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#circus and circuits
kiichu · 1 month
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bit of a modern au, but... here they are, for valentines day 2024 ♡
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spellboundspook · 5 months
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Doubie
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ruzhuzhu · 5 months
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just discovered tadc. as a programmer this is exactly what happens everytime: everybody's desperate to find an exit, the world is the hardest bad trip in history and you are overseen by a talking jaw with eyes
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“Everyone always asks about the name change. It’s simple really, I didn’t want to carry around my family anymore but I’m stuck carrying around the last thing they did to me. So, I figured I’d own it. The only person I belong to is myself, and so I am Schrödinger’s cat.”
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curseofbreadbear · 3 months
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@feralreason ❤’d! ( for circus baby! )
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❝ I can feel my heart breaking, mistakes I've been making... ❞
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wrightandco · 5 months
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the only positive which has come from re-playing big top so far is adding circus by britney spears to my franziska playlist
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screaming--agony · 2 years
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Dear Diary,
Lately, I’ve been getting triggered like a short circuit, immense sadness with a river full of tears, agitated crawling skin, hopelessness of self-destruction, rage inducing fist to a hard surface. It’s wholeheartedly overwhelming. Phrases, words, actions, visual cues, sounds. When I try to restrain, my hands tremble, my chin quivers, my voice breaks, struggle to hold back tears. I am so self-aware of my surroundings. I don’t know why my subconscious is in panic mode. I don’t know what’s going on. But it needs to stop. 
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punching-obsession · 2 years
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Face claims for the three circus circuit ocs I’ve introduced you to
The ring master’s face claim is Megagonefree and this cover!!
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Swan Diver’s Face claim is from Pinterest
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The jester’s face claim is from Pinterest
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gonenc · 5 months
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Halloween Redbull Tumbler Sublimation Designs, Halloween 20oz Skinny Tumbler Bundle Wrap, Personalizable Tumbler PNG Bundle Digital
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hemmingsleclerc · 4 months
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The Leclerc Family in the Paddock
-charles leclerc x fem!reader
Leave your honest opinion guys, this is my first imagine ;)
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The sun beat down on the crowded paddock as the roar of the engines filled the air. It was race day and the Formula 1 circus had arrived at a picturesque circuit nestled in the hills. Among the drivers preparing for the Grand Prix, Charles Leclerc stood out not only for his racing prowess but also for the presence of two special persons by his side.
Y/N, Charles' longtime girlfriend, walked hand in hand with him through the paddock. The couple had recently become parents to a beautiful baby girl, and today marked the first time they had brought her to a race. Wrapped snugly in a Ferrari-red baby blanket, little Emma Leclerc was a tiny bundle of joy in her parents' arms.
As Charles and Y/N approached the Scuderia Ferrari garage, the media took notice. Microphones and cameras swarmed around them, eager to capture the family moment. Charles, with a huge smile, introduced Emma to the world.
"We're very excited to have Emma here with us today," Charles said, his eyes shining with pride. "It's a special day for our family, and we wanted to share it with everyone who has supported us."
Y/N added, "She's already a little racing fan, just like her dad. Maybe one day, she'll be in the driver's seat too."
The interviewers couldn't help but coo over the adorable family scene. After the initial baby talk, the conversation shifted to the race ahead. Charles Leclerc, focused and determined, was about to embark on a quest for victory.
Fast forward to the end of the Grand Prix of Monaco, Charles Leclerc emerged triumphant. The Ferrari flags waved in the air, and the team celebrated a hard-fought win. As Charles stepped out of his car, the interviewers were ready to capture his thoughts on the race and the emotional journey he had been on.
However, before delving into the race details, the interviewers couldn't resist asking about the significance of having his family present.
"It's an incredible feeling to win with Emma and my wife to be, Y/N here in my home race," Charles said, his eyes reflecting both exhaustion and euphoria. "They are my biggest supporters, and having them in the paddock today made the victory even sweeter."
''¿Wife to be?'' the interviewers asked in surprise.
