I know, I know, it's a joke and "not that serious" 🙄 it's also old
These “jokes” stay putting Lewis Hamilton in the supporting role: uplifting, elevating, teaching, but never the one being celebrated. Funny how that keeps happening
A “joke” that frames his legacy at Ferrari around boosting a teammate isn’t neutral
Lewis didn’t join Ferrari for anyone but himself. Framing his impact through what he can do for Charles Leclerc diminishes the weight of his own legacy.
Also, this year’s Met Gala theme is about Black style. You really think that’s the moment to center this rich white man from Monaco? it’s not his lane, not his narrative, and absolutely not his moment
Firstly no hate to Charles, but to be invited to the met you need to be 1) influential and 2) actually have style or be into fashion. Charles has non of those qualities, he’s fashion sense is complete garbage and he’s outfits only look half decent because he’s face takes away your attention from the messy fit. Second he doesn’t have influence, now you may say “oh but he’s got a lot of followers” it doesn’t translate into anything substantial having a bunch of tweens and teens following you. Like has he been infront of any significant movement? Not as far as I know.
Then it comes to this year’s gala, the theme specifically to celebrate black people, their history, their culture THEIR STYLE, is when you want Lewis to dress Charles? Like this is such a time deaf statement to make even if it’s a joke or whatever.
remember when lewis got his first pole in a ferrari and his dad was there to see it and he broke the lap record with the outright fastest lap in shanghai history and was in shock about it and was all giggly on the radio and then he had the starts of all starts in the sprint race and kept the lead throughout the entire 19 laps and won his first race as a ferrari driver in only his second race weekend and does he know i love him more than anything in the world
Good morning to those who woke up with this gorgeous video of Galvão Bueno (former F1 commentator and Ayrton Senna's personal friend) talking about how Lewis in a Ferrari is a bit of Ayrton fulfilling his dream from back then of driving for Ferrari
"I want to talk about Hamilton. Once I asked Ayrton Senna to briefly and in a few words translate what a Ferrari is. He said: 'it's a car, a color, an engine roar, a dream'. I then asked him why didn't he go to Ferrari and he told me that he hadn't won in two years, that he had to win first at Williams, equal Fangio with five championships, and then he'd go to Ferrari. And that's what Hamilton is doing.
He's won everything that is to win and now he's fulfilling his dream to go to Ferrari. When I see Hamilton in the Ferrari I see a bit of Ayrton Senna there in that Ferrari. It moved me and I think it must have moved a lot of people. And look, now he may not be as fast as Leclerc, but he's a little bit of Ayrton Senna in there"
I said it before and I'll keep on saying it again and again, brazilians see the love Lewis holds for Senna and they reflect it. Lewis brings back the feeling Senna gave to millions in the 80's when things were tough and f1 on a Sunday morning was one of the few moments to gather around.
He's truly loved by brasilians and he's seen as the guy that carries that tiny bit of magic to their weekends, and their will to dare to dream.
(x) what it was like to see the Senna tribute live and what it meant to my brasilian father
I need teamlh, in particular those who are fearmongering, to take a chill pill.
I don't think anyone really understands what changing teams means but drivers who have done so, but there's soooo much that chances beside a color.
Lewis is going from a UK based company to an Italian one. He's going from having an engineer he's worked with for 12 years (and had communication problems at the beginning) to Adami he's only met a month ago.
Ferrari and Mercedes are worlds apart in terms of building cars (have always been). They use different braking systems (Alex Brundle did an awesome explanation for that on f1tv), they use different cooling systems, the gears feel and sound different. The engines deliver power at different moments (that affects entry and exit on curves).
If we take the standings from last race (those that finished) Lewis and Ocon are the only ones in different teams with different engines that haven't been imersed in their teams for a while (Hulkenberg is still with a Ferrari engine and Kimi is the exception* but taking into account that he did around 15000km in older Mercedes cars last year and was at debriefs and races in the merc garage for the last 6 months of last year)
Lewis first went to Ferrari a month ago.
