#still i rise
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#lewis hamilton#sir lewis hamilton#almave by lewis hamilton#team lh44#lh44#hamilton#plus 44#motorsport#mercedes formula one#mercedes#f1#formula 1#formula one#mercedes f1#still i rise
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Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
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Still I rise ~ Lewis Hamilton
Reader comforting Lewis, after a disappointing qualifying session.
Word Count 1.2k
Genre: Angst
------------------------------------------------------------
His helmet lay strawn on its side, as if tossed to the floor with anger and frustration.
The changing room door was ajar, the sliver of light from outside piercing a fraction of the darkness within.
From it, you could only just make out the flash of yellow - what seemed to be Lewis’ shoes - the neon, bright in the darkness.
The moment you’d seen his post qualifying interview, you’d known; the sadness in his perfectly practised smile, the tension in his furrowed brow, the unfocused eyes as he spoke of his session to the reporter questioning him.
“At some point you start wondering if it's the car or just you, y’know.”
He’d shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to diffuse his answer to the question, the biting on his lip holding in a tremour only you could notice.
After a viciously challenging start to the season, you’d seen the confidence that Lewis usually carried himself with, slowly begin to deflate, and this practice session in Japan seemed to be the absolute breaking point for his positive spirit.
The situation was taxing, understandably, and the Mercedes crew had spent much of the season heads down, working on new improvements to make - yet somehow, progress seemed slow.
Lewis seemed to be blaming himself much more these days, longer hours in the gym, harsher dieting; absolute eternities he’d spend rewatching clips of his race and memorising data the analytics team sent across.
He was disappointed in himself. Torn apart from self-doubt and worry.
And now, post qualifying interview, he seemed to have gone missing.
You’d spent the past however long looking from him; pacing the entirety of the paddock to the Mercedes garage, even peeking into the press conference green room where you’d bumped into a very confused Max- having to squeak a quick “sorry,” before rushing back on your mission to hunt Lewis down.
Yet here he was, confining himself to the darkness of his changing room, burying himself in wavering self -confidence.
Sucking in a deep breath, you took a ginger step towards the door, lightly giving it a quick knock to signal your entrance. The light flooded in from outside, and from the doorway you caught sight of Lewis - your heart crumbling as you took in the sight of him.
Oh you poor, poor thing.
He was sat on the floor in the far corner of the room curling into himself. Head in his hands, his knees drawn up to his chest. You saw his body tremble in a tremendously suppressed sob, one you could only wonder how long he’d been holding in.
It didn’t take you a second longer to reach him, falling to the floor in front of him. It was then you noticed just how violently his hands were shaking, and you reached out, tenderly taking them into your own.
Lewis responded to your touch immediately, his head lifting to meet your eyes.
In an attempt to soothe him, you rubbed circles into the back of his hands, eyes locking with his bloodshot ones.
You broke the silence first, in a whisper, soft but firm. “You’re going to be okay.”
He gave you a tight smile through his tears - sad and forced. “I’ve lost it. I’ve lost it all.”
His voice gave him away, cracking 2 words into his sentence and his eyes filled with fresh tears. They spilled out onto his face and he tore his hands away from yours to wipe them away.
Lewis had always been the type to keep his emotions in control - and this time he’d reached breaking point.
“Lewis,” you reached out for his face, forcing his eyes to meet yours again. There was defeat in them. Like the hope and passion to fight for wins had been sucked out and replaced with tonnes and tonnes of self-doubt.
“You haven’t lost anything.”
Rubbing the tears off his cheeks you pulled him into an embrace, and in moments his arms were tight around you, his head resting on your shoulder and soaking it as he let out the frustration, the pressure, the anger, the pain.
“It’s not the car. It’s me.”
You shook your head, determined to let him know that this was no fault of his own. He curled further and further into you, and you held him tighter, cradling his quivering body in your arms in an attempt to take the pain away.
Lewis had always been physically bigger than you being the athlete he was; taller, bulkier, stronger.
Yet in your arms he seemed so small. So vulnerable. As if needing your protection to shield him from scrutiny.
You rubbed his back, shushing him with words of affirmation.