''Yes, we're getting married'' Charles said as he looked at you with love in his eyes.
The interviewers couldn't help but marvel at the couple's ability to balance the demands of a high-profile career with the joys of parenthood and now marriage.
Y/N, standing by Charles' side, shared her perspective. "Charles is not just a phenomenal driver; he's an amazing partner and now a loving father. We navigate this journey together, supporting each other every step of the way."
The interviewers, touched by the genuine connection between Charles and Y/N, congratulated them not only on the race win and the beautiful family they were building but also on the future wedding.
The image of the Leclerc family celebrating in the paddock became the perfect memory for both fans and you as you were about to begin that new chapter with the love of your life and you beautiful daughter.
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thehufflepuffavenger1 · 4 months
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The Grid Angel (1/?) M.V. x reader
Y/N L/N Is Max Verstappen's new race engineer but the rest of the grid likes her too. The grids angel.
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The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the paddock as the Formula 1 season kicked off in spectacular fashion. Qualifying Saturday brought an air of anticipation, not only for the teams and drivers but also for you, the race engineer for Max Verstappen. The Red Bull garage buzzed with activity, and the echoes of engines revving filled the air.
As the pit crew fine-tuned the Red Bull machine, you were engrossed in a conversation with Oscar Piastri, the rising star from the McLaren team. The two of you exchanged technical insights and shared a few laughs, completely absorbed in the world of racing strategy. Unbeknownst to you, Max Verstappen observed from a distance, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
Max, with his competitive spirit not limited to the track, couldn't shake the subtle twinge of jealousy. He had become accustomed to your undivided attention during race weekends, and the sight of you engrossed in conversation with Oscar stirred an unfamiliar feeling within him. The pit crew noticed Max's shifting demeanor, sensing the tension building beneath the surface.
Lando Norris, with his keen sense of humor, picked up on the atmosphere and decided to playfully fan the flames. He sidled up to Max, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Mate, looks like someone's got a bit of competition off the track," Lando teased, nodding towards you and Oscar engaged in animated discussion.
Max shot Lando a mock glare, his attempt to brush off the comment. However, the seed of doubt had been planted. The friendly banter between drivers on the grid was nothing new, but this time, it seemed like a rivalry was brewing in more ways than one.
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the paddock, the qualifying session drew near. The tension in the air was palpable, not just from the impending on-track battle but from the unspoken dynamics playing out among the drivers and their teams.
The qualifying session unfolded with its usual mix of intensity and drama. Max, fueled by a desire to prove himself both on and off the track, pushed the Red Bull to its limits. The pit crew executed flawlessly, but the lingering undercurrent of emotions added an extra layer of complexity to the proceedings.
As the day transitioned into night, the atmosphere in the paddock shifted. The pit crew, always attuned to the dynamics of the team, could sense the unspoken tension. Max, after securing a respectable qualifying position, found a moment alone with you amid the hustle and bustle.
"Everything good, Max?" you inquired, your attention shifting from the race strategies to the emotions written on Max's face."Yeah, yeah," he replied, a hint of vulnerability beneath the confident exterior. "Just focused on the race, you know?"
Little did Max know that your connection with him went beyond the technical intricacies of the race. The season had just begun, and the off-track drama promised to be as thrilling as the battles on the circuit, setting the stage for a tale that would unfold with every twist and turn of the Grand Prix calender.
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The next race weekend dawned, and the paddock came alive once again with the roar of engines and the bustling energy of the Formula 1 circus. Max Verstappen, carrying the remnants of his jealousy from the previous qualifying, couldn't help but keep a watchful eye on your interactions with other drivers.
During the drivers' parade, Lando Norris pulled alongside Max, a sly grin playing on his lips. "Mate, you better step up your off-track game. I saw Y/N chatting with Carlos, and it looked like they were having a blast.
"Max shot Lando a half-amused, half-exasperated look. "I'm here to race, not to compete for attention off the track."As the weekend progressed, the competitive camaraderie between drivers extended beyond the racing realm. Carlos Sainz, always charismatic, engaged you in a lively conversation about race strategies and shared anecdotes from his experiences. Max, observing from a distance, found himself gritting his teeth in frustration.
