#$500 car challenge

[i-my-me01]

$500 CashApp Deposit

[i-my4549]

$500 CashApp Deposit

[mostlysignssomeportents]

"Efficiency" left the Big Three vulnerable to smart UAW tactics

Tomorrow (September 22), I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. Tomorrow night, I'll be in person at LA's Book Soup for the launch of Justin C Key's "The World Wasn’t Ready for You." On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.

It's been 143 days since the WGA went on strike against the Hollywood studios. While early tactical leaks from the studios had studio execs chortling and twirling their mustaches about writers caving once they started losing their homes, the strikers aren't wavering – they're still out there, pounding the picket lines, every weekday:

https://www.cnbc.com/2023/08/09/how-hollywood-writers-make-ends-meet-100-days-into-the-writers-guild-strike.html

The studios obviously need writers. That gleeful, anonymous studio exec who got such an obvious erotic charge at the thought of workers being rendered homeless as punishment for challenging his corporate power completely misread the room, and his comments didn't demoralize the writers. Instead, they inspired the actors to go on strike, too.

But how have the writers stayed out since May Day? How have the actors stayed out for 69 days since their strike started on Bastille Day? We can thank the studios for that! As it turns out, the studios have devoted so much energy to rendering creative workers as precarious as possible, hiring as little as they can getting away with and using punishing overtime as a substitute for adequate staffing that they've eliminated all the workers who can't survive on side-hustles and savings for six or seven months at a time.

But even for those layoff-hardened workers, long strikes are brutal, and of course, all the affiliated trades, from costumers to grips, are feeling the pain. The strike fund only goes so far, and non-striking, affected workers don't even get that. That's why I've been donating regularly to the Entertainment Community Fund, which helps all affected workers out with cash transfers (I just gave them another $500):

https://secure2.convio.net/afa/site/Donation2?df_id=8117&8117.donation=form1&mfc_pref=T

As hot labor summer is revealed as a turning point – not just a season – long strikes will become the norm. Bosses still don't believe in worker power, and until they get their minds right, they're going to keep on trying to starve their workforces back inside. To get a sense of how long workers will have to hold out, just consider the Warrior Met strike, where Alabama coal-miners stayed out for 23 months:

https://www.thenation.com/article/activism/warrior-met-strike-union/

As Kim Kelly explained to Adam Conover in the latest Factually podcast, the Alabama coal strikers didn't get anywhere near the attention that the Hollywood strikers have enjoyed:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvyMHf7Yg0Q

(To learn more about the untold story of worker organizing, from prison unions to the key role that people of color and women played in labor history, check out Kelly's book, "Fight Like Hell," now in paperback:)

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Fight-Like-Hell/Kim-Kelly/9781982171063

Which brings me to the UAW strike. This is an historic strike, the first time that the UAW has struck all of the Big Three automakers at once. Past autoworkers' strikes have marked turning points for all American workers. The 1945/46 GM strike established employers' duty to cover worker pensions, health care, and cost of living allowances. The GM strike created the American middle-class:

https://prospect.org/labor/2023-09-18-uaw-strikes-built-american-middle-class/

The Big Three are fighting for all the marbles here. They are refusing to allow unions to organize EV factories. Given that no more internal combustion cars will be in production in just a few short years, that's tantamount to eliminating auto unions altogether. The automakers are flush with cash, including billions in public subsidies from multiple bailouts, along with billions more from greedflation price-gouging. A long siege is inevitable, as the decimillionaires running these companies earn their pay by starving out their workers:

https://www.businessinsider.com/general-motors-ceo-mary-barra-salary-auto-workers-strike-uaw-2023-9

The UAW knows this, of course, and their new leadership – helmed by the union's radical president Shawn Fain – has a plan. UAW workers are engaged in tactical striking, shutting down key parts of the supply chain on a rolling basis, making the 90-day strike fund stretch much farther:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2023-09-18-labors-militant-creativity/

In this project, they are greatly aided by Big Car's own relentless pursuit of profit. The automakers – like every monopolized, financialized sector – have stripped all the buffers and slack out of their operations. Inventory on hand is kept to a bare minimum. Inputs are sourced from the cheapest bidder, and they're brought to the factory by the lowest-cost option. Resiliency – spare parts, backup machinery – is forever at war with profits, and profits have won and won and won, leaving auto production in a brittle, and easily shattered state.

This is especially true for staffing. Automakers are violently allergic to hiring workers, because new workers get benefits and workplace protection. Instead, the car companies routinely offer "voluntary" overtime to their existing workforce. By refusing this overtime, workers can kneecap production, without striking.

Enter "Eight and Skate," a campaign among UAW workers to clock out after their eight hour shift. As Keith Brower Brown writes for Labor Notes, the UAW organizers are telling workers that "It’s crossing an unofficial picket line to work overtime. It’s helping out the company":

https://labornotes.org/2023/09/work-extra-during-strike-auto-workers-say-eight-and-skate

Eight and Skate has already started to work; the Buffalo Ford plant can no longer run its normal weekend shifts because workers are refusing to put in voluntary overtime. Of course, bosses will strike back: the next step will be forced overtime, which will lead to the unsafe conditions that unionized workers are contractually obliged to call paid work-stoppages over, shutting down operations without touching the strike fund.

What's more, car bosses can't just halt safety stoppages or change the rules on overtime; per the UAW's last contract, bosses are required to bargain on changes to overtime rules:

https://uaw.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/Working-Without-Contract-FAQ-FINAL-2.pdf

Car bosses have become lazily dependent on overtime. At GM's "highly profitable" SUV factory in Arlington, TX, normal production runs a six-days, 24 hours per day. Workers typically work five eight-hour days and nine hours on Saturdays. That's been the status quo for 11 years, but when bosses circulated the usual overtime signup sheet last week, every worker wrote "a big fat NO" next to their names.

Writing for The American Prospect, David Dayen points out that this overtime addiction puts a new complexion on the much-hyped workerpocalypse that EVs will supposedly bring about. EVs are much simpler to build than conventional cars, the argument goes, so a US transition to EVs will throw many autoworkers out of work:

https://prospect.org/labor/2023-09-20-big-threes-labor-shortages-uaw/

But the reality is that most autoworkers are doing one and a half jobs already. Reducing the "workforce" by a third could leave all these workers with their existing jobs, and the 40-hour workweek that their forebears fought for at GM inn 1945/46. Add to that the additional workers needed to make batteries, build and maintain charging infrastructure, and so on, and there's no reason to think that EVs will weaken autoworker power.