And in his first race he was only 0.2s away from his teammate in qualy, and in the rain kept the car on the track even with communication problems and without knowing how to access a good chunk of things on that car.
Let's allow him the time for growth. It's better he gets the fundamentals right and builds upon them than lurching in a crazy p1 attempt with no control over that car.
In Japanese culture, there is an art form that provides solace with sacred touch. Kintsugi. A broken object is put together again, glued and repaired with gold. A proof of how the deepest wounds and the darkest days have no power in destroying what one chooses to fight for. A story, telling the power of healing that love and care holds. Highlighting the flaws of the object with a golden shine. Unleashing the beauty of the history that every unique piece carries. Kintsugi. A symbol of solace even in the middle of chaos the world offers. The same kind of love we are about to learn from two beautiful souls.
Mercury. The planet that orbits the sun the fastest. Glorious in its game. Beautiful to imagine. This one however, happened faster than Mercury’s game. It raced light and time, painting shame with bold colours on those two fastest elements. Swift. Quick. No longer than a blink. Everything muted the second his car hit the barrier. Everything went silent. As if the world had lost its music and the birds forgot how to sing. And it was suffocating, how the blue sky in its glory appeared mocking that afternoon.
He was smoothly weaving through the pack, making his way to the front as he overtook. One car. Two. Three cars. Majestically painting another masterpiece of his own on the track. A master leading and teaching the pack and the whole world, to engrave a beautiful story, carved by blood, sweat, tears, and respect. It was graceful, the way he danced on the track. Refined and poetic. And like all other dances, this one carried a story too, a plot of its own. One that is about to make the whole world whisper. One that would dull all notes of melody, even the most majestic orchestra. One that would make the dictionary lose its purpose in giving meanings to things. And definitely one that would make one person’s heart stop. Y/N.
Love, on its own, is a cruel game. It'll give you the most unimaginable. Painting a million different shades on the canvas of life. Building a huge tree house for you to lay in, safe from the danger and threat offered by the world below. Unfortunately, like every other thing this world has seen, it carries a darkness too. One second you look away, it'll rip out the carpet from beneath your feet, letting you fall into an endless abyss. Pushing you off the cliff even if your hands are clawing to hold on, to climb back.
Lap 50. A car slammed into the barrier of Turn 7 with a force that shook the whole track. Making every single garage went silent. And when the dust cleared, she saw it. She couldn’t even whisper when the world demanded her to scream. Car number 44. Red flags raised. Safety car and medical car deployed. Little Gracie was kept close to her hip. One hand drawing circles on the little girl’s back. She didn’t have the power to look down, to look into those same brown eyes the little girl inherited. Her gaze was on Bono. Unmoving. The man hasn’t looked at her yet, his hand on his headset. Calling. Asking. Checking.
“Lewis, are you okay?”
Trying to be as calm as possible, as demanded for his job, Bono’s voice broke through. Steady but still noticeably strained. A few seconds passed. Silence. A few more seconds stretched longer, carving an open wound in her chest that grew longer and deeper as the seconds passed. Loneliness tapping a gun to the back of her skull. Waiting to claim its desired bullseye. Every single second that passed, every single murmur, every single whisper, every single turn of head, she was hoping it's to tell her that this was all just a dream. A stupid nightmare she'll wake up from soon. But there’s nothing. Not even the faintest sound of his breath. He’s not hitting the radio button. He’s not moving. In vivid details, complete with their own music, her mind orchestrated every worst case scenario like a finale. Someone will always have to be the first one to leave. This story is a centuries long inevitable fate. No one holds the power to deny it. But even then, her heart begged. No, not yet. Not today. Give us more time, please.
In every single love story the world had witnessed, it always spoke of sacrifice. Things like: I would die for you, I would burn for you. But that wasn't the case with Y/N and Lewis. Never had been, never will be. For these two beating hearts, it has always been different. I would live for you. I want to try, for you. That's how it has always been for them. Y/N is a midnight storm. A dark cloud stood loyally on top of her head, wherever she went. She had long accepted and made peace with that. But Lewis. Oh Lewis. He had shown her and gave her every single reason to live. Teaching her that she deserves way more than just surviving.