He was stronger than this. He was a fighter. He was a champion. And that's what he needed to know.
How he’d conquered years of championships and podiums. How he’d brought it home on only 3 wheels at Silverstone. How he’d stolen the show in his rookie years, being only a point behind the season winner.
But also how he was so much more than just a formula one driver.
A motivator, justice seeker. An inspiration, role model for thousands and thousands if not millions. Someone passionate to right wrongs, unafraid to condemn the world for its immorality.
“One failure doesn’t set you back Lewis,” His sobs had quietened down, and he gave a small sniffle in reply, “A bad qualifying isn’t a bad race. A bad race isn’t a bad season. A bad season isn’t a bad career.”
You wanted him to see what so many saw in him. What you saw in him. His eloquence, charisma, humility.
And so you tightened your hold against him, giving him a gentle squeeze on his palm, to let him know, it would all be okay.
A small smile erupted on your face when you felt him give a small squeeze back. One that showed he acknowledged what you’d said.
You pressed a kiss against his forehead, before leaning against it so your breaths intermingled. “You’re a fighter, Lewis. So get up and fight for this.”
—---------------—----------------------------------------
Race day:
Lewis zipped up his race suit, adjusting his ear piece before picking up his helmet and striding towards his car.
He felt a new found confidence surge into him today - his breakdown less than 24 hours prior to this race lifting a huge weight off his chest he didn't know he'd been holding onto.
It was as if his faith had been restored, by someone letting him know that it was okay to fall. It was okay to hit hurdles, as long as he picked himself up and fought through it.
Lewis found your face in the crowd of engineers - not that you'd been hard to find - you stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of Mercedes team uniforms.
“Ready?” You let warmth fill your eyes, closing the gap between you until the chaotic bustle of the paddock drowned away - becoming no more than a background buzz.
“Ready.” Lewis’ voice was low, yet it held certainty. You rested your palms against his solid torso, eyes locking with his, through the visor of his helmet.
There were no signs of yesterday's doubts; no question of ability; the tears of vulnerability dissolved from the fire that set ablaze in his orbs of gold.
He was ready to make a statement.
Lewis flashed you a smile, cocking his head to the side with the charisma you'd fallen so in love with.
“I am a fighter, and I will fight for this. I am a fighter, so I will rise.”
#formula 1 x reader#lewis hamilton imagine#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x you#formula 1#lewis hamilton#formula one#formula one x reader#lewis hamilton one shot#lewis hamilton fanfic#lewis hamilton angst#still i rise
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Black History Month
Maya Angelou (American, 1928-2014)
Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit
a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woma
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
from And Still I Rise • Copyright © 1978
#american women#maya anjelou#poet#essayist#black woman wrirer#american writer#african american woman of letters#poetry#contemporary poetry#american poetry#still i rise
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@f1blrcreatorsfest week 4 - softs x hards: poetry x history (lewis hamilton + maya angelou)
"You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise."
#mira's graphics#f1blrcreatorsfest23#f1#f1edit#formula 1#graphic design#photoshop#f1 graphic#formula one#lewis hamilton#lewishamiltonedit#maya angelou#still i rise#poetry#whew i love him
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Untitled Loumand -> PRACTICE
Was driving home yesterday, which is a super long commute. So I use that time to beat myself up about how I behaved during the day, mostly obsessing over my socials skills and lack thereof. Anyway, a student died in a fire so I was deployed as a crisis team coordinator to respond. Anyway, I got through the shitty day and wanted nothing more than to think about my comfort gays.
So of course, I thought about Louis and Armand and the trouble I'm having with that previously untitled Loumand fic that I've now decided to call PRACTICE.
About Louis. I think of him similarly to a functioning alcoholic. He has his vices and addictions, namely scary, powerful men who should love him more than they love their desire for him. But they don't. In their pursuit of him, they destroy him. Will I characterize that in the fic? Probably not because I'm ultimately a fluff writer that accepts I'm not writing about fluff characters. But that's in my spirit. I don't know what to do with it but it's there.