And as Dayen points out, this overtime addiction isn't limited to cars. It's also endemic to the entertainment industry, where writers' "mini rooms" and other forms of chronic understaffing are used to keep workforces at a skeleton crew, even when the overtime costs more than hiring new workers.

Bosses call themselves job creators, but they have a relentless drive to destroy jobs. If there's one thing bosses hate, it's paying workers – hence all the hype about AI and automation. The stories about looming AI-driven mass unemployment are fairy tales, but they're tailor made for financiers who get alarming, life-threatening priapism at the though of firing us all and replacing us with shell-scripts:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way

This is why Republican "workerism" rings so hollow. Trump's GOP talks a big game about protecting "workers" (by which they mean anglo men) from immigrants and "woke captialism," but they have nothing to say about protecting workers from bosses and bankers who see every dime a worker gets as misappropriated from their dividend.

Unsurprisingly, conservative message-discipline sucks. As Luke Savage writes in Jacobin, for every mealymouthed Josh Hawley mouthing talking points that "support workers" by blaming China and Joe Biden for the Big Three's greed, there's a Tim Scott, saying the quiet part aloud:

https://jacobin.com/2023/09/republicans-uaw-strike-hawley-trump-scott/

Quoth Senator Scott: "I think Ronald Reagan gave us a great example when federal employees decided they were going to strike. He said, you strike, you’re fired. Simple concept to me. To the extent that we can use that once again, absolutely":

https://twitter.com/American_Bridge/status/1704136706574741988

The GOP's workerism is a tissue-thin fake. They can never and will never support real worker power. That creates an opportunity for Biden and Democrats to seize:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/18/co-determination/#now-make-me-do-it

Reversing two generations of anti-worker politics is a marathon, not a sprint. The strikes are going to run for months, even years. Every worker will be called upon to support their striking siblings, every day. We can do it. Solidarity now. Solidarity forever.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/21/eight-and-skate/#strike-to-rule

[dear-ao3]

ok so considering im decently sure a good chunk of the f1 drivers dont actually like driving road cars on roads (fair) i propose a new grand prix to determine the real Best Driver.

behold. the rush hour grand prix.

1 lap. at rush hour on a friday night. all the usual normal commuters and terrible drivers are still on the road along with all the drivers. in the rain. everyone drives a car of their choice. they have to count out all their tolls using change, no one gets ez pass. and you get disqualified if you veer from the instructions (no wrong turns!)

and where does this take place?

thats right.

new jersey. (and new york city) (but mostly new jersey)

here is the proposed track:

we start and end on route 22 right outside the staples. a terrible awful road that would cause harm to any driver, especially european ones. route 22 is so terrible because there is a long stretch that has a center median with shops in it, so theres shops on the right the left and in the center with u turns every 500 feet.

they go east on 22 towards us route 1 and 9 and, thats right, newark liberty international airport. here they have to do a loop around all of the departure terminals before exiting and heading towards jersey city on route 78.

they take route 78 through the holland tunnel, which is a hilarious tunnel to go through as you can literally blink and miss the signs because theyre so small.

upon arriving in new york city they will head towards the canal street station, doing an awful little loopy loop to take hudson street to 8th avenue. new york will prove a challenge for many of them because every other street and avenue there is pretty much a one way in the opposite way.

theyre going to turn right on 23rd street and take it three blocks towards the flatiron building on fifth avenue before doing another turn around and heading back up sixth avenue

here theyre going to turn left on 40th street, then right on 7th avenue then immediately right again on 41st street and then back to 6th avenue which they'll take all the way to the bottom of central park. here they'll turn left onto 59th street then go around columbus circle, exiting on broadway and then going right onto 57th street, which they'll then take down to 11th avenue, then after. few blocks cut over to the west side highway (12 avenue) and then they'll get off at 40th street and enter, you guessed it, the lincoln tunnel.

they'll exit the lincoln and get onto route 3 which they'll take down to route 120 and then they'll do a single doughnut in the parking lot at the american dream mall (a terrible place) before getting onto, you guessed it! 95!! they'll take 95 (devil highway) to 78 to the garden state parkway before getting back on route 22, doing a quick hairpin turn at one the first u turn and then end up straight back where they started. outside the staples.

i think maybe 3 people would finish the whole thing. logan sargeant, being the only american, would come in first. fernando alonso takes second and valtteri bottas takes third.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1972 Hurst/Olds

How about some interesting facts about 1972 Oldsmobile Hurst:

Indy Pace Car: The 1972 Hurst/Olds was the official pace car for the Indianapolis 500. Hurst Performance stepped in to sponsor the pace car after major auto manufacturers were reluctant to provide one due to a tragic accident involving the 1971 Dodge Challenger.

Performance: It featured a 455 cubic inch (7.5-liter) V8 engine producing around 300 horsepower. The engine was paired with a 3-speed Turbo-Hydramatic 400 transmission and Hurst Dual-Gate shifter.

Exterior Design: The car had a unique Firefrost gold on white paint scheme, black pinstripes, and chrome accents. It also featured a functional hood scoop and rear spoiler for improved performance.

Interior: The interior was luxuriously appointed with black leather upholstery, wood trim, and special H/O emblems. The car also had power windows and climate control for added comfort.

Limited Production: Only 3,508 units of the 1972 Hurst/Olds were produced, making it a rare and sought-after model among collectors.

[monarchberrysblog]

MIGUEL O’HARA MASTERLIST — 2024 WRAPPED EDITION

A small masterlist of Miguel O’Hara fics I’ve posted in the last year or so!

Happy New Year everyone and happy 500+ followers! It has been an amazing year with many fics posted. Here is a masterlist of fics I’ve enjoyed writing as a wrapped!