Sergio Perez, known for his ability to read the subtle nuances of the paddock, sensed Max's unease. "Max, my friend, are you feeling a bit left out?" Sergio teased, a knowing glint in his eye.
Max scoffed, attempting to downplay his emotions. "I'm just focused on the race, like always."However, the tension simmered beneath the surface. The pit crew, attuned to the dynamics within the team, exchanged knowing glances as they continued their preparations. The upcoming race promised not only high-speed drama on the track but a behind-the-scenes storyline that captivated the entire paddock.
During a multi-team event, the charismatic charm of Charles Leclerc drew you into a conversation about the nuances of driving styles. The two of you exchanged insights, laughter, and even a few friendly challenges. Max, watching from across the room, clenched his jaw, a cocktail of emotions swirling within him.
Fernando Alonso, with his seasoned wisdom, approached Max with a pat on the back. "Max, my friend, in racing, you have to be fast on and off the track. Maybe it's time to show a different side of yourself."
The advice lingered in Max's mind as the race day arrived. The grid was charged with anticipation, not only for the thrilling battle on the circuit but for the undercurrents of emotions that had become an integral part of the season narrative.
As the lights dimmed, engines roared to life, and the cars thundered down the straight, the drama unfolded on multiple fronts. Max, focused on reclaiming his spotlight, pushed the Red Bull to its limits. The pit crew executed seamless strategies, but it was the emotional dynamics that added an extra layer of complexity to the race.
The checkered flag waved, and Max crossed the finish line with a triumphant roar. The pit crew erupted in celebration, but Max's eyes sought you out amidst the chaos. The unspoken tension reached a turning point as you locked eyes with him, a shared understanding passing between you.
The paddock, having witnessed the emotional rollercoaster of the race, anticipated that the off-track dynamics would continue to evolve. The Grand Prix season had just begun, and with each race, the interwoven threads of competition and connection promised a narrative that transcended the mere pursuit of victory on the track.
Next Chapter (don't know how to make a link if you do let me know):
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kiichu · 1 year
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V-DAY 2023 finally here THEY are!!!! ♡♡♡♡
Ref used!
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credibleauomotive · 2 years
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Power Management Integrated Circuit (PMIC) Market Size 2022 Industry Share, Growth Analysis, Regional Demand, Revenue, Key Manufacturers and 2030 Forecast Research Report
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By Top Key Players Mitsubishi Group STMicroelectronics N.V. Renesas Electronics Corp. Dialog Semiconductor PLC ON Semiconductor Corp Linear Technology Corporation Infineon Technologies AG Analog Devices Inc. Texas Instruments Inc. Toshiba Corp Maxim Integrated Products Inc. By Types Voltage Regulators Motor Control ICs Integrated ASSP Power Management ICs Battery Management ICs Others By Applications Automotive and Transportation Consumer Electronics Industrial Telecom and Networking Others
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circuitscs · 2 years
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bbb:Hey I'm Braxton from circuits! or CS you can call us! I know we all don't have the right kind of intros but I'm changing that TODAY.
🍃Name: Braxton Bdubbs, you can just call me Braxton or Brax!
🍃Age: 39
🍃Pronouns: HE/HIM
🍃Extra: I'm a gay man, married, a moss mole and I'm damage control. I help Innerworldly and outterworldly with any issues.
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holysainz · 8 months
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tinted red - charles leclerc
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pairing: charles leclerc x wolff!reader
warnings: mentions of a crash, light angst
summary: when the love of your life is involved in a crash, keeping your romance a secret is the last thing on your mind
You’re always in the shadows, hidden from the glare of the media. You have to be, given that your father is Toto Wolff, one of the biggest names in F1. It’s a life of constant scrutiny, every move dissected by the press. But there’s another reason you prefer the shadows, a secret hidden behind the tinted visors and roaring engines — Charles Leclerc.