What I am focusing on in this fic is an analysis of Louis as someone I can never see going to therapy. But I think, or I imagine, his relationship with Armand is the closest thing to therapy he'll ever get. And here's why. In the book, Louis is seeking information from Armand about who he is and how he should approach the world given the implications of self (psycho-education). He also highly values Armand's ability and willingness to listen to him. (affective expression and regulation). Not to just hear him but to listen, which are different. Related, in the show, he was impressed with (among other things) Lestat's ability to see him. Anyway, clearly that wasn't enough to heal him (see again; not loving him more than desiring him).
This all led me to do some research into trauma-informed counseling, which is something I already have to know for my job and I've already had some training. But I've paid more attention to it for this fic than I ever have for work and that's CRAZY AF. Like I wanna submit this fic as my DP (Deliberate Practice - a competency I have to demonstrate for my annual evaluation, which leads to MORE MONEY. A bish is getting a 9.7% raise omg like I NEED it. But my bosses are not about to rate me as highly effective over this snark and smut [hopefully]).
Anyway, I don't know how the fic will end but Armand is about to make Louis do that Donald Trump face:
It's going to be my modern adaptation of the second season 2 trailer conversation they have outside of the murder mansion. I've transcribed it, I have all the points I need them to hit, everything Armand says and Louis' reaction.
While Louis was thinking with his HOLE, Armand was thinking about how Louis has something to hide. Some ... trauma? And he's like well, I'm gonna HELP you. And I'm thinking I can work something out along those lines. I know it's gonna satisfy me but I have no idea if anyone else will enjoy it. Since this is my 2nd post about it, even from this account, I think it's too late to post it anonymously and never think about it again.
#punctuation panic meta#punctuation panic on ao3#trying to write and have a plan but also what is writing and why do i do it#not to mention the abject fear of sharing creations because i can't predict its reception#and why try if ppl may hate it and be mean#but a bitch has never been scared or has and never let it stop me#still i rise
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P O E T R Y • M O N T H ✨
National Poetry Month • April 2024
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#f1#formula 1#lewis hamilton#sir lewis hamilton#still i rise#team lh44#lh44#tattoos#tattoo inspo#plus 44#mercedes#mercedes formula one#mercedes f1#ferrari#forza ferrari#ferrari f1
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Does it ever drive you crazy? Just how fast the night changes 🥹
#why did i make myself emotional at 9 in the fcking morning#i love pain#🥲#lewis hamilton#lewis#still i rise#formula one#lh44#formula 1#f1#f1blr#team lh44#fic ref#short king#mercedes f1#the goat#does it ever drive you crazy just how fast the night changes#night changes
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1. fiona apple: the caged bird sings, chris heath - for rolling stone / 3. slow like honey, fiona apple / 4. lady lazarus, sylvia plath / 5. dear john, taylor swift / 7. radio, lana del rey / 9. still i rise, maya angelou / 10. liability, lorde / 11. photography by olivia bee
i wanna live a glorious, divine, happy life and do amazing things just to spite all my haters and idc if that makes me pathetic or bitter 😌😌apparently when people at school heard i got into x college, some girl i’ve vaguely known since middle school was like “esotericswiftie? seriously? she got in there?” and ngl that satisfied some deep primal craving within me to prove them all wrong. i wanna leave them crying, shaking, throwing up!!!
#fiona has wings#still i rise#girl blog#girlblogging#girl blogger#web weaving#connections#parallels#girlhood#girl interrupted syndrome#gaslight gatekeep girlboss#femcel#female manipulator#coquette#fiona apple#taylor swift#lana del rey#lorde#maya angelou#poetry#art#lyrics#photography
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Couldn't watch the race today but the outcome wasn't a surprise. Lewis Hamilton has proven that he can push this midfield car to the top 3 if he has team support. We still don't have any updates from his new contract, I hope he keeps Mercedes on their toes because the team needs to step it up too.
Pictures from Hamilton insights on IG
#formula 1#lewis hamilton#team lh44#greatest of all time#belgian gp 2023#spa gp 2023#still i rise#Team LH#sir lewis hamilton#toto wolff#mercedes amg petronas
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Still I Rise by Maya Angelou
Coworker shared for Black History Month today and it was perfect.
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