carlos was a messy guy by any means—he’d heard plenty of horror stories from Lando about Charles’ disaster of a bedroom, with all manner of red polos and hoodies strewn over the floor, tangled bracelets and rings covering his nightstand visible on his stream. Not here. All the surfaces in the living room were dusted, the bathroom sink and tub shone, and Carlos had even tidied up his art corner. He’d picked up painting during quarantine and liked to think he was pretty decent at it, and he’d hung up some of his favorites around the house. A still life of his McLaren racing suit. His dog, Piñón, leaping to catch a tennis ball. A portrait of him and Lando, laughing together over a plate of sushi. More accurately—Carlos brandishing a pair of chopsticks with a cucumber roll in between them (“Lando, it has no fish this one, look!”) while Lando giggled in protest (“It’s NEAR a fish!”).

It was perhaps one of their last truly carefree moments in the McLaren motorhome. Carlos frowned at the painting, carefully unhooked it from its spot on the wall, and leaned it against the shoe rack in his closet. Lando would probably be weirded out if he saw it, he told himself.

The doorbell rang right when Carlos expected it to. After all, he’d pressed his nose against the sliding glass door of his bedroom, watched the Rolls-Royce Wraith glide into his driveway, saw Lando climb out and sling an orange duffel over his shoulder and slowly make his way up to the house.

Carlos forced himself to wait the requisite three seconds before opening the front door.

For perhaps the longest moment of his life, the two drivers stood face to face, saying nothing. Carlos could practically hear the blood pounding in his ears.

Then Lando’s face broke out into his usual, easy grin. “Carlito!”

“Ay, Lando,” Carlos said gruffly. They clapped each other on the back, and only then did Carlos notice that his palms were sweating.

“Come in.” He waved Lando through the door. “Welcome to mi casa.”

Carlos realized that Lando had only really seen his house once or twice, and even then, Lando had met him in the yard for a run, never stepping foot indoors. He made a mental note to host more often.

Piñón, having detected a foreign presence, raced up to Lando and pawed at him with his front legs, tail wagging furiously. Lando squealed in delight, scratching him behind his ears. The muppet laugh. Carlos hadn’t realized how—quiet—life was without it.

Carlos snapped his fingers. “Abajo, pup.” He loosened a treat from a jar on the counter and offered it to the enthusiastic dog, who quickly snapped it up.

Lando walked slowly around the living room. Carlos watched his eyes roam over the floating wooden shelves of trophies and helmets, the shaggy white beanbag that Carlos had bought for himself but had since become Piñón’s turf, the floor-to-ceiling windows. Carlos liked windows. He figured he was part plant, the way he absolutely needed natural light to flood every space he was in.

Then Lando stopped short in front of a long canvas, the one Carlos had painted his race suit onto. “Whoa,” he said. “Where’d you get this? I want one!”

Carlos shrugged noncommittally. “I’ll make one for you, if you want.”

Lando gaped at the canvas, astonished. “You paint?”

“Lockdown hobby.”

“Mate,” Lando said, staring reverently at the suit, “that is not a hobby. That is the other job you could’ve had if you weren’t an F1 driver.”

Carlos blushed, pleased at Lando’s praise. “You think it’s good?”

Lando tore his gaze away from the painting and raised an eyebrow at Carlos. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were fishing for compliments. It’s absolutely bonkers. Some people, I swear,” he muttered under his breath. “They’re just good at everything.”

Carlos cuffed Lando gently on the shoulder. “Stop that right now.”

“Did you do this one too?” Lando pointed at the image of Piñón hanging beside the one of the fireproofs.

Carlos nodded, and Lando let out a low whistle. “Do you have any more?” he asked eagerly.

“Um.” Carlos instantly thought of the portrait in the closet. “Ah, no, not any that I have out here.”

He avoided Lando’s disappointed look, clearing his throat. “Dinner. I can cook for us something?” He gestured for Lando to follow him to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door.

Carlos pulled out a pink filet from the fridge. “How about a nice grilled salmon?” he smirked.

Lando rolled his eyes. “That’s just not even funny.” But Carlos saw a laugh threaten to escape the corners of his lips.

Carlos replaced the salmon with two dark red steaks, and Lando nodded approvingly.