“Y/N,” Charles whispers, his fingers tracing your cheek in the dim light of his Monaco apartment, “I wish we didn’t have to hide.”
“I know,” you reply, catching his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. But the truth is, you’re scared. Scared that the media circus might get to him, scared about the stakes, the competition, the inevitable clash between the personal and the professional.
Two days later, the Monaco Grand Prix begins. The race is always a spectacle, but this year, it feels different. There’s a tension in the air, a heavy atmosphere that has your heart pounding.
You watch from the pit wall as Charles takes his position. As he pulls down his visor, he shoots a glance your way — a small, barely noticeable movement but enough for your heart to skip a beat.
And then they’re off.
For a while, everything seems normal. Charles takes the lead, his Ferrari cutting through the circuit like a scarlet arrow. You can hear his calm voice over the radio, a stark contrast to the frenzy on the track.
But then there’s a crash. A terrible, heart-stopping crash, and Charles’ car is in the middle of it.
“No...” you breathe out, your hands gripping the railing. You can hear the gasps around you, the frantic voices over the radio. But all you can focus on is the burning wreckage on the track, and the terrifying silence from Charles’ end.
“Charles, do you copy?” The voice of his race engineer echoes over the radio, tense and worried. But there’s no response.
“Charles,” you whisper, your voice choked. Panic swells in your chest, a terrifying, overwhelming sensation. You need to be there. You need to see him.
Ignoring the protests of your father and the rest of the team, you run towards the crash site. Your heart beats in your ears as you reach the medical car, praying that Charles is okay.
He’s pulled from the wreckage and you let out a sob of relief when you see him move. He’s alive, dazed, but alive.
When he sees you, his eyes widen. “Y/N?” he mumbles, looking genuinely confused. Then his eyes flicker to the cameras, to the team staff, to your father who has just arrived at the scene. “Y/N,” he says again, this time with a different tone. A tone of realization.
Before you can react, he pulls you into his arms, ignoring the cameras, the audience, everything but you. He’s shaky but his arms are tight around you. “I’m okay,” he assures you but it’s you who should be comforting him.
But the truth is out now. The world knows about you and Charles. It’s chaos — flashes from cameras, shouts from the media, gasps from the crowd. Your father’s furious face is the last thing you see before Charles’ team pulls you both away.
Once in the privacy of the medical center, Charles looks at you, guilt in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”
Tears prick your eyes, not of anger, but of relief. “I don’t care,” you tell him, “I don’t care about the media, about the world. All I care about is you.”
Charles’ face softens, and he reaches out, brushing a tear from your cheek. “I love you, Y/N.”
You give him a teary smile. “I love you too, Charles.”
When you face your father, it’s with determination. You know there will be consequences, but as long as you have Charles, you can face anything.
“Y/N, what were you thinking?” Toto scolds but his anger is tempered with relief. “Do you understand the implications of this?”
“Yes, I do,” you reply, standing tall. “But, dad, I love him. And I can’t hide it anymore.”
Toto sighs, rubbing his temples. Then he looks at you, a glint of something — resignation, maybe even understanding — in his eyes. “Alright, Y/N. We’ll deal with this, as a family.”
In the end, things work out. There are a lot of talks, a lot of apologies, but through it all, you and Charles stand united. The media, as expected, goes into a frenzy. Yet, as the days pass, the chaos settles.
And one night, sitting together on the same Monaco balcony, under the same stars, you realize something. Despite the scrutiny, the chaos, and the stress, you wouldn’t trade this life for anything else. Because this life gave you Charles, and with him, you have everything.
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saintescuderia · 10 days
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pancakes (pt. 1)
welcome a new multi-chapter fic. enjoy.
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AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.
series masterlist here :)
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P1 - bulgarian split squats
Really, the only way to survive Formula 1 was by going to the gym. 
The gym addiction was something that had existed long before joining the circus of a motorsports paddock filled with politics and rumours, as well as the slim fitting uniforms that always seemed to be accompanied by, in your opinion, ugly ass shoes. 
