Baby, take me to the feeling
I'll be your sinner in secret
When the lights go out
Run away with me, run away with me
Baby, every single minute
I'll be your hero and win it
When the lights go out
Run away with me, run away with me
I could write a 5000-word essay about this song, but I’ll refrain. This video sums it all up, I agree with every word, I ghostwrote it, et cetera. Greatest pop song ever, bar none. Do not @ me.
16. Potential Breakup Song (Explicit Version) by Aly & AJ
It took too long, it took too long, it took too long
For you to call back
And normally, I would just forget that
Except for the fact it was my birthday
My fucking birthday
The absolute delight I felt when I first listened to this version of the song. Fuck yeah, let them say fuck. Still one of the most iconic tracks of the noughties.
(I love that these songs together could be a plot to a story—whirlwind romance, falling hard and fast, implosion?)
happy holidays, @leqclerc! thank you for cohosting this @sebchalsecretsanta21 exchange and having me on as a participant. when i say i laughed when i read your prompts, it was because they were an exact mirror of my own! though, yours were naturally far more eloquent.
alas, since i'm slow as molasses as a writer, here is a long snippet of a larger work as my humble (and currently untitled) gift to you. i hope you enjoy as a taste of what's to come. i swear there will be a feature-length fic with a red bow on it in the very near future for you! ❤️
(1956 words; rated G for now)
In another life, Sebastian could be a driver. Well, technically he acted as one right now as they made their way to the track for the first race weekend of the season, but Charles meant more like him. In fact, the German looked far more like a fellow competitor or team engineer or mechanic than he did his actual position. Maybe that was the point, though, considering the ridiculousness of Mattia’s idea. At least if the man blended in, he would draw less suspicion.
“Are you nervous?” Sebastian asked, breaking the silence between them.
“What? No.” Charles wrinkled his nose.
The car had felt great during testing. The streets were quiet so far and void of frenzied fans trying to ambush him mid transit. And he hadn’t had performance anxiety in ages. What could he possibly be nervous about?
“Do you think you have a good chance this year?”
“Depends on what you mean by good chance.”
Was he supposed to give state secrets away to outside personnel even if they had been hired by the team and signed a non-disclosure agreement? Charles would rather not have another embarrassing closed-door meeting after the fact to find out.
“Is there something on your mind, then.”
Charles paused, gulped. For most of the drive, his gaze had remained fixated on the dashboard or out the windshield as a safe neutral zone while glancing every so often at the man on his left out of curiosity and concern. But at the sudden attention, he tucked his whole face away as if he had been caught red-handed sneaking eclairs against his trainer’s orders.
“You don’t look like a bodyguard,” he said in the end. His leg bounced up and down, and his hand spun his phone round and round in the air. This traffic light was quite possibly the longest one he had ever sat through in his life.
The image was just incongruous to him. Sebastian had a lean but smaller shape to him. There were no bodybuilder muscles, no shaved head. His neck was thicker like the rest of them, and he hadn’t needed a manual when he slid behind the wheel of the company vehicle—bolstering his theory that he could compete in Formula 1. No bodyguard he had ever encountered could fit into his racing car.
“Were you expecting James Bond,” the German scoffed. “A suit and tie following you around at every track, to drive you to the airport—”
“This is my car!”
Sebastian waved a dismissive hand at him. “It’s in the contract.”
The signatures on the paperwork were dry by the time Charles had been informed of the situation. And how unfair was it that he hadn’t had much say in gaining a human shadow he would probably see more than his own friends for the next nine months. He hadn’t even won the championship yet. But when Ferrari’s chances finally looked promising again, he found himself in the passenger seat with no idea where Andrea was and a sarcastic German by his side all because the tifosi’s growing passion had gotten a bit out of hand at the afterparty in Abu Dhabi last year.
By the time they pulled into a designated spot in the carpark, Charles had resigned himself to the awkwardness of the situation like team orders—sometimes a necessary evil, always a needless bother.
“I’m just as qualified as him, if you’re worried,” Sebastian said as they walked to the paddock gates.
Charles huffed. No offense to James Bond, but he had never driven a Ferrari at over three hundred kilometers per hour and singlehandedly ruined the dreams of every Red Bull team member before.
“I’m not worried at all.”
--
Most of the time, Charles didn’t notice Sebastian. Blocking out the extra bodies and activities of the paddock was something all drivers had figured out by the time they were in single seaters. Without Mia and Andrea circling, the German would walk a little closer to him, especially in and out of public exits. But otherwise, life at the racetrack happened without further interference.