“You can, ah...how do you call it...amuse yourself, while I’m cooking.” Carlos instantly knew he’d unknowingly made some kind of innuendo as Lando howled in laughter and walked out of the kitchen.

Carlos wiped his forehead as he triumphantly slid the perfectly seared steaks onto the cutting board to rest. Lando had been drifting in and out of the kitchen, playing around with various knickknacks Carlos had in the living room area, but he was gone now. Presumably snooping around in the bedroom. Carlos decided it might be fun to sneak up on him; he tiptoed down the hallway and saw only the dim light from the closet casting onto the bedroom floor. Huh. He crept into the bedroom, craned his neck so he could see into the closet.

Lando was kneeling on the floor, right in front of the painting of Carlos and Lando. The British driver’s face was an expressionless mask.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Carlos wanted to kill himself for not telling Lando to stay out of his closet. He waited in dread for Lando to cringe at the picture.

But Lando just reached out with one trembling finger, running it down Carlos’ painted cheek in a way that could only be described as tender.

Lando’s bottom lip quivered. A single tear slid down his cheek. And then he grasped the canvas ever so carefully, and hugged it to his chest.

Carlos suddenly felt like he was completely invading Lando’s privacy. As if he’d walked in on him having a serious conversation with Zak Brown, or kissing someone passionately, or getting broken up with. And for some reason, a little part of him wanted to cry, too.

He quickly retreated back to the kitchen, sliced up the steaks, pouring the pan sauce over them. Then he practically stomped back down the hallway, so that Lando would know he was coming.

“Landooo,” he called. “I am done with the dinner.”

Carlos couldn’t stop staring at Lando the entire time they ate, searching for any indication of Lando acknowledging the painting. But he was a much better actor than Carlos had given him credit for. As they cut up their steaks and speared their salad greens with their forks, Lando seemed nothing but chipper as he regaled Carlos with stories about the antics he’d gotten into with Charles, George, and Alex on Twitch.

“He was like, ‘Oh my goodness, zis is impressive! Now I’m—I’m coming on your cam-a-ra, mate.’ I almost died,” Lando snickered, mimicking Charles’ French accent. “He tried to blame it on his bad English. Oh, and Alex just screams George’s name every time the prat plows him from behind.”

Carlos felt like he was in a bit of a daze, only half-listening to Lando’s tales. He raised his glass to his lips, wincing as a bit of wine accidentally sloshed over his upper lip. At this point, him imagining the entire scene in the closet seemed to be a very real possibility.

“Earth to Carlos.” Lando’s voice suddenly broke his reverie.

“Huh? What?”

“I said,” Lando rolled his eyes. “If you wanted to go on a run. Tomorrow morning before I leave.”

“Oh. Huh. Yeah. Let’s run.”

Blue eyes narrowed at Carlos. “Are you okay? You’re acting a little...spacey.”

His heart pounded. “Yeah. Just tired.” He gestured to the glass of red. “Maybe this wine is getting to me.”

Lando looked suspicious, but shrugged. And let out a massive yawn. “So am I. D’you have somewhere I can sleep?”

“Ah,” Carlos said. He must have been the only driver on the grid who didn’t have a guest room. “Yeah. In my room.”

“What?” Lando yelped. “Why? Don’t you have an extra bed?”

“I drive a Golf,” Carlos deadpanned. His frugality was well known, at least as far as their vehicles were concerned. “I don’t know what you would expect.”

Lando chuckled, although it sounded strained. “You have a couch at least, I can sleep there.”

“What? No. Just sleep on the bed. You are the guest. And honestly,” Carlos continued, “I don’t think it’s that weird if we just shared it, unless you do...”

There it was again—the wide open eyes, like a deer caught in a pair of headlights, just as they were when Carlos first asked him to visit.

“No,” Lando said slowly. “I’m okay with that.”

Carlos was brushing his molars when Lando waltzed into the bathroom, naked to the waist. He almost choked on his toothpaste.

Lando stuck his own toothbrush in his mouth. Then he pulled his phone out of his shorts pocket, and a very, very familiar beat started to echo off the walls...

Movin’ up and down, side to side, like a rollercoaster.

Almost telepathically, they started to headbang perfectly in sync. Well, started to. Lando giggled through a mouthful of foam as Carlos immediately began to drift off the beat.

He spit into the sink, cackling with laughter. Lando clutched his stomach, shoulders shaking, trying and failing not to spray the mirror with toothpaste.