☆ — most popular

♡ — favored by moots

☆ gatita | smut

synopsis: after taking your car to get an oil change with your debit card not working, you offer a solution to the mechanic.

content warning: this is a bit taboo, so l'm putting a SMALL WARNING HERE. Proceed with PRECAUTION. miguel wears a virgencita necklack, pussy slapping, cunnilingus (f! recieving), overstimulation, fingering, semi-public (he fucks you in a garage, but it's closed), unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it, people). If I miss any, let me know.

word count: +1.4 words

☆ growing pains | smut and fluff

synopsis: pregnancy is a challenge, not for the morning sickness or having the urge to pee every other step but for the outside challenges that create tension.

content warning: mentions of morning sickness (if you have emetophobia, skip the first five paragraphs), degenerate home-wrecker, comfort, pregnancy sex, and p-in-v penetration.

word count: +2.1k words

♡ nothing but trouble | smut

synopsis: cat and mouse chase? more like a cat and spider chase…

content warning: reader and miguel have an established relationship, suggestive comments? miguel being a complete flirt, the reader being fed-up, make-out session? flirty interactions, soft smut, miguel is uncircumcised, soft dom miguel, reader is a little assertive in bed, dick-grabbing (?), and this is hella cheesy (idc I had fun)

word count: >1.0k words

♡ don’t push it | very smutty

synopsis: I fantasize about it all the time; if you were mine, l'd give this pussy to you nine to five by tonight. You never wanted to go to work; you just wanted to get to work. After Miguel gets a haircut and gets something new, you decide to test it to see if you can still get a good grip.

content warning: switch!Miguel (duh), a bit of praise(from Miguel), size kink, cunnilingus (f! receiving), humping, Miguel breaks a couch , breeding kink towards the end, unprotected p in v sex, and wrap it before you tap it.

word count: +1.6k words

let’s make up | angst and smut

synopsis: after arguing with Miguel over a touchy subject, you both come to a consensus.

content warning: Soft! Dom! Miguel, dacryphilia?, praise (from Miguel), little nicknames (Mainly carino and neña), and a little bit of Miguel being a complete munch. (if you don't know what that means, you're too young to read my content.) The reader is a bottom, overstimulation, and unprotective P in V. (wrap it before you tap it). Miguel talks the reader through it, and Miguel cries.

word count: +3.1k words

A special thank you to my moots and the discord server! Y’all are my number one supporter, and I am grateful for you guys every day🩷 I would like to send a special thank you to my followers who like, reblog, and/or comment. I love seeing your usernames return when you guys like my fics. It makes my day 🩷

Happy New Years!

[soul-controller]

Compensating The Cashmaster

When Matthew pulled into the driveway of his house, the 35-year-old was shocked to see the souped up blue Dodge Challenger sitting there. Although he knew the driver of the car, their appearance on his doorstep wasn’t something that he had expected to see any time soon. But as he finally parked his car and exited, a quick glance over to the angered glare being given to him by Josh, the man standing against his front porch, revealed that this wasn’t a kind and nice visit from an acquaintance.

As a dead weight suddenly dropped into his stomach, Matthew’s pace was glacial as he slowly approached the front door. Opting to keep his lips sealed until they were both in his house, Matthew avoided eye contact entirely as he unlocked the door and pulled on the knob – standing back as the handsome and muscular man wasted no time barging into the residence.

“Are you trying to piss me off, Matthew,” the other man inquired – making his way into the living room before falling back into the small couch.

In response, Matthew’s breathing ramped up as his voice came out entirely weak and airy. “Oh uh, of course not sir! I sent you everything I could afford this paycheck,” he responded, looking over to his cashmaster and attempting to seem as remorseful as possible.

To any outsider who looked at the two of them together, it was clear that they were not close friends or anything. If anything, they resembled co-workers forced to work together or a college jock and his weak-willed nerdy tutor – which paled in comparison to the truth of their relationship. In actuality Matthew was one of Josh’s paypigs, a man who got off on giving away his money to someone he deemed hotter and “far more deserving”.

“Well, $500 isn’t enough,” Josh coldly replied, crossing his arms against his broad and muscular torso – which only made him look even more imposing to Matthew. “Get me another $500 by the end of the day or else…”

Despite wanting so badly to please his cashmaster and keep their relationship on good terms, such an ask was something that the full-time low-level office employee simply couldn’t manage. As he informed Josh as such and explained his reasoning, it seemed clear that the man wasn’t taking the news too well. In fact, all Matthew heard before everything went black was “If you’re not going to give me my money, then I’ll just find a better use for you…”

* * * * *

“You fags like you what you see, huh?” Josh grunted towards the camera, a cocky smirk on his face as he lifted his arms up and flexed his immense biceps. “If you want more, give me all of your fucking money!”

As he watched the money begin to funnel into his account, the cocky cashmaster looked down at his skintight blue compression tee that left nothing to the imagination. Every well-defined line of musculature from his bicep veins to his sculpted six-pack was on full display for the audience and the man loved seeing all of these pathetic losers fawning over him. Although he had the ego the size of Jupiter, the 24-year-old couldn’t help but give some props to his most quintessential prop of the stream – the tee that had once been Matthew, one of his pathetic paypigs. Despite living in a nice house with plenty of things he could have sold to make the extra money Josh desired, the paypig simply said he couldn’t and that genuinely pissed the man off. 

Luckily for the cashmaster though, his magical ancestry allowed him to tap into innate abilities to help teach lessons to paypigs that refused to comply. Any time one of them couldn’t provide what he demanded, he’d find a new use for them in order to help make up the remaining amount of money that they had shorted him. So as the hundreds of dollars quickly pushed past a thousand, it was clear that Matthew had certainly earned back his humanity at the end of the session. Unfortunately for him, the man’s extremely submissive personality made it highly likely that the man would replicate Josh’s experiences with other former-clothing paypigs as those individuals would purposely stop paying in order to relive their inanimate fantasies due to the innate humiliation and helplessness it provided…

Eager to read more stories like this? Head over to my Patreon to discover tons of hot transformation fiction including stories like this one!

[holllandtrash]

long live | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader (epilogue to fragile line)

long live the walls we crashed through i had the time of my life with you long, long live the walls we crashed through how the kingdom lights shined just for me and you

time passes and feelings may fade, but the memories never will word count: 7.7k (im so sorry) warnings/tags: time jumps like always, angst and heartbreak but it's not all sad this time, or is it?

four years later

“Daniel Ricciardo, 2025 Formula 1 World Champion, The Honey Badger,” James Hinchcliffe put his arm around the fellow commentator, “Tell us what you know.”

“What I know, Hinch,” Daniel repeated, taking a dramatic look up towards the clear sky. “What do I know?”

They didn’t need to act like they were friends for the camera, James and Daniel had grown close in a short time, ever since Daniel put down the helmet and picked up a microphone, Replacing the racing overalls with a suit and tie. He had the personality to be a motorsports commentator. No one was surprised when he was announced as Sky Sports newest reporter following his Formula 1 retirement. 

And James, a fellow retired driver himself from the IndyCar side, a Canadian with the humour and the banter that could keep up with Daniel, they were truly one of the best duos when it came to motorsports broadcasting.

They weren't often together, though. Daniel stuck to Formula 1. James was a regular for IndyCar. There were only a handful of races where they came together and the Indianapolis 500 was one of them. 

They were a comedic duo last year at the 2026 running, it only made sense to bring Daniel back again this year.