Sure, Puma was the offical sponsor but couldn’t they get anything other than the Speedcat? And what even was that name? Speedcat? It was on brand, sure, but at what cost? Really? If Formula 1 was trying to grow its popularity they could honestly start with their dress code. Seeing Christian Horner in Skechers really took the intimidation out of him when you served him his double espresso during the Spanish Grand Prix that one time last season. 
One of the perks of working in Hospitality - and there were very few far and in between - was that uniform was not so strict. F1 Hospitality only required an all black service with ‘comfortable shoes.’ This you took for interpretation. Dunks. Jordan 4s. Maybe 1s. Never 13s. Forces were good for a night race - that usually meant more stairs - and Vans were what you reached for in the morning when you knew you’d be working the barista shift. Converse were for ‘throw away’ races.
These were the races where you knew the shoe-care was not important. For example, Silverstone with its torrential UK drinkers who were likely to throw up on your beloved sneakers. Alas, you had learned the hard way when you almost lost your job by rushing to the kitchen to start scrubbing the vomit off your blue and red Cortez during peak lunch.
Never again.
Admittedly, you did try to keep at least one pair of Converse in good care since they were the renowned shoe come leg day. 
Another perk of working in F1 Hospitality was that every circuit’s map layout had been drilled into your head. Meaning you always knew exactly where the communal driver’s gym was located at and could therefore get your daily dose of dopamine before dealing with… well, everything.
You silenced the shrill horror that came from the iPhone alarm. 4:00 read the lockscreen, the light shining brightly into your face. It didn’t help that your wallpaper had a photo with a clear blue sky, making the light even harsher in the darkness. You could’ve very well changed it and avoid the pain you routinely go through every morning. But it was this very photo that reminded you why you were getting up in four in the morning in the first place. 
You had snapped it during a free practice in Italy that had miraculously lined up with a break in your shift. The sky was clear and the red car was small, but clear on the circuit. Ferrari, of course. You still remember the buzz that circled around the paddock staff that day. No matter who you routed for or whatever bias you had, there was a unanimously acknowledgement that Ferrari winning at Monza was special. He was special. 
Then again, you’ve known that long before he stood on that podium in Italy and was given his infamous nickname. 
It didn’t even take you ten minutes until you were out the door. Your gym clothes (pump cover included!) were on the one limpy chair that decorated your poor little hotel room, your shaker sat on top of your gym bag with you black high top Converse right beside it. By the time you had made it to the gym, it was a little past 4:15 and you had already scooped in pre-workout into your mouth ready to get through the oncoming pain. 
Your hips were a little tight, as per normal. The left side even more so. The hood of your hoodie was up, headphones on and blasting the hardstyle house music that would see you through the next two hours. You went through your usual stretches but with today’s added focus on the lower body. 
And then you went about destroying your legs. 
It was about an hour or so that Oscar finally sleepily arrived. You weren’t actually sure what time it was but you were up to doing bulgarian split squats - and hating life - and that was usually at the hour mark. You gave him a curious once over, noting the odd choice of clothing. It was a little odd to see a driver in the paddock wearing athleisure that wasn’t their team uniform.
“Bro, it’s five in the morning.” Oscar groaned, shuffling over to come and sit on the bench next to you. You gave another three more reps - Oscar silently watching you groan in pain through the last two - and then finally dropped the dumbbells. You reached over to take a sip of water and checked the phone for the time.
“It’s five thirteen in the morning.” You corrected. It had been just about the hour mark. “Are we training today or?” It wasn’t the first time Oscar had joined you. The reason his neck was getting stronger was because of you. In your opinion, the trainer Alpine had assigned Oscar was a fucking idiot.
“You’re doing legs.” Oscar pointed out, as if that was enough of an answer. He leaned to lay back down on the bench and stared up as he continued to speak. “Drivers don’t need bulky legs. We’ve been over this.”
You had. Many times. You knew he was right. It still would be nice to have someone to go through legs with you, though.