Movin’ up and down, side to side, like a rollercoaster.

Carlos felt like he was back at Red Bull Ring, flying down the longest straightaway of the season. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so...light. Weightless. Happy. George had said, that one time—cloud nine. Carlos wasn’t sure why there specifically had to be nine clouds involved, but there, standing in his bathroom with Lando, dancing and laughing like idiots, he felt like he finally understood what the Brit had meant.

Stripes of silvery moonlight filtered through Carlos’ blinds. He tried hard not to fidget, but he couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he was back in the closet, watching Lando weep at the painting of the two of them...

Carlos saw Lando’s eyelids flutter. He knew he was only pretending to sleep, as well.

“Carlos,” Lando whispered, startling him.

“What?”

Lando opened his eyes, staring directly into Carlos’ soul for all he knew.

“Can you hold me?”

Carlos laughed in disbelief. “Hold you?”

But Lando’s expression was so serious, so...anguished, that Carlos felt his stomach drop.

So he inched closer, and extended one arm in the direction of Lando’s neck. Lando lifted his head to let Carlos slide his arm under him. The other, Carlos draped gingerly around Lando’s bare stomach. Lando felt so...small. Vulnerable. Even though he was hardly two centimeters shorter than Carlos, as that hilarious Grill The Grid episode had exposed.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly.

He felt Lando’s chin nod against his chest.

And Carlos was scared. Scared at how...right this felt. How comforting. Scared that he had laughed, joked around, bickered with Lando for how long...and had never once thought that they could be this way. Then he wondered, with a pang, how long Lando had waited for this.

A drop of moisture seeped through Carlos’ shirt. Lando’s shoulders shook, and Carlos knew he was crying and trying his very best to suppress it. His heart ached; he thought of something, anything, to say to make him feel better.

But no words came.

He sighed, feeling tears prick dangerously at the corners of his own eyes, and pulled Lando a little bit closer. Eventually, both of their breathing slowed, as they finally fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Carlos stirred to sunlight scorching his eyelids. Sometime during the night, they’d separated, and Lando was now sleeping facedown, head buried between two pillows. As if nothing had ever happened at all.

He thought for sure that Lando would say something when he finally woke up. But Lando simply greeted him with a casual “good morning” and walked off to the bathroom. When he came back, he was wearing running shorts and a light t-shirt.

“A jog, as promised.”

Hopefully, Carlos thought, we can have a chat while we run.

But as they wound their way through sidewalks that turned into gravel that eventually turned into a dirt trail, they talked about the McLaren car, the remaining races, the goddamned weather. They didn’t talk about Ferrari. They didn’t talk about how they’d cried and cuddled and how Lando might love Carlos and Carlos might just love Lando, and not in the way he loved his other teammates. Carlos felt like he was going to explode from the frustration, the tension that was so palpable and yet, neither of them were doing anything about it.

“Alright, Lando,” Carlos finally said at the crest of a hill, unable to take it anymore. “Do you think maybe we need to have a talk?”

Lando stopped, hunched over as he caught his breath. He didn’t turn to face Carlos. “No,” he panted. “What is there to talk about?”

“I dunno, us? Last night?”

A few chirping birds were the only sounds that filled the silence.

Carlos took a deep breath, steeling himself. “And I saw you...with the painting,” he admitted at last.

Lando whirled around so abruptly that Carlos took an instinctive step back. Icy blue eyes blazed with...anger? Panic? Carlos wasn’t sure.

But then, as quickly as it came, the fervent expression melted off his face, only to be replaced by one of deep sadness.

“That...it...it was nothing. I’m sorry for touching the painting.”

“No, Lando,” Carlos pleaded. “That’s not what this is about. You know that.”

“What does it matter?” asked Lando woodenly. “At the end of the year, we’re both going to say our goodbyes, and move on. We’re both going to just—move on. So let’s just do that, okay?”

What could Carlos say? He was a fool not to have...known...Lando. Known Lando well enough to see his turmoil. Known himself well enough to acknowledge his own feelings.

And now, it was too late.

“Okay,” Carlos said quietly.

They turned around and ran back down the hill, back to the house, where all there would be left for them was to say goodbye.