So how? How will she find a way to survive this? If Bono turned his head toward her, and told her that they had failed Lewis. That they had failed her, Grace. How will she go through her Sundays at home? Waking up to his side of the bed cold and empty? Eating breakfast alone after sending Grace to school? God, Grace's first day of school without her daddy? Will his chair at her school's sports day be empty too? No one to carve a poetic line along her shoulder with soft kisses while she prepares breakfast? Every single one hitting the harbour in waves. And she's drowning. But Bono called again, more urgent, but still calm. There’s two people waiting inside the garage for Lewis, and he couldn’t, he didn’t even want to imagine how he’s going to face those two if this ends badly.
“Lewis, talk to me mate.”
As if the heavens saw the scenarios her mind orchestrated, a faint whisper of breath went through the radio. Say something. Please.
“Yeah mate, I’m okay. Just… thinking about how I’m going to explain that to Y/N.”
Bono turned toward her and Grace, nodding calmly, exhaling a tension he’s been holding in too. Only after that, she could finally remember how to inhale and exhale. A relief. Like a clueless tiny toddler who just conquered the world with their very first wobbly step. Her hold on Grace was tighter, grounding herself in the safety of her daughter’s hair. Closing her eyes, because fear still lingers at the corner of the garage, and silence still has its hands on her shoulder.
On the screen, the paramedics were rushing to his side as he carefully climbed out of the metal wreckage that no longer has the silhouette of a car. He was walking, but slow. Way too slow through the lens of her eyes as she watched in silence.
Lewis, on the other side of the page, was trying to not lay a single touch on his ribs as he made his way to the medical car. Don’t. She’s watching. His right hand however, raised two fingers shaped like a peace hand sign, before tapping it on the top front of his helmet, where his forehead should be. A sign. A language only him and her understand. A way of saying or showing i’ll be fine or you’ll be fine. She saw it. He knows she’s watching, witnessing. I’m living, Y/N. For you. For us. She turned her attention away, gathering their things, following Anthony who had stood beside her the whole time. Preparing for what would be a painful evening at the hospital, no matter how short or long.
Everything that happened at the hospital was a blur to her. Pale fluorescent lights, murmured conversations with the doctor. Something about bruised ribs and nothing broken but he’ll be sore for a while. The hospital room they were in was too cold. Was it just the temperature playing its part, or the eerie chill in her bones that refused to leave? She didn’t even know. Y/N stood stiff at the corner of his hospital bed, Grace nestled in the crook of her neck, dozing off. Anthony sat on one side of the bed, one hand on Lewis’ thigh as the two men spoke in hushed tones, not wanting to wake Grace up, or pushing Y/N more to the edge of the cliff.
She heard it all, as the words floated freely in the cold air of the room, but her eyes were too focused on the floor. And it’s torturous, how his eyes kept darting to his wife even as he was talking to his dad. Searching, calling, yearning, but her eyes refused to meet him. She couldn't even bring herself to even whisper. When all he wanted at that very moment was for her to scream in his face. Yelling. Telling him how worried she was. Put the blame on him. But she couldn't. Maybe, if she loved him less, her mouth would be able to do its job, spitting words, sentences.
He had so much power over her. One that no one possesses. One that would make even the mightiest knights to lay down their shields on the ground, surrendering in defeat. She gave him that power. Handed it to him in a delicate box, wrapped with a fragile ribbon of love. Anthony’s gentle voice broke her unmoving gaze, offering her to take Grace into his arms, noticing how she hadn’t let go of the little sunshine since they left the track.
“No. She’s fine here. I’m fine.”