There were, however, some strange things about the man that Charles did observe.
During free practice, he stood in the actual corner of the garage with a little notebook in hand. His eyes darted around before scanning the pages or jotting something down, and the cycle repeated over and over. Charles leaned on his car while chatting with his mechanics, but his thought was drawn to Sebastian in his inconspicuous spot. What protection he needed by his bodyguard here, he had no idea.
“What are you writing?” he asked during the morning session on Saturday in Jeddah. His eyes fell to the open sheet as if the man held secret codes to launch a major attack.
It was just a bunch of their names.
“I’m trying to get to know everyone on the team,” Sebastian said.
“Oh.” That was not nearly as interesting as he thought. “Do you have to be here?”
“Not exactly.” After closing his book, the blonde regarded him almost as if he was searching for something. Charles shifted on his feet and glanced away. “I don’t want to bother anyone. I can wait in the hospitality.”
“No, you can stay,” he said. “I mean that it’s okay. To stay. But maybe put on this.” He handed Sebastian a team pullover from his seat in the garage. The man was sticking out like a sore thumb dressed in black in a sea of red. “Find Xavi for headphones if you want also.”
Then there was the annoying thing where Sebastian stood outside his driver’s room like one of the Carabiniers at the Prince’s Palace as if Andrea was some kind of threat to his wellbeing. Mick, of course, had greeted him in passing back in Bahrain and made small chat before chuckling at Charles and his predicament and going about his business. His teammate would find the situation far less amusing if he kept trying to go onto the balcony only to find the door bolted every time. Charles didn’t even know the backdoor had a lock.
After an exhilarating victory in Melbourne, he found Sebastian there yet again. Soaked with champagne and fatigue, he hesitated at the sight wondering if he should say something only to miss the moment altogether. Instead, he fumbled past his sentinel and shut the door for a quick rinse and breather—needing to untangle himself from the cascade of emotions for a moment alone.
The weirdest thing of all was watching him pick up garbage when they left the paddock each day. Charles had never seen so much litter in his life until he was suddenly pausing every few meters while his bodyguard made sure all the plastic packaging and soda cans went into the appropriate waste bins. And to think, the team had hired Sebastian to look after him.
Back at the hotel, he took a proper shower and changed before heading out to celebrate his first-place finish and current lead in the standings. Pierre promised to stop by for a drink, and Charles was sure he would stumble upon Daniel, taking P2 at the checkered flag today. And then there was the pesky situation of his bodyguard.
Charles threw open the door when Sebastian knocked. He paused to stare at the latter’s attire.
“Is that what you are wearing?” he asked. It wasn’t every day he won the Australian Grand Prix, and yet, here Sebastian was sporting the same outfit he had on when they drove to the circuit that morning. Charles was almost embarrassed for him.
His head swiveled back to face the room wondering if the situation was still salvageable. “If you want to borrow something, I think we are the—”
“Honestly,” Sebastian cut him off. Charles whipped his attention back to him at the rather affronted tone. “You won’t even notice I’m there.”
He was wrong, though. Perhaps for everyone else, the blonde blended into the faceless crowd. But for Charles, he couldn’t help but notice that every time he glanced up and saw him through the ocean of people, Sebastian was always staring right back.
--
The scene at Melbourne Airport post victory was a little more chaotic than when they had arrived. Landing to hundreds of fans lined up behind barriers had produced a controlled environment where Charles could sign a few autographs and pose for pictures without too much trouble. But now, despite the barriers and increased police presence, the cheers and enthusiasm for sendoff felt tenfold—enough of a boisterous mania for his bodyguard to consider dangerous.
His training kicked in like autopilot as he picked a safer-looking section with a baby and a few younger fans to greet. Signing some caps and cards should appease them for now, though Charles knew there would always be those disappointed and resentful that he didn’t spend extra time with the people that supported him.
He counted the number of selfies he allowed—giving himself a limit before it became too much. He was on three when one hand turned into four, jerking at his sleeve to pull him into their camera’s frame. And it wasn’t as if this was a new experience, but his shoulders began to rise closer and closer to his ears as he stared into one lens after another with his plastic smile falling and falling.
“That’s enough.”
The words were barely heard above the clamor, but their commanding tone caused Charles to blink out of his daze and see his bodyguard’s complete attention on nothing but him. The man stood so close but didn’t touch him. And, well, Charles didn’t know much if at all anything about Sebastian, but when blonde eyebrows lifted, the Monégasque nodded automatically in response.