Lando made quick work of stuffing his clothes, his towel, his toothbrush, into his duffel. He didn’t ignore Carlos, exactly, but was certainly not his joking self either. Carlos watched him warily as he donned the bag and slowly walked towards the front door. Lando turned around, looked steadily at him.

“Thanks for letting me visit.”

Suddenly, Carlos was hit by a deep sense of loss. As if Lando was slipping away, and there was nothing he could do about it anymore. Carlos couldn’t help but think that by choosing the scarlet suit, he’d lost something precious in return. Something even a Ferrari contract couldn’t replace.

“Lando,” Carlos said, vaguely aware of how desperate he sounded. “Promise me you will still be my muppet friend. For the rest of the season, and even when I go...”

There was no trace of laughter on Lando’s normally cheerful face. “I will,” he replied, impassively.

He stepped up to Carlos and hugged him like he always did, but his arms felt stiffer, even colder, and no longer did he melt into Carlos like he used to.

Carlos felt his chest tighten. It was already happening.

“Safe drive,” he managed.

“Thanks, Carlit—Carlos.”

Lando unlocked his Wraith, hoisted his duffel into the trunk, and gave Carlos a breezy wave as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Carlos watched the papaya of his hoodie through the tinted window grow smaller and smaller, until Lando finally disappeared from view.

Epilogue

The drivers were sitting, mostly in teammate pairs even though it was technically free seating, chatting with each other for the first time in months. It was perhaps the first Media Day no one was complaining about, even though everyone’s faces were (supposed to be) hidden behind masks and all the chairs were stationed a meter apart from one another.

Carlos immediately spotted Lando’s papaya cap on the edge, one seat open next to him. Charles, always the social butterfly, stood one row in front, cuffing George on the shoulder, shaking Checo’s hand, as Lewis glided past them with dark sunglasses affixed to his face as usual.

As Charles approached Lando—and the vacant chair next to him—Carlos quickened his pace, reached out, and impulsively grabbed Charles’ arm. He steered the driver away, taking advantage of his momentary confusion to plant himself in the empty seat.

Lando turned his head to him, surprise written across his face. Carlos smiled shyly, nudged Lando’s knee with his.

“I couldn’t let Charles sit next to my teammate.”

He held his breath as he scanned Lando’s face. "Until the day I leave,” he continued. “You are my teammate, after all. My one and only teammate.”

Lando gave him a small, conciliatory smile in return, and Carlos exhaled in relief.

Maybe the goodbye was inevitable. Maybe they really would never be the same again. But until then...Carlos was going to savor every last moment that he and Lando had left together.

part 3 here!

notes: more fics here! thanks for reading as always :)

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fandom #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fluff #lando norris #carlos sainz #carlando #ln4 x cs55 #cs55 #ln4 #ferrari #carlos sainz x lando norris

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targaryenluvs · 2 years

Note

congrats on 200 followers!! :) could you write a super fluffy fic about reader being charles’ younger sister and finding out about her secret relationship with carlos?? <3

of course! here you goooo

The One

(you have no clue how much i love that gif, hes sooooo 🥵❤) per usual, shitty spanish n french translations and rushed ending

The party was in full swing at the moment.

Everyone was either stumbling over their friends' feet, tipsy or black out drunk.

You were standing in the middle of the conversation pit, looking around for Carlos. Right now you were on a yacht somewhere in Bahrain and that was all you really knew, not that it matter that much.

As you spotted your boyfriend, leaning on the railing while seemingly deep in conversation with some girl.

And you weren't exactly the jealous type, (or so you proclaimed yourself) but the fact that in any other circumstance you would've been fine with Carlos talking to other women let alone jealous sucked according to you.

Because what annoyed you was that you were expected to be okay with it.

Why? Perhaps the fact that your last name ends with the ever so prestigious 'Leclerc'.

Y/n Leclerc.

Youngest of the Leclerc family and only girl.

And who most defintely wasn't secretly dating her older brothers teammate and best mate Carlos Sainz.

Now you hadn't meant for it to happen.

Rewind to 2021 Monaco, although it may not have been the best, for your brother it had been great for your boyfriend.

A bunch of Ferrari employees and coworkers of his as well as drivers went out to a nightclub to celebrate. Charles obviously wasn't feeling super up for partying so he encouraged you to go along instead since he claimed you clung to him all the time rather than being on your own.