“Who’s your money on?” James asked. The question was innocent enough, proposed to most people who didn’t have an association with any team.

Daniel had his answer. Before the race weekend started he had an answer. Before the season started he had an answer. 

But he hesitated. 

Or, maybe froze was a better word. Daniel froze when he dropped his gaze from the sky and looked further down the pit lane. They didn’t plan on standing a few slots away from the number 6 car of Arrow McLaren, but that's where they found themselves.

Daniel froze when he spotted the familiar face sitting on the bench in the pit wall, looking at the data on the screens and nodding along with the engineer as he spoke. Daniel froze, because even though he knew exactly who was driving that car, he still wasn’t prepared for what he would do when he saw the driver.

When he saw you. 

You guys had agreed, long ago, that there would be no more interactions. That your careers, your lives, would be better if the other stayed as far away as possible.

Daniel knew that even now, four years later, he had no right to talk to you, to talk about you. He knew that at this point, it was for the best that ties were still cut, that the conversations didn’t happen. It had been over a year since your last interaction, he was in no position to change that. 

And he tried, desperately, over the years to follow the rules you agreed on. You as well kept your distance, you had to. 

But you were only human. There had been a few slip ups over the years.

For the remainder of the season, after the Austin race, you both had stuck to your word. You stopped giving the world the moments they were waiting for. You refused to interact with each other, you forced yourself to stop caring. 

It grew easier with time. The 2024 season was challenging in itself, but with Max and Daniel fighting amongst each other in a league of their own, you knew you couldn’t fight them in a McLaren. All you could do was make the most of what you had. 

Lando and you had a strong opening those first few races. McLaren was third in the constructors for a short time until other teams started to catch up, filling in the holes of their designs. 

You quite literally didn’t have time to care about Daniel when you were so focused on the rest of the grid, your actual competition. Ferrari, Mercedes, Aston Martin even. Your upgrades were no match with theirs and by the end of the season, it was disappointing to look back without a podium to reminisce on. Lando scored two, one in Spa, the other in Singapore. You did well, but not well enough to bring home a trophy.

2025 was…different.

In many ways. Firstly, the McLarens showed consistency as the season continued. You and Lando were always top contenders for points.  

Secondly, Daniel was giving Max a run for his money. He had a bit the year prior, but this season was far more competitive. You, like everyone else, was dying to see who would pull through and score that first place trophy at the end of the day, but you had to hide your desires for it to be Daniel. 

You still hadn’t spoken. You had successfully veered away from any accidental interactions. His name stayed out of your mouth and at this point, everyone on the grid knew there was a disconnect. You both had gone out of your way, this year and in 2024, to assure there would be no media appearances together, no driver conferences, nothing that the online world could twist. 

But you couldn’t do anything about still being happy for him. That would never go away. You would always want Daniel to succeed. You just couldn’t be watching the screens when he podiumed. You couldn’t go out with him and the others to celebrate. You couldn’t wish him a congrats in passing like Lando could if you were walking down the paddock. 

Daniel felt the same. While the love was gone, there was nothing he could do about those proud moments. He wanted you to make a name in this sport, to make history. He wanted you to be someone and even though he once wanted to be at your side while you planted your roots, he couldn’t.

Except that one time when he physically was at your side. 

There was a mistake in the media pen scheduling on that Thursday in Miami. From what you knew, Daniel was supposed to be in the press conference and you’d be one of the ten unlucky few that had to stand under the Miami sun in the football field, talking about how you were looking forward to this race when in reality you personally thought this was the worst race on the calendar. 

But it was too hot to complain about anything other than the heat and how you needed to change shirts as soon as the media pen segment was over because the breathable material of your papaya polo was anything but breathable.

You had barely stepped into the roped off circle to join the other drivers when you heard your name being called. Glancing over your shoulder, it took a second to realise that the call was coming from a young girl running in your direction. Her paddock lanyard flailing over her shoulder as she sprinted, one hand held onto her McLaren hat so it wouldn’t fall off.

“She can’t be here-”

“Piss off, she’s fine,” you weren’t even sure who you interrupted, but you didn’t give the risk of a reprending a second thought as you stepped forward to meet the young fan.

She was small, and you weren’t a professional when it came to guessing the ages of kids but you would put her somewhere in the range of six and eight. Maybe?

You knelt down to be more at eye level, “Hi darling, what’s your name?”

“Cara,” she answered, slightly out of breath. There was a gap in her teeth from where she must have just lost one, but it didn’t affect her grin at all. 

“Hi Cara,” you smiled at her, only then noticing she wore a shirt with your last name on it. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw an older gentleman running towards her. “Is that your dad?”

Cara looked and then nodded, but she didn’t care that she had completely abandoned him and given him a heart attack. “I saw you last year here. You finished fifth, my dad took me to watch. He says you- he says that you’re the only girl driver.”

“I am the only girl driver,” you confirmed, pouting slightly. You brushed your hand over her shoulder to smooth out the material of the shirt, “That should change soon, don’t you think? All of these boys need to be put in their place and I can’t do it alone.”

“I can join,” Cara suggested. The carefree optimism was a rare sight at one of these race weekends, but you admired it in Cara. She was too young to know the difficulties of being a female in this field and hopefully by the time she grew up, there were less walls for her to climb over, just doors to open. 

“You can join,” you nodded at the idea, laughing slightly, mostly because her dad had caught up to her and he was more out of breath than she saw. You smiled at him but looked back at Cara, “Do you race?”

“Yes!”

“No,” her dad answered, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Not yet, at least. We’ve signed her up for karting this summer, we’ll see how it goes.”

“I can already tell you’ll be a natural,” you told Cara. Watching her face light up was probably the most rewarding feeling you’d get all weekend. 

“I want to be like you. I want to win races, I want to win a championship!”

“You know what Cara, I can’t break every record, being the first girl driver. So I’ll save the championship one for you, how about that? I want to see you become the first girl to win the championship.” You gave her arm a squeeze and then stood up, turning your focus to her dad. 

He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and although you couldn’t make assumptions that he was single, the greying hair at a fairly young age and the bags under his eyes told you that he was mostly likely the main caretaker for Cara. 

“She’s got dreams,” you said.

He nodded, but smiled proudly, “That she does.”

You didn’t want to speak negatively about this industry in front of Cara, you didn’t want to crush her dreams, but you also didn't want her to grow up and be hopelessly disappointed either.

“It’s not easy for girls in this sport,” you told him. “But if she’s serious, if both of you are, look into working with Mary from Victory Speedway, located out in Tampa. She’s got contacts with F1 Academy as well. They’re goal is to make it easier.”