He gave the crowd a final wave before following Sebastian through the airport until the throng disappeared from view. And only when they passed security did Charles realize he had been holding his breath.
“Why do you do that?” Sebastian said when they were finally alone in the waiting lounge.
“Sign autographs?” Charles squinted at the older man. “It’s nice for the fans. So many people you don’t expect support you and the team. It’s quite amazing, actually.”
Sebastian shook his head. “Why do you put yourself in danger?”
“Is this about yesterday? I told you it was an accident.”
His bodyguard had made known his displeasure when Charles had driven to the track with Andrea instead of his sole security detail. It had been an honest mistake, a force of habit after all these years. But Charles had arrived at his driver’s room only to be greeted by the German and an earful about safety proceedings and contracted obligations all the while trying to go about the rest of his race day rituals.
“You need to be more careful.”
Charles shrugged. “They’re just pictures.” It could get unruly at times, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. “They’re harmless.”
“No. They think they know you, and because of that, they want something from you. Some even expect it. That’s not harmless.”
“Okay, but I’m fine, no? That’s why Mattia hired you. Everything is fine.”
Charles looked at Sebastian. He didn’t get it. Nothing had happened, and yet, he was getting told off for doing what he had been trained to do—greet fans, stay in the media’s good graces, give back to the tifosi. Still, there was this look on the German’s face, something like disappointment or vulnerability or irritation. Pressing his lips together, Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck and sighed as he averted his gaze. And Charles was left with a confusing need to know what had just happened.
To Charles, you are the most talented driver I came across in 15 years of F1. Don’t waste it. But be sure whatever you do to be happy and smile. Thanks for everything! - Sebastian Vettel (x)
Charles suffers from Main Character Syndrome and even his eyes are uwu special and unique. Case in point: I diagnose him with central heterochromia. So his eyes are like green-ish blue with a ring of amber/light brown around the iris hence the impossible incomprehensible statement "I have yellow eyes." Fun fact, Seb has the same thing but it's a ring of green in blue eyes so it's less visible. YA protagonist shit
its so hard to find high res images of just his eyes that arent edited or in black and white like reveal urself u bitch......but that is VERY on brand for him and also quite fun is this segment i found from wiki’ing ‘hazel eyes’ (somewhat of a scholar myself): ‘Although hazel mostly consists of brown and green, the dominant color in the eye can either be brown/gold or green. This is how many people mistake hazel eyes to be amber and vice versa.’ so ‘i have yellow eyes’ = amber = hazel = ur blue green/amber thing! amazing. we’ve done it girlies x
I had a VERY difficult time trying to choose between two, but let's go with (totally) spies au 👀
it is quite literally what reads on the box. it’s a totally spies au. it’s george, alex and lando. it’s the abduction from a shopping trip and dumb gadgets and an undercover mission that is somehow relevant to the lives of everyone involved. I have genuinely not touched this since.... February 2020... I feel like all my wips are just shit I’ve abandoned in favor of something else. Maybe one day. There is however much more of this down that most of my other wips so let’s take that as a win, shall we?
George patiently holds Alex’s bags for him while Lando goes to lean against the phone booth on the street. As soon as Lando’s back makes contact with the door, it falls out from under him. With a loud curse he grabs onto George’s arm, who wasn’t paying attention and in losing his balance grabs Alex’s sleeve and all three fall through the phone booth door, down a slide that reveals itself underneath. George can hear Lando yelling something about missing Moncler as they fall down the slide before they fall in an uncomfortable pile onto something between a couch and a mattress.
“How nice of you to slide in,” an amused voice says from across the room.
“You!” Lando is pointing and yelling, while struggling to get up from their rough landing, “I swear to god Jenson if this isn’t important and you interrupted my quest for the perfect outfit-”
“Now now boys, if you would sit down,” Jenson, gestures from behind the desk. “I have brought you here, because you must investigate a series of art thefts around the world. Whoever is doing this is repeating the same bizarre pattern in each location.” Behind Jenson a series of security camera clips are playing from different museums around the world. “During a party at the venue, there will be an exactly 17 second long black out, during which a new art piece will disappear into thin air. There seems to be no pattern to what that piece is each time, we have seen paintings, sculptures and even costumes disappear.“
only words you deserve!!!! like please, the two perfect bahrain shots in the same gif??? the last handshake as teammates with seb’s helmet note as an overlay?? the way the red line show how entangled their careers were?? ALL PERFECT CHOICES
this is a gifset that i will think about forever because my god, i felt it in my stomach