And as the drinks flowed and conversation waned the last resort for the night was dancing. And when an elated, smiley Spanish man dragged you to the dance floor despite your drunken protests you found yourself having more fun then you had expected. And you also found yourself viewing Carlos in a different light. Literally. With the clubs dark lighting and sporadic flashes of colours you found yourself in awe of him. Podium finished look good on him. And you weren’t the only one adapting new feelings. Carlos hadn't stopped looking at you the whole night. Which a certain Australian and French man caught notice of early on.

"Why dont you just talk to her rather than eye fucking her from across the table?" Daniel slurred into Carlos's ear as he proceeded to down the rest of his Estrella Galicia. To which he was met with a prompt elbow in his ribs.

Pierre wrapped his arm around Carlos's shoulder. "She's been looking at you too, and if you don't make a move soon I will. Because she looks like a fucking god in that dress Sainz."

And that sentence alone was more than enough to bring him to his feet and you to your knees.

That night ended in scattered feelings and shallow breathing.

Neither of you had meant for it to become anything past one night. It was meant to be a reliever of tension, not starter.

Everytime you visited the paddock he'd be there. Leaning against a doorway with a smirk on his face as he saw you.

Or the slight brush of your hands when walking past eachother.

Everything made you want to scream.

And you eventually did.

Again just not in the way you planned.

And it rolled onwards from there, Carlos and you becoming official in November after months of sneaking around.

From the media, paparazzi, friends, family, everyone. Mostly because there was one certain person, important to both of you that was a wild card. In the sense of the two of you had no clue how Charles would take this.

And it all led to here.

As the girl continued to laugh and touch just a little too much you decided to storm over.

"Mi am- Y/n. How are you?"

He asked as he turned around to face you fully.

"Good, I'm good. Great in fact. How about you babe?"

If this moment wasn't as serious as it was you would've burst out in laughter at the way Carlos's eyes bulged as if they were threatening to pop out of his sockets.

"Mi amor, ¿qué estás diciendo? Estamos en publico?"

"My love what are you saying? We're in public."

"Hi it's nice to meet you, I just need my boyfriend since we're going home. Enjoy your night!" You blurted out as you linked arms with Carlos.

"Copain?"

"Boyfriend?"

You were met face to face with a fuming Charles. His hair was sticking up in every what way from the humidity around and his face was bright red.

"I- uhm."

"Frère, s'il te plaît, laisse-moi t'expliquer avant de supposer-"

"Supposer? Supposer quoi? Que tu ne sors pas seulement avec mon coéquipier mais aussi avec mon meilleur ami?"

"Charles-"

"Et toi ! Tu sors avec ma soeur, tu te moques de moi Carlos ?"

"Brother please let me explain before you assume-"

"Assume? Assume what? That you are not only dating my team mate but my best friend as well?"

"Charles-"

"And you! Dating my sister are you fucking kidding me Carlos?"

"Can we please go inside? I don't want a scene. S'il te plait frère?"

"Please brother."

You were hoping that maybe the yacht would go through rocky waters, perhaps giving you and Carlos a shot at escaping Charles's fury.

But of course, someone had it out for you.

Since now you were sat at a secluded kitchen island with your secret boyfriend sitting next to you, holding your hand under the table as your elder brother paced back and forwards across from you.

"How long?"

Carlos looked at you, asking for permission before divulging everything the two of you tried to keep hidden. With the nod of a head all the details of Carlos and yours' relationship was practically laid bare, naked.

Charles had his head in his hands.

"Frère tu vas bien?" You asked cautiously.

"Ou- Non. C'est juste, je ne sais pas. Je ne sais pas pourquoi c'est arrivé. Je ne sais pas pourquoi tu me l'as caché pendant si longtemps, j'ai tellement de questions mais je-" Charles a divagué. alors que vous faisiez le tour de l'île et l'enveloppiez dans une étreinte chaleureuse.

"Brother? Are you okay?"

"Ye- No. I just, I don't know. I don't know why this happened. I don't know why you kept it from me for so long, I have so many questions but I-"

Charles rambled on as you circled the island and engulfed him in a warm hug.

As you let go Carlos stood behind you, arms draped around your neck as he kissed your forehead.

Ballsy move mate.

He let go and stepped infront of you.