Hesitantly, Anthony nodded. Because he understood. She needed Grace in her arms. Not only because the little girl needed her, but also and mainly because she needed something to keep her from breaking down. Something to hold on to, to hide her shaking hands, to silence the trembles in her fingers. What isn't a part of ourselves will never hold the power to disturb us in any way. And maybe, just maybe, that's why all this shit disturbed her so much. Because it's a part of her that the track threatened to silence earlier today. Him. Her Lewis. That's why every tick, every breath, every whisper disturbed her mind so deeply, like a tsunami claiming its dominance through the alley it keeps on swallowing. So when Lewis called her name, she abruptly walked out in a careful manner. Leaving the room without sparing a glance at her husband. Something about wanting to check everything with the nurse before they leave, she said.
The flight home was unbearable. The luxury of the private jet did little to ease the tension. Nothing changed during the car ride home too. Suffocating him harder than his bruised ribs. Her eyes never left the window. Arms and hands hugging and caressing Grace’s back as she fell asleep in her arms. A rare occasion whenever Lewis is present.
His brown eyes however, never left her tired face. Flickering to her every few minutes. His heart further declined, stretching its descent deeper and deeper as the tension in her jaw became apparent to him. The same one his lips had traced a thousand times in between the sheets, in the mornings where he would hug her from behind as she prepared breakfast.
Once the car pulled into the driveway of their house, Y/N immediately got out, carrying Grace inside without waiting for the man who had been waiting to see her eyes, hear her voice. Lewis stayed in the car for a silent few minutes. Weakly, his head fell back against the headrest that felt harder and rougher than the gravel. A long breath was exhaled. Shaky. His tears were pooling in his eyes. This wasn’t how he wanted to come back to her. This wasn’t what he meant every time he promised her to come home safe before every single race.
Come home safe. A phrase that she never missed to whisper in his ears as she hugged him, before every single race. Since the first race she attended after he handed her his heart, body, and soul. A promise. One that he would always reply with a soft I will, before kissing her lips and leaving another one on her forehead.
Time. That’s what she needs right now. So that’s what he gave. When he finally stepped inside the house, he beelined his way straight to their bedroom. She wasn’t there. Probably in Grace’s room. In the kitchen maybe. Anywhere but close to him. Anywhere but in his arms. The shower he took was longer than usual. His body was in pain, but the wound in his heart was the one that digs deeper, through the flesh, deep into the marrow. Marking its territory in his heart with a bold move.
When he came down, the smell of curry hit him. Warm, but still unsettling. She had cooked his favourite dish. As he stepped into the kitchen, she was already placing his plate out. Just one. On his seat at their dining table. For him alone and him only. She’s not eating with me. He hesitated as he sat down, heart clenching. Eyes not meeting her. The soft hum from the kitchen light was the only calming thing in the room. It mingles with the clinks and clatters of the dishes and kitchen appliances as she moves mechanically. Creating a melody he never heard before, hating it as soon as the first note hit.
“Love,” a call to her. Soft and gentle. Even while his hands are clammy, shaking, to reach her skin. Not a single spoonful had gotten into his stomach ever since he sat down.
“Eat, Lewis.”
Even while her heart was breaking, leaving cracks as it declines and descends, she still prepared him dinner. Straightaway once they’re home, not caring about herself not getting even a single beat of rest. Making sure he’s not eating his meds on an empty stomach. But god, he hates how it sounded when that “Lewis” fell out of her soft lips just now. He always loved how his name sounded when she said it. How it sounded when she’s ‘mad’ at him for stealing her chocolates, how it sounded whenever he came up with stupid unhinged ideas, and how it sounded as he slipped in and out of her, pouring himself empty for her.
So he willed himself to finally find her, her eyes. A silent but loud plea.
Look at me please.
She didn’t
Y/N please, look at me. Please.