“Thank you,” he nodded, holding out his hand to shake. “And thank you for talking with Cara. Both of us are big fans, you truly are inspiring.”

You chatted for a bit longer, ignoring Oliver who was at your side reminding you that you had media duties. They could wait. A photo with the girl that seemed to be your biggest fan and maybe one day your predecessor, couldn’t wait.

No one really heard what you spoke about, the other drivers had their own obligations in the media pen. 

Daniel, though, he listened. 

He was standing right near the entrance when Cara had run up. He had watched you bend down to chat with her, making her a priority opposed to the reporters. He was less than two feet away as he overheard your conversation and when you turned around, ready to get the media day over with, you met his eyes.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t look away.

Daniel wanted to tell you he admired that conversation, the hope you installed in the young fan. He wanted to tell you that you made a great role model, for not just girls but all aspiring drivers. He wanted to say a lot of things to you.

He settled on a question, “You’re not trying to win the championship?”

This was the first time you had spoken in months and it wasn’t even in private. It was quite literally in front of cameras, reporters, people with audio recording devices and microphones. You opened your mouth slightly only to lock up, giving him an apologetic look because you both knew better than to be having any sort of interaction. 

You turned to face the first reporter, ignoring Daniel’s question completely. He just nodded to himself and walked to his own spot, keeping you in the corner of his eye. 

This young reporter, though, was also curious, having overheard what Daniel asked. 

“You’re not vying for a championship? Does Zak Brown know this?” He asked with a soft chuckle.

You shrugged and gave him a smile, “I mean, every driver's dream is the championship, but it’s not my goal currently. Your goals can, and should, be different than your dreams. And yes, Zak knows this, don’t you worry.”

“Your goal then, what is it?”

You inhaled, thinking to yourself for a second, “I’ve got a few and I have a good team supporting me while I work towards them. First would be to make as much history as I can, set as many records while I have a spot in Formula 1 and then I want to help other female drivers break them.”

“You want your records to be broken?”

“If it means getting more females into Formula 1, then yes.”

Daniel, who was in the middle of trying to listen to the reporter in front of him, smiled as he heard that. It was a very you response. He leaned forward, gripping the railing a bit because he completely misheard his own question and needed him to repeat it.

“And your other goal?” The young reporter asked you. 

Your lips curved into more of a devious smile, deciding to keep that one close to your chest. “Do you have any questions about the race this weekend? Or are you trying to write a biography on my life?”

Daniel was dying to know what it was too. He spent the rest of that media session racking through the memories of you, there were a lot, trying to think if you ever had that conversation. You must have, right? So why couldn’t he remember?

When all of you made your way out and back to the paddock, Daniel ignored the voice in his head telling him to just let it go. He completely drowned it out as he jogged up to your side, refraining from reaching out and brushing his hand over your elbow to grab your attention. Instead he just said, 

“Hey.”

You glanced up, instinctively stepping to the side as you walked to put more space between your bodies. 

“Hi,” you breathed out, pulling your eyes off of him and on the Red Bull motorhome that was coming up. This conversation would be short, he’d have to go back inside. You’d be fine for ten seconds, right?

“So what-” he cleared his throat. This shouldn’t have been awkward but it was. After so long of not even glancing at each other, there were new lines painted between you. Daniel didn’t know how to navigate them, and honestly, neither did you.

“Triple Crown, Dan,” you answered, knowing that's where he was going when he opened his mouth. 

The Triple Crown. Monaco. Indy 500. 24 Hours of Le Mans. 

He took a second to process that goal, not having expected it in the slightest. When he nodded, you could see the hurt in his eyes, only there was less pain and more distance. He didn’t know you like he thought he did.

“I never knew you were aiming for the Triple Crown.”

“You never asked.”

He had trained you, helped you become the best athlete you could be. He had introduced you to the right people. He acted as a mentor, but the conversations you had about racing were limited. There was a lack of communication in that sense because why bring work home with you? 

But that was the wedge driven between you. Had you talked about racing, contracts, your futures, you would have never found yourself in that McLaren contract scandal that ultimately broke you two up. 

He nodded, because what else could he say to that? You gave him a soft smile and told yourself to keep walking, to move to the other side of the paddock as Daniel headed into the Red Bull motorhome. 

You don’t interact again until Monaco. Daniel now knew winning this race meant more to you than others. Winning this would be one third of the Triple Crown checked off and as much as he was gunning for the podium, thankful for his P2 starting position, he saw that you were starting fourth and took a breath of relief. You had a shot.

Daniel wasn’t sure what came over him when he saw you in the paddock after qualifying. Maybe it was because you not completely shutting him down in Miami gave him a strange surge of confidence to approach you again, or maybe it was because he was ignoring all the voices in his head to just keep walking. Whatever it was, Daniel saw you chatting with a member of Sky Sports and as he walked passed, patted your shoulder in a congratulatory manner.

You paused whatever it was you were saying and turned in his direction, just in time to see him give you a smile and a thumbs up as he continued on his way. You returned it, but that small interaction had you stumbling over your words for the next two hours. 

Not because you were smitten, you were past that. You didn’t look at Daniel anymore and lose your train of thought, you didn’t get lost in a daze and allow everything else to fade around you.

But he didn’t seem to let go of you completely yet, and you could work with that. You could be civil. You could be neutral during race weekends, as long as it didn’t go further than the friendly smiles and minimal chats.

It shouldn’t have been hard to keep the conversations short, you hadn’t actually had anything meaningful to say to each other in over a year. When you ran into him after the race on Sunday, after he claimed the title of Monaco Grand Prix race winner for a second time, you should have just said congratulations and kept walking.

But Daniel saw you as he was propped up against the side of the Red Bull motorhome and then he stood up straighter, almost inviting you to walk up to him. There were no cameras around anymore, the majority of the paddock had gone home so you felt safer, sort of. If the world hadn’t lost their minds at the clip of him patting your back yesterday, you could talk to him now.

The Red Bull engineer he was with said his goodbyes and smiled politely at you as you approached, stopping at a safe distance.

“Another Monaco win under your belt.”

“So it seems,” Daniel tried his best to not look too proud of himself. You could see his dimples poking through. You wanted him to not be holding back, you missed his grin but gone were the days when he didn’t have to refrain with you. 

“You deserve it,” you nodded, glancing over your shoulder out of habit. You were scared of any stragglers with iPhones, but no one around seemed to care that you and Daniel were talking. You were drivers, it shouldn’t have been a strange sight.

“You deserve it,” Daniel playfully shot back. “I mean, I couldn’t just hand it over this year though, despite your Triple Crown goal.”