"Charles, mate. I know this is super big and sudden for you but for us it is not. We have been waiting for so long for you to know so we didn't have to hide it anymore. We shouldn't have waited so long to tell you. I shouldn't have. But you need to know that I love her. I love your sister. So so much. To much. Ever since we've been together she's been there for me through every and everything. She's always been patient with me, my job, working out, everything. And I will spend the rest of my life trying to make her feel at least half as special as she has made me. I love her, always."

"I appreciate knowing that there is always someone to watch over her when I can." Charles said as he brought Carlos in for a hug.

"But if you hurt her in the slightest, I will hunt you down, Arthur, Lorenzo, Maman and I. Got it?" Charles jokingly threatened causing you all to laugh, & you couldn't help but admire Carlos.

He looked perfect. His soft hair, his gorgeous brown eyes, white button down and black pants. It was simple but he made it look amazing. He was so gorgeous. And as he laughed with Charles, at that moment you knew, there was no one who would even come closer to beating him.

He was the one.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #carlos sainz x reader #formula one #formula one x reader #f1 #f1 fic #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #pierre gasly x reader #scuderia ferrari #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz imagine

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eads · 4 months

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In this arresting portrait (c1880s) Isidor Kaufmann’s son, Eduard, poses as his model and looks directly outward at us with piercing blue eyes.

Kaufmann employed his considerable talent in rendering the many textures of the boy’s Hassidic clothing, from the soft velvet and fur trim of the spodek to the red and gold scarf contrasting with the matte black jacket. The spodek (or spodik) was a type of tall fur hat or streimel favoured by the Polish Hassidim whom Kaufmann would have encountered during his summer visits to the small towns in Western Hungary, Galicia and Russian Poland.

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kingofthering · 1 year

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Carc Primer : come meet the Spanish boyfriends

Marc Marquez, MotoGP rider. Carlos Sainz, F1 driver. Two Spaniards of the same generation who were brought together by various circumstances and who are now very good friends, as demonstrated below.

NATIONAL SPORTS AWARDS 2015

Oldest photos of them I could find are from the 17th of November 2015 when they attended the National Sports Awards in Madrid.

HONDA / RED BULL

Marc has spent his whole carreer with Honda. Carlos was a RB junior driver and then drove for Toro Rosso up until 2017. I couldn't find more content than what you have right after (from pre-season 2016, you can see more pictures here).

ESTRELLA GALICIA

The Estrella Galicia 0,0 Youtube channel is a gift. They had Carlos and Marc in the same commercial but separately in July of 2015 (video) and June of 2016 (video).

We can see them on screen at the same time on this video from March of 2017.

In 2018, they shot this beautiful thing.

(gifs source by @rookie-ofthe-year)

In July of 2021, they shot a video for the Artesanos del paddock series of videos.

In November of 2021, they were both involved in some promo stuff for the 5th season of La Casa de Papel. Here you have some backstage thing.

In December of 2022, Estrella Galicia made them visit MEGA (the EG museum) and they looked very boyfriends while doing it (video).

(gifs source by @c2-eh)

They interviewed each other (video in English - video in Spanish). They talked about how Carlos should try a motoGP bike one day (the way Marc says "claro que te gustaria" lives rent free in my mind).

They filmed a "this or that" video that Carlos published for Marc's Birthday (video). It has Marc saying "you guard it [my beer] and I dance" and the two of them challenging each other to a race (we're still waiting).

EG also made them pour beers (video) and we had some intense heart eyes action from Marc.

(gifs source by @c2-eh)

You can find more pictures from that day here, the "then and now" insta reel here. They also did some VR stuff, with Marc inadvertedly grabbing Carlos' hand (pictures & video).

In January of 2023, EG released a commercial for their new 0,0 beer with them (insta reel) and you can see Marc handing the beers to Carlos saying "you're stronger" and after Carlos struggles to understand the mechanism, Marc has to take the beers from him (saying that the guys from motoGP are stronger).

MADRID

In early 2022, Marc (and his brother Alex) moved to Madrid. Carlos helped him, he said : "Since I found out he was coming to live in Madrid, I tried to help him adapt himself and feel as comfortable as possible in my hometown [...] I don't live in Madrid anymore, but I go back there every weekend and try to meet him. We met twice for dinner, I have shown him the gym where I train, he is also training there now, and we have a lot of contact." (article)

They indeed trained together earlier this year, with the following photos from January 2023 (insta post).