Again, nothing. But the knife plunged deeper this time. Because this time, he saw it. She was deliberately dancing around the kitchen, keeping her hands and mind busy. Cleaning, rearranging, wiping every single useless thing in the kitchen. Even the ones he had never seen or touched before. And it was so bright and loud. In visions and sounds. How she wasn’t even half as delicate and gentle as she usually was with everything. She’s retreating. He knows she was silently retreating into that one dark place in her beautiful mind. The one place she only pays a visit when the whole world is too much, when she feels like she is not safe. As if not a single corner on this earth is safe for her anymore. Not even in their house. Not even in his arms. She’s not feeling safe. He couldn’t let her retreat and seek shelter there. And he needs her eyes. Hell, he missed them.
“Sweetheart.”
The sweet nickname fell out of his mouth softly, but still stern. Enough to catch her attention, forcing her to slowly turn her tired body around, facing him. The man she almost lost. The man that made her almost lost herself. Finally, that pair of eyes. Those deep beautiful eyes that never failed to draw him in, calming him. Those eyes that hold so many layers he never wanted to stop peeling and discover. Those eyes that made him surrender, leaving him breathless. Finally, those exact same eyes that he fell in love with and still, will always be in love with landed on him. Soft and warm, a gentle kiss from the sunrise, before they shifted in just one swift blink. A cold flame, scolding him, scorching his face, leaving him no place to seek refuge.
But fuck. She’s… beautiful.
“Come here please…”
She sighed, running her hand through her hair, pushing it back. Her hair is getting longer. A beat of silence. Please, come to me. And slowly, very slowly, she walked over to him. Crossing the small physical space between them that felt a thousand miles away emotionally. Once her body was close enough, reachable to him, he reached for her. His hands crawled its way back to one of their homes, her waist. Reminding him what he almost lost today. Tattooing a thought in his mind, about no matter how often his hands had laid there, it would never be enough. He pulled her closer to him, leaving no space in between except for the thin material of her soft blue shirt. His eyes were threatening to cry in relief, when she didn’t even fight him as she claimed her way in between his legs. Weakly, he let go. He let his head fall onto her soft stomach. I should have kissed it longer this morning. Breathing her in, inhaling a deep one. Unbelievably grounding and calming. Her right hand that hung loosely on her side now made its way into the collar of his white t-shirt. A soft caress before softly massaging away the tension in his left shoulder.
Oh gosh. Her touch. Her scent. Her.
It’s still not enough. These weren’t enough. If his body wasn’t sore and screaming in pain, he would have begged her to let him give and pour. He would have been on his knees tracing his favourite path inside her thighs whispering his apologies again and again like a broken record before carrying her into their bedroom. So he moved his hands to her small back, drawing soft and gentle circles against it. She got it. The whole exchange was him talking. It’s him laying down his apologies. It’s him pulling her out of that dark place in her mind, saving her. A knight even in his low point. It’s him asking her to be with him, right here, right now.
I love you. I need you. Please.
“Eat with me.”
“I’m not hu–”
Immediately, he raised his throbbing head. Don’t lie. He was looking her deep in the eyes, silencing her mouth and mind. Staring and reminding her. I know you. Reminding her he knows her. His wife. His last love. His home. The mother of his child. His safest place. He knows that her throat hasn’t swallowed a single drop of water since they left the pale and sickening hospital, let alone touching the tiniest bit of food. Even in this weak and fragile state, he cares. About her, more than himself. So please, let him care and lay down the safety net she needed. Let him catch her like she always does for him without a miss, not even once. Let me take care of you, love.
It’s a losing game, this whole exchange. This whole conversation that they are having only with their eyes. Honest. Open. It’s a game she should have surrendered before she even started playing. He’s patient. Persistent. Always the same strategy. Always the same tactic. Although this time, it took him more and longer to claim the gold medal. She swallowed an empty lump.
He won.
“The food is getting cold.”
“Sit down with me then.”
Her hand reached the nearest chair, placing it next to his before sitting down. His eyes never left hers. Not even for a second since they were laid on hers just now. His right hand found a way home to her small back as she started with the food. Gentle circles, ups and downs under her shirt, against her skin as she fed him the first spoonful. Warm. Safe. Soft. She stared at him after the first spoonful, waiting for a reaction. He gave her a soft wholesome smile. It’s delicious.