“Oh but next year? You’ll let me have it then?” You asked, eyebrows raised. It was a joke, a small tease, but Daniel’s smile slipped and you caught it. You caught it and you stepped forward, hand flinching because it would be moments like this where you’d want to reach for him but you couldn’t do that anymore, could you?

Daniel tensed. Now it was his turn to look anxiously around, “I might not-” a sharp inhale passed through his lips, “Yeah I might not be here next year.”

You scoffed because that idea was preposterous, “Oh shut up.”

“No it’s true,” Daniel said, but his smile told you that he wasn’t sad about it. “You know how your goal is the Triple Crown?”

“Yes.”

“Mine’s the championship, sweets.”

You weren’t given an opportunity to react to the nickname because he continued on explaining without missing a beat. Either he didn’t see the way saying sweets affected you or he didn’t even notice he said it because even after all this time, it still came naturally to him. 

“There’s a clause in my contract,” he said. “If I win the championship this year, we can renegotiate. I can leave, I can- I can retire. The way I want to.”

You didn’t know how to process this. 

Daniel belonged in Formula 1. He fought so hard for his seat, he was a mess when he was left without one and now there was a chance he’d be gone? 

And even though you were only eight races in, already he was leading the driver standings over Max, not by much, but he was. There was a strong possibility Daniel could take the championship home at the end of the season.

You couldn’t say what was on your mind. You couldn’t say, selfishly, I hope you lose the championship. You couldn’t say that it was impossible to imagine the paddock without him because even those few months when he wasn’t racing, he was still there. 

“We’ve still got a few months to go,” Daniel’s voice broke you from your thoughts, trying to move to a brighter note because that’s just who he was. “But this could be good for you. You’ll have a real shot at winning Monaco next year. But I mean- you technically already won Monaco.”

“That was F2.”

“I think it still counts.”

“I think I’ll win it again, just to be safe.”

Daniel liked that response, he liked how confident you were that the win was coming. He nodded and he really would have liked to talk to you more about this, about his potential leave, about your success, but when he was called from across the paddock you didn’t hesitate before saying goodbye. The conversation was long enough.

Things seemed lighter between you after that. 

You didn’t stop yourself from being visibly happy when he was doing well. You laughed if you overheard the stupid shit he said in the paddock. You didn’t make a big deal about it when you two were signed up for the same press conference session. Granted, you still sat on complete opposite ends of the couch, but you sat there with a smile because you liked hearing Daniel talk about the lead he still carried in the standings.

Spa was the turning point for you two.

While you hadn’t taken any more steps beyond paddock conversations and friendly interactions, what was Daniel supposed to do when you both ended up on the podium together? Him on top, claiming first, you right next to him on the second step?

You both held back when you climbed out of the cars. He opted for a friendly pat on the back even though he wanted nothing more than to bring you in for an embrace. You had podiumed once already this season, but not with Daniel. You stood between the two Mercedes drivers back in Austria but now you were there, with Daniel at your side, both of you beaming. 

You were proud of yourselves. You were proud of each other. 

Both of you had dreamt of this moment, standing next to each other on the podium. You still remembered that conversation years ago, trying to imagine what it would be like to hear the cheers for both of you.

‘You’ll have to do a shoey.’

‘Only if you win. I’m not doing one if I win.’

You had shared this dream when you were in love and even though that wasn’t the case anymore, the dream was still very much alive. Because of that, it almost didn’t feel right. 

It felt sort of unfulfilling, despite you being handed a heavy trophy. 

But this was a moment that you would remember for the rest of your life. All of your accomplishments were held very close to your heart but this one meant more than you could put into words. 

Hands shaking, crowd going wild, you were on top of the world and you were standing next to the man you used to be in love with. You glanced to the side to watch him, not able to stop yourself from smiling wide and then wider still as he held his head high like a hero. 

Daniel was larger than life. 

He always would be. 

You tried not to let yourself think that this might be the only chance you’d get to stand here with him. This win only pushed him further ahead in the championship and you were, seemingly, the only one who knew this year would be his last if he ended up winning. 

You had to hold onto this moment. It wouldn’t come again. 

To everyone watching at home, this was the start of a new age with you and Daniel. Fans could see the way you two interacted, the sheer joy you had for each other, something they hadn’t seen since you still raced in F2. 

To you, this was the beginning of the end. 

Finally, you and Daniel were getting to a place where things could be good and in a few short months, he’d be gone.

You couldn’t think about it more, not when you felt champagne being sprayed in your direction. You were late to the game and popped yours after Daniel and Max had, but you still joined in with the celebration. 

You laughed when Daniel took his shoe off and poured some of the bubbly liquid into the sole. He laughed when you refused to drink it, both of you ignoring the fact that if you were still in love, if you were still together, you would have done the shoey with him. 

Daniel was content with the nod. He knew you were happy for him, the same way he was happy for you. But neither of you could show it the way you wanted to. 

The championship win was decided at the second last race of the season, Qatar.

You didn’t have a good weekend, and you knew this. You took responsibility for the poor qualifying, the bad performance, for all of it. But you were distracted, unable to keep yourself from thinking about Daniel because if he won this race, he won it all. 

And then he’d walk away.

You were conflicted. You wanted to see Daniel take home the win but selfishly, you wanted him in Formula 1. You always wanted him in Formula 1. 

So when he crossed that line, ahead of Max, ahead of the rest of the grid, when he did celebratory donuts and stood on the podium with his chin held high, you stood on the sidelines and ignored how you used to wish for a day like this, wished for a day where he would be crowned the Championship Winner.

Daniel Ricciardo. 2025 Formula 1 World Champion. 

It had a nice ring to it. 

That’s what you told him that night when you were out at dinner and saw him sitting with a few members from his team just a few feet away. You weren’t surprised to see him at the establishment, it was exclusive, it was way overpriced and it was where many drivers went prior to going out and partying. 

You avoided his eyes that evening, scared that if you’d meet them you’d be forced to accept the reality that he really was leaving. At least, you know, if you didn’t look at him, you could live in your own little world where he wasn’t gone just yet.

You were genuinely annoyed when you bumped into him after leaving the toilets. The hall was dim, narrow and there was quite literally nowhere for you to go when he turned the corner and stopped walking when he saw you. 

“Hi,” you swallowed, anxiously smoothing out the skirt you wore, even more anxiously trying to avoid his eyes.

“Hi,” Daniel slid his hands into his pockets. His Enchante shirt clung to his skin due to the heat, but you told yourself you weren’t allowed to look at the way his little curls stuck to his forehead. 