During the World Cup, on the 1st of December 2022, they watched the Spain - Japan game together with friends (and made a joint insta post for their selfies).

You can find a group picture of that night here. And now, very important things to witness : Carlos feeding Marc omelet from his fork and playing the plane game with him (video) and the two of them discussing while Marc is seating at Carlos' feet in a very babygirl fashion (video). The scenes are from All In (Marc's Prime Video documentary), you can see Carlos in episode 5.

(gifs source by me)

INSTAGRAM

You can find them in each other's comments (for example here or here). Here you have Carlos filming Marc while he was sleeping in early 2017.

Also, this is Carlos wishing Marc a Happy Birthday in 2021 (here) via EG. And Marc was watching the Bahrain GP (2023) and I'm making it count as Carlos support (photo here).

OTHER

I couldn't find out where this was from but have some leather jacket Carlos.

And then, something that might be EG related but I'm not sure so we're putting it here. An event at the Barcelona Grand Prix in 2019 with Marc's brother and Carlos' dad. More photos here.

In March of 2023, Ignacio Rivera, president of Estrella Galicia, talked about Marc & Carlos in an interview. It’s pretty interesting and I will just highlight one quote (translated to the best of my abilities) :

But it’s sure that the understanding between the two was building while they were participating to events and publicity campaigns together. There, you could see how they supported each other and competively provoked each other. It’s fantastic for us to do sponsor activities with the two because you can immediately perceive their affinity.

FANDOM CONTENT

This is where I do promo for myself and my friends. I've written a couple of fics for them, you can find them on my AO3 (one, two, short stories). @c2-eh also wrote a very beautiful and very hot fic for them and @backwardscapcarlos makes the best moodboards.

I also made a dedicated gifset for them, which you can find here.

We're all obviously looking forward to more content so please join us in the Carc madness.

#marc marquez #carlos sainz #primer #5593 #this is my first primer and i'm sure i've forgotten stuff #i hope this was useful #i'm truly dying for more carc content

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josefavomjaaga · 5 months

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😥 I was working long hours and took even longer to get to work (due to train strike), so I missed Marshal Ney’s birthday. I’m so sorry! I had planned to translate something special, and I hope it’s still a bit of a present even if it’s a day late.

In summer of 1809, while Soult was still licking his wounds after the disaster in Oporto, anxiously waiting for Napoleon’s judgement and trying to defend himself against all the rumours that accused him of high treason, all the while doing his best to bring Joseph and Jourdan to some action against Wellington - guess who at the same time came to Galicia to pay Michel Ney a visit? Right, Ney’s most devoted Dutch fan girl, Ida Saint-Elme! And it’s a particularly romantic part of her recollections, which were published as "Mémoires d’une Contemporaine":

Ney, who was hardly resting either, had just subdued Galicia.

Okay, Soult already wants to protest against this claim, but let’s ignore him. Please, Ida, go on:

I joined his corps at Banos, forty-eight hours before he came face to face with the English army, which the Marshal completely defeated. Already the spectacle of war, meeting the French battalions, the scent of glory, sweeter to breathe in this country than that of the orange trees that embalm it; this active life, animated entirely by emotion and spectacle, revived my imagination weary of the empty pleasures of the courts and of voluptuous Italy. I felt I was in my element: I was close to Ney, close to the heart that alone could make mine beat. I was happy just to know that he was so close to me and to tell him that we were barely a league apart. Here is the note I received in reply to mine: "Since it's your taste to have an arm or a leg less, hop on a horse and come here." As I read this short, military invitation, I jumped in the saddle and rode off. I had hardly gone a quarter of a league when I met him, and I read in his beaming face all that his note had not told me, the joy of seeing me again, which was the reward for my journey and happiness itself. I have forgotten the names of the places we passed through, but it seems to me that I have never seen a more enchanting place, a more beautiful sky, a sweeter dawn. There was something wild and proud about this rich and picturesque nature.