“So train with light weights.” You offered, trying. Oscar just gave you a look that made it clear he was not picking up any type of weights. You shrugged, not deterred. “I’ll do calisthenics with you. Or we can work on plyometrics.” Oscar’s response was to close his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Fuck it man, do some cardio.” You came to the last resort, coming to kick his legs as you walked past to load up the smith machine with some different plates. 
“Piss off Tezza.” The Australian-ness continuing to shine through with the nickname that Oscar had specifically designed for you in respect of your shared citizenship to the ‘land down under.’
Except unlike the blond caucasian boy who loved AFL, grew up in Brighton East and attended Haileybury, your Australian-ness was less obvious. Your accent, for one, wasn’t as prominent since your parents were African immigrants. This, of course, didn’t just influence your speech patterns and accent.
Dark skin, dark eyes and dark hair, you weren't exactly the picture of a ’true blue Aussie.’ The rite of public school bullying from those who did look 'Australian' (whatever that meant) had you scoffing at vegemite and preferring to follow EPL and La Liga than whatever the fuck was AFL.
Why is it called football if the players pick it up?
Still, when a homesick Oscar Piastri overheard one of the Hospitality staff yell out that that they were going for a 'Macca’s run' between the practice sessions on his very first F1 race weekend, he instantly picked up on the Australian-ism. And he didn’t let it go. And cue the beginning of a friendship that had Oscar Piastri calling you ‘bro’ and shortening your last name as per Australian rite.
Even if you had sworn off that sort of thing.
“Oscar, man, if you ain’t here to train then why are you?” You said, locking the plates in place on the smith machine. You lifted up your hood up and ducked under the bar to rest the metal against you shoulders, the hood acting as a cushion. The starting weight was light enough that you wouldn't have to worry about music for your first set. Besides, if Oscar was here, he could be the entertainment for this set. “You forget that this is a driver’s only gym. You could get in trouble." The sarcasm was all too clear in your voice.
No one used the ‘drivers-only’ gym. It was something that every Grand Prix had set up. Mobile, communal and high-end, it had enough equipment to rival the local 24/7 studio franchise gym that seemed to exist in every neighbourhood. Despite the fact that every driver preferred to train at their own motorhome gym - or that every team had their own mobile gym set up in conjunction to the motorhome - F1 still went about packing up and moving their own studio gym to every single location come race weekend.
If anything, it was a nice stop during the presentation walk during the sponsorship lunches where good old Stefano Domenicali would show off all the amazing resources that the Grand Prix space has to offer. 
So, no. F1’s Driver Gym was not used.
The only reason it wasn’t gathering dust was because every weekend it was packed up and moved. That and you woke up at 4am every weekend to destroy your muscles in the familiar red and black equipment.
"You're here." Oscar reminded you. "And not a driver."
You ignored him and just kept up with your repetitions, focusing on engaging your glutes and keeping your core tight. Oscar was silent as you finished your first set. When you finished your last rep, he stood up and came round as you locked the machine. He knew you well enough to pick up the 10kg and help add it to the sides.
"Thanks." You said. Oscar nodded and added the weight to the other side. There was a quiet air for a moment and you went to pick up your headphones to put them back on. Things were getting heavier and you would need music to get through the next few sets.
“I might be leaving Alpine.” 
You looked up at Oscar who dropped the bomb and then looked back at your headphones. You sighed and then dropped the headphones back to land in your gym bag. Headphoneless, you went back to the machine and Oscar took your invitation.
“Zak Brown approached me yesterday and suggested something about picking me up for next year.” Oscar said.
You just kept squatting. Oscar was far too removed to yet be aware of - well, everything.
“And with talk of Fernando quitting, I know that Alpine will be calling me up but do I trust that? Honestly Lando has been doing so well and Ocon has always pissed me off.” Oscar watched as you started to struggle.
He stood up and came around to help you but you just shook you head. You pushed through one more rep and then called it. 
“He does have a punchable face.” You said, now out of breath. Esteban had always annoyed you and before meeting Oscar, you used to dread the weekends where you were put on Alpine.