“You, um-” you held your hand out. “Congratulations, really. Daniel Ricciardo. 2025 Formula 1 World Champion. It’s got a nice ring to it.”

He laughed and nodded along, “Yeah, yeah, thank you.”

When he leaned against the wall, you realised you were stuck. There was no getting out of this conversation. No escaping this reality. 

It didn’t help that the rest of the dining room faded behind him. The people, the sounds, the light, it was just Daniel. 

Just Daniel and just you.

How it always should have been.

How it would never be again.

You opened your mouth, intent on saying something else about his win but all that came out was a shaky breath and a choked back sob that triggered the tears you didn’t even know were building. It was quiet, but it was desperate and it was painful and Daniel didn’t hesitate before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. Your cries were muffled against his shirt and Daniel stroked your back and then your hair, holding you tight against him.

You were happy for him, really. If anyone deserved this win, it was him but god you were devastated because up until now, you didn’t realise you still held this much love for him. Up until now, you didn’t realise that even after everything, you still needed him.

You needed him.

“What am I going to do without you on the grid?” You asked, your voice was already quiet but it was even more so muffled as you spoke directly into his body.

Daniel chuckled, it vibrated through his chest. “What you’ve been doing this whole time, sweets. You’ll make history. You’ll put the rest of the guys in their places. You’ll be the driver I know you to be.”

It took a few seconds, maybe a few minutes actually, of just standing there and crying into his chest until you snapped out of it. You weren’t dating anymore, your conversations now didn’t last longer than five minutes, it was embarrassing to be losing it in front of him, because of him.

You stepped back and wiped your eyes, “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t- I just-”

“I’ll miss you too, Y/N,” he breathed out. 

You nodded, because if you tried to say anything else you would be crying again. Daniel held his finger up and walked into the toilets to grab some tissue for you. It took another minute for you to be able to trust your voice again.

“I can’t believe you’re really leaving,” you dabbed at your cheeks, knowing you’d have to go back to the hotel to fix your make up before going out again. 

“I’ve got things lined up,” Daniel shrugged.

“Care to share?”

He tried to hide his smile and failed miserably, “Just don’t be surprised if I show up at the track next year with a microphone instead of a helmet.”

That was about as much he would say as his deal with Sky Sports wasn’t yet official. 

But now you felt more like an idiot for crying about him leaving if he wasn’t even actually leaving. You’d still see him. He’d still be around. You could work with that.

Daniel could still be proud of your accomplishments, even if he was on the sidelines. 

He was, however, a little conflicted when you won the last race of the 2025 season.

You made history in Abu Dhabi. The first female driver to win a race. This was a wall you had spent years trying to crash through and now there you were. On top of the podium, on top of the world as confetti fell to the ground around you, champagne sprayed in all directions. 

This was your moment.

Your win, your first win and all you wanted was Daniel up on that podium with you. As happy as you were to celebrate with Max and George, you couldn’t deny something was missing. 

Because you really could never cut yourself off from Daniel completely, could you? You could try, you could attempt to distance yourself, you could stop the interactions and you could tell yourself you didn’t care but you were right that day you told Lando that Daniel was your missing piece.

So it made sense that you were at a bit of a loss for words when he showed up at your hotel room that next morning. 

You invited him in, despite being slightly hungover. He didn’t care that your clothes were spread all throughout the room, but he did smile at the sight of your trophy on proud display on the table before you had to give it to your engineer for safe travels.

“So this is it,” you sighed, sitting down on the far side of the couch. Daniel sat down as well, the opposite side, arm stretched along the back of it.

“This is it,” he agreed. 

“When does the news drop?”

He clicked his tongue, “Tomorrow.”

“Who’s replacing you?”

“Not sure,” he scratched the stubble along his jaw. “My guess is Lawson or possibly Palou.”

You sat in silence for a while, thankful that it wasn’t uncomfortable because it easily could have been. 

But you both grew this season.

You could both admit now, being in love and being drivers was an unattainable dream.

But you could be drivers and you could still have love for each other. 

You reached across the couch, a gentle smirk playing on your lips as you nudged his arm, “So what are you going to say about me?”

Daniel dipped his head back and laughed, “What do you mean?”

“You know,” you shrugged. “Like when you talk about us drivers on Sky Sports. What are you going to say about me?”

“I’m going to say that not only did you steal my seat, but you stole the glory of my last race by winning.”

You rolled your eyes, recognizing the sarcasm but you were thankful his words weren’t malicious anymore, “I thought we were past this. I didn’t steal your seat, Dan.”

“No, but I don’t think I can joke about it on air so this is my last chance.”

You reached behind you and grabbed one of the throw pillows, smacking it against his chest. You chose to look at this playfully, instead of it as the inevitable end. 

And Daniel needed a second to think about your question anyway, so the joke was just a way to stall. Honestly, he was a little surprised that he hadn’t already thought about it considering you were on his mind more than you should have been. 

He cleared his throat and adjusted himself on the couch cushion. You could see that he was struggling to come up with a good response and you didn’t mean for this. You didn’t want him to think he had to choose his words carefully. 

“Hey,” you whispered, shifting closer to him, “Promise me something.”

You met his eyes, his dark brown eyes that once had such a strong hold over you. You looked at him and remembered why you fell in love with him in the first place. In this moment, it was hard to remember why you ever wanted to stop loving him.

Had you stopped loving him? Did that day really come?

You could have love for someone and not be in love with him anymore, but you didn’t think you’d find yourself in a position where you had to differentiate between the two. You thought, you knew, you would always be in love with Daniel that to sit here and think that maybe, possibly, you didn’t anymore, felt like a betrayal. 

He was supposed to be the one that stood by you through it all. The good, the bad, the wins, the losses. It wasn’t supposed to end with you two sitting on the couch and admitting that this truly was over. 

It wasn’t supposed to end like this, but you always knew it would. 

Fate stepped in and whether you liked it or not, it was forcing you into a goodbye, into an acceptance that your lives would no longer be intertwined, that you couldn’t go back to the way things were. 

“Anything,” Daniel spoke softly. Maybe one day he would have said, I’d promise you the world, if you asked, but that seemed a little too forward for the moment.

“Be honest, Dan,” you told him, your hand finding his over the edge of the couch. Your thumb brushed against his fingers and both of you fought the urge to just connect them further. “Tell them my name, but tell them how I got to Formula 1. Tell them it was you, that you helped me pave the way, that you helped me make a name in this sport. Don’t just point to the pictures of me, point to the ones of us. Now that you’re done with racing, I don’t care about the assumptions, the rumours, any of it. Tell people how it really was you and I, how we were the team that should have been, that never was, please,  because even though I know-” 

You paused, taking a second to swallow the lump at the back of your throat. You glanced at your hand and maybe it was you or maybe it was him, but your fingers started to interlock. Your eyes stayed glued to the touch as your last admittance filled the air between you.