The road was lined with rocks like a crown. "Here is a magnificent shelter of ravines," Ney said to me, "the tree-lined slopes of which ensure their coolness; let us stop here; you must be in need of rest; we both need to open up and talk;" and here we were, with our horses' bridles slung over our arms, pushing aside the fragrant undergrowth with a vigorous hand, and looking for a retreat that could hear our confidences: it was easy to find in the ravines of Galicia; and, a few hundred paces from the road, we could believe ourselves to be entirely alone in the world. Our horses were quickly tied up, and the secluded spot a little farther on completed the safety of this meeting, so sudden and so little expected. We had been sitting for a few minutes when Ney struck the trunk of an old cedar with his foot, and said to me: "Here, Ida, here is a support for our feet, which will at least save us from a fall;" and, confident in this support so well met, we no longer feared to tread the embalmed moss which served us as a wild divan. I looked at him like one of those figures from a long dream, which the day suddenly shows and illuminates, and which we recognise with all the anxiety and all the troubles of the dream. It's him, though; it's definitely him, I said to myself; I can tell by the glory shining on his forehead, by the pressure of his powerful hand, which is as recognisable as his glory.

Thinking more of the hero than of my love, of the captain needed for his army than of the man needed for my heart, I shuddered fearfully at the thought of this isolation in a country so full of dangers, where a warrior's halt might unexpectedly be surprised by the dagger or bullet of partisans; in a country where hatred of the French name reverberates and watches from mountain to mountain. I felt guilty exposing to these perils, beneath such a great man, a life so dear and so beautiful, that informed assassins could cut it short. It was only a quick thought, but a vivid and gripping one, which, disturbing my thoughts, made me cling tightly to Ney, and as I let out this stifled whisper: "Ney, my friend, let's not stay here; let's go away." - "No, no," he replied, holding me back; "where else would we be, without witnesses to a happiness that I have rediscovered, and which needs solitude and mysterious effusion?" I looked at him with surprise at these words, but with delight, for I was as happy as I was astonished to have remained so dear to him. Never had Ney's face seemed more expressive, never had his looks been more eloquent, never had his words been more intoxicating.

If this was a modern-day AU, this would be the perfect moment for Ney’s phone to ring and for one infuriated Soult to ask why the F he was not receiving any news from Ney’s troops in Galicia. As it was, Ida’s little tête-à-tête with her one-and-only Ney could continue.

At the sight of the security imprinted on the warrior's features, I regained a similar security; there are those moments when everything you feel gives way to everything you inspire. Oh, what inexpressible delights this happiness given by a great man was! Our hearts, separated by such a long time and such long distances, seemed never to have parted, and tasted the pleasure of a similar conviction and an equal sharing of emotions. A new fear came to suspend the enchantment and give it, as it were, all the price of a victory. The reverse side of the ravine which had received us sloped down very rapidly; the trunk of the tree which supported the effort of our feet, a solid yet powerless support, suddenly gave way and broke at the very moment when, immersed as we both were in the rapture of an intimate conversation […]

Listen, it was a conversation, okay? They were only chatting! Intimately chatting!

[…], we had forgotten even the possibility of such a peril, from which Ney's presence of mind and prodigious strength alone saved us: With one hand he seized the branches of the bush that had sheltered us; with the other he pressed and held me violently against him; and, thanks to this struggle, we were able to regain our breath, escape the precipice, and manage to get back to our horses.

I really do not want to know how his aides would have tried to explain the fact that their marshal had fallen into the abyss and to his death while having an intimate conversation. Or why his pants were still up on the cliff...

But if any of the artists out there are looking for inspiration...

Speaking of Ney’s aides, one of them, Levavasseur, in his memoirs has this to say about Ida’s apperance in Spain:

It was at Banos that I saw a French woman arrive on horseback and ask for Marshal Ney. It was the woman who has since called herself la Contemporaine. This woman soon disappeared; what she says about the Marshal in her memoirs is pure invention.

Levavasseur: Don’t you believe what that woman wrote about Ney, she’s a total liar! Besides, she was only with us for a very short time…

But the funniest thing is his casual report on why Ida probably had to leave again so quickly: Ney was already occupied otherwise.

During this trip, the marshal took a tender interest in the duchess; one of my comrades had declared himself the knight of the eldest daughter, and I myself protected the youngest […]

I can’t help but think that the interest the general staff of this army corps was showing to all things female was overly excessive even by French standards… - Wait, what’s that? Oh, another missed phone call for Marshal Ney. Marshal Soult wants to discuss priorities in war times...

#napoleon's marshals #michel ney #ida saint-elme #peninsular war #galicia 1809 #happy belated birthday

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