But her stare lingered, hands unmoving, not preparing for a second one. He stared back, delicately.
She nodded. You’re okay.
He nodded. I’m okay.
She had no strength left to hold it in anymore. The dam had been destroyed. Freeing her tears that were flooding. Her head nestled into the crook of his neck. A lost traveler taking shelter and seeking solace under the shade of an enduring tree canopy. Stopping the downpour of her fears. Letting time pass without a worry. Like Neptune travelling its orbit. His arms wrapped around her. A blanket draped over her trembling figure. Silencing the noise outside. Not forgetting to kiss her long on top of her head. A constant so grounding and reassuring.
He saw it today. It wasn’t the first time. But today, it shone brighter, sang louder, danced bolder, and stood stronger. Her strength. Her trying to keep it all in her together, all alone, for him, for little Grace. But at that moment, he didn’t want her to. He wanted her to lay her fears and worries bare and naked in front of him. He wanted her to feel safe, be safe. Here, in his embrace. The only place where he will give everything to silence her storms, leaving them weakened, lifeless.
His wife. The woman who has a hold of his whole heart. Had fought herself violently today. Baring her teeth to her own emotions. Drowning it down with all her might. All because of an almost. But this moment, right now. Her, safe in the hold of his arms, the fog finally cleared out. Both of them had no hold on perfection. And the world won’t sit still. At any time, at any given moment, it will send down cruel war and games to make them crack. Today however, it became clear as a sky. Bleed if they must, cry if they have to, but neither him or Y/N will ever let go. With her, it’s worth it. With his Y/N. Every crack worth a story to tell.
This is the kind of love Lewis and Y/N fights for. Fractured with cracks at times, but made and built stronger, more historical, more beautiful, through the tears and smiles they pour empty to mend it. Their own piece of Kintsugi.
This is just a blurb from Lewis’s point of view “Home in Her Warmth”
The apartment was quiet when I walked in, the faint glow of the Christmas tree lighting up the room. You’d gone all out, as always—stockings hung with care, garlands draped perfectly, and even the smell of cinnamon and pine lingering in the air. It made me smile, though it also tugged at something in me. You didn’t have to do all this. We weren’t even spending Christmas here; our bags were packed by the door for our trip.
I dropped my keys onto the counter and let out a sigh. The day had been long—meetings, calls, tying up loose ends before the break. All I’d wanted was to come home to you, and now I finally had.
I pushed the bedroom door open as quietly as I could, and there she was. You were lying on your stomach, the blankets tangled around your legs, arm tucked under your head. Your sweater was tossed to the side, leaving your back bare, skin glowing softly in the dim light. You must’ve fallen asleep waiting for me.
For a moment, I just stood there, taking you in. You had this way of looking so peaceful, so perfect, even when she was doing absolutely nothing. God, I missed you.The whole day, I’d been thinking about this—about you
I kicked off my shoes ,shirt and pants and climbed onto the bed beside you, careful not to wake you. Leaning in, I pressed a kiss to her shoulder, soft and slow, just to feel your warmth. your skin was warm under my lips, your breathing steady and calm.
I couldn’t stop myself. I kissed you again, letting my lips trail down your back, lingering over every inch of yours .you stirred a little, murmured something, but didn’t wake. That made me smile. You were too peaceful to disturb.
Laying down fully, I stretched myself over you letting my chest press against your back. My arms slipped around your waist as I buried my face between your shoulder blades. Y/n were warm, soft, and everything I needed after a day like today.
“You’re my peace,” I whispered, my lips brushing against your skin. Y/n shifted slightly beneath me, just enough to let me settle in even closer, like you instinctively knew I needed you
For the first time all day, my body relaxed. You Y/n were my comfort, my anchor, my everything. Holding her like this, feeling your warmth, your breath, heartbeat—I didn’t need anything else.
“Goodnight, love,” I murmured, kissing your neck one last time before letting myself drift off, wrapped in the only place I ever wanted to be: your arms, your warmth, your love.
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