Your friend handed you the water bottle sat beside your gym bag before you could even ask. You gave a two finger salute in thanks as he continued on.
“And Lily and I got into this massive fight again! Apparently I don’t communicate enough!” He huffed. “But I sent her flowers and chocolates because she’s going through finals and she likes daisies and Cadbury."
“Yeah, but is that her love language though?” You asked, dropping your bottle and going to stack up the final set of weights on the smith machine. Oscar stood up again to help you.
“Her what?” He asked, handing you the plate.
“Love language.” You answered, still panting, and explained, “You’ve got physical touch, gift giving, quality time, words of affirmation and acts of service.” 
“Are you saying people love in specific ways?" Oscar asked, quick to process new information as always.
“Exactly. You did something nice for her, an act of service. Maybe all she wants is a nice, long phone call or maybe some texts complimenting her or something.” You shrugged and then brought up your headphones.
Oscar accepted this, knowing the last set would require music.
He watched you as you settled back under the smith machine bar and went on squatting more than his body weight. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. He really shouldn't have been surprised at your lack of surprise. Little shocked you. That or your might’ve already known and just kept it to yourself. F1 Hospitality were a part of the Formula One Group and, therefore, were not associated to any one team. They had rotations across all teams and, therefore, every member of staff were required to sign an NDA. Not that ever did anything in this damn place.
Still, Oscar knew that you were one of the few genuine people left in this place.
He knew that there would’ve been so many opportunities where you could’ve easily done something for yourself by recounting something you had overheard while pouring Toto Wolff his coffee or serving Mattia Binotto his lunch. It was the reason why so many teams hired their own internal hospo staff.
It was also the reason why Oscar felt comfortable coming to tell you about Alpine and McLaren before he had even told his own parents, or Lily. The argument with his girlfriend had prevented him from getting any sleep, mulling it over in his mind for hours. Oscar knew you would be able to help him through it all.
And that you would be the only one awake at this godforsaken hour.
By the time you had finished your first set, he was Googling love languages and having a quick read through. 
By the time you had finished your second set, he was halfway through doing the love languages quiz.
By the time you had finished your third and final set, he was seeing what the problem was between him and Lily.
“I think Lily is words of affirmation and I'm acts of service." He said, coming up to the machine as you stepped back and pulled down your headphones. You blinked and nodded, still put of breath. "I think I forgot to check in with her and send her some compliments. Tell her I'm proud of her for getting through exams. Especially because she never is one for gifts, really."
You held out your hand to him. "There you go. Growth."
"I don't know what to do about Alpine."
"Call a lawyer."
Oscar pursed his lips and then considered this. That wouldn't be his first move but thinking about it, it was probably for the best. "That's actually a good idea."
"Isn't that why you're here?" You retorted. "Since you're not here to train. Speak of which, the fuck is that?"
“What?” He asked and realised she was looking at his feet.
“Zak Brown isn’t going to hire you if he finds out that you’re wearing fucking thongs with socks.” You said, finally recognising the flip-flops he wore with some white socks that really needed to be washed. 
“You’ve been a great help, thanks.” Oscar smiled. You rolled your eyes and went to your gym bag. Pulling out a pair of white Adidas Sambas, you tossed them to Oscar.
“Put these on.”
“Is my footwear really that offensive to you?”
“We’ll go run the track.” You said then gestured to all of him. “It’ll help you burn all of this off.”
Oscar sighed and did as he was told. He laced up the shoes you'd given him that surprisingly fit his large feet and followed you out to the track. He used his pass to get through since a driver running the track at 5:30 in the morning would just be seen as the dedication to the grind. A Hospitality staff member would just be accused of breaking in. 
“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re going through a crisis. I’ve always wanted to do a morning run on the track.” You said with a grin as the pair of you came to the starting line that, in a matter of hours, would be full of mechanics, engineers, reporters, camera crew members and, of course, drivers.  
“If I get a seat at McLaren, you can be my trainer.” Oscar said as you both started warming up into a light jog.
"Ha." You snorted. "As if you could afford me, bro."
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