“I know I could have made it to Formula 1 without you, but I can’t put into words how thankful I am that I didn’t have to.”

Daniel nodded, because he agreed with you. He knew you could have gotten here without him but he too was grateful he was by your side for the start of it. He agreed that you two really were the team that never was but should have been. He nodded and agreed that he would say all of those things.

But you knew that he wouldn’t.

Those words were for him, not the rest of the world. 

He would tell people that you shined on top of the podium. He would say that the crowds went wild, louder for you than any other driver.

And he would never say that he had any part of shaping your career. Despite you knowing he did, despite the whole world knowing he played a detrimental part, Daniel didn’t hold onto those connections when you went on to race in 2026 and he stood in the commentators box. 

He stayed neutral, surprisingly. 

It helped that he didn’t interact with many drivers or if he did, it was never you. He did talk about you, but only about your performance on the track. His colleagues knew not to bring up your past, not when the only thing that mattered was how well you were doing in the present.

He had some thoughts when you announced you were making the switch to IndyCar at the end of this season, but mostly because you made that announcement before the Monaco Grand Prix, before you claimed the win you were chasing, before you could check off one third of the Triple Crown.

He wanted to pull you aside and question why you were making this choice but he couldn’t. He also couldn’t call you out publicly on air like other reporters had. 

All he could do was hold his breath after you qualified P2 in Monaco. He sat on the edge of his seat, struggling to do his job, struggling to commentate on the race because the second you made the move to overtake Max and it worked, Daniel had to leave the room. 

He had to leave because he knew that if you kept the lead, if you won, he couldn’t celebrate the way he wanted to with cameras on him. Instead, he watched from the privacy of a separate media suite. The broadcast was a few seconds delayed but at least he was able to cheer and be visibly proud of you and not have to hold back when you crossed the line ahead of Max.

You won the Monaco Grand Prix, in a McLaren of all cars, and now he knew what you were gunning for next.

The Indy 500. 

Signing that Arrow McLaren deal ended up being the right move after all.

“Who’s your money on?” James Hinchcliffe asked him as they stood on the pit lane where the teams were preparing for the greatest spectacle in racing. The question was innocent enough, proposed to most people who didn’t have an association with any team.

Daniel had his answer. Before the race weekend started he had an answer. Before the season started, he had an answer. Despite knowing you were still far from winning the Indy 500, his money would always be on you. 

You looked up from where you sat on the Arrow McLaren bench and you smiled at him.

You were having a pretty good season, for a rookie. With O’Ward and Rossi as your teammates, you knew you couldn’t compare, but they were good people to have on your team, in your corner. They helped you, guided you through the shift from Formula 1 to Indy and you could be proud that in a grid of 26 drivers, you were 11th in the standings. 

“Not betting on anyone, James,” Daniel answered, but his eyes were still locked on you and his smirk said otherwise. “It’ll be a good race.”

He could say your name, he wanted to. But Daniel stayed as far away from your life as he could because you decided on it a long time ago and nothing that happened since told him that you’d be going back on that decision, that you wanted him back in your life.

He might not have been a driver anymore, but you still were. So he was content with being civil, neutral. He was fine with the friendly smiles and if an old photo of the two of you circulated every now and again, well, he didn’t hate it. 

He sat with the rest of the Indy commentators during the race. He shared his honest opinions throughout and he, along with the other reporters, praised Alexander Rossi for taking home his second Indy 500 victory, eleven years after his first. 

But that was not the Arrow McLaren driver he wished was celebrating in Victory Lane.

Daniel waited until his job was done, but he knew he had to find you before the day ended. He wanted to congratulate you on finishing twelfth. That was something he was proud of and he hoped you were as well. 

It would only go up from there. The Indy 500 was still an achievable goal. 

He found you in the paddock. It wasn’t hard. You stood out, even in the crowd of people. He waited off to the side and watched you take photos with young girls, young fans that resembled that one girl in Miami, all of them looking up to you and thanking you for paving the way for them, for other females in motorsport.

It was by chance that you looked over your shoulder and saw Daniel standing there. He nodded, wordlessly assuring you that he could wait, to take your time with the fans. 

He ended up waiting almost fifteen minutes. 

Eventually, you started to approach him. Daniel stood up straighter, having been leaning against the Penske trailers until you were done. You still had your racing overalls on, but unzipped and hanging loosely on your hips. The black fireproofs under the papaya looked good on you, but Daniel hadn’t let himself appreciate your appearance for years, he couldn’t start now, even if he really wanted to.

“Hey,” you called out when you were only a few steps away.

“Hey yourself,” Daniel chuckled. When you finally stood in front of him, he was sort of expecting to see a sliver of defeat, but you were happy. You may not have won the 500, but you had a good run and there was always next year. Plus, you still had the rest of the season to finish. The season wasn’t over, you could still make history in this sport. 

You crossed your arms over your chest and glanced around, jaw clenched until you finally worked up the courage to meet his eyes. 

“So,” you inhaled a breath. “You’ve got some time on your hands now that you’re retired, right?”

Daniel wasn’t sure where this was going but he laughed and nodded, “Somewhat, yes, but I do still work race weekends.”

“But Monday through Wednesday?”

He pondered it for a second, just for dramatic effect. “I’m fairly open.”

You nodded, hoping for that answer. 

If you were being honest with yourself, this was a conversation you wanted to have with Daniel since he announced his retirement almost two years ago, you just never knew what the outcome would be.

You felt a bit safer now, knowing that he was based out of the UK and your races were only North American. If he hated where you were going with this, well, it was rare you’d be crossing paths so soon afterwards. 

You just had to blurt it out.

“Ever thought about being a trainer?” You asked. “Or a manager? Mentor even? You know- my last mentor walked out on me-”

Daniel cut you off with a booming laugh, “Walked out? Really? Is that what you tell people?”

Him playing along with your humour felt like a weight off your shoulders, “Only if they ask.”

Daniel, finally, didn’t have to refrain himself anymore. He felt confident enough to drape his arm over your shoulders and walk with you down the paddock. For once, he didn’t care if people looked or recorded and secretly, he hoped they did. 

All he wanted was to be at your side. All he wanted was for the world to know he was proud of you, that, if you asked, he’d be back in your corner.

And you were asking.

“So you need a mentor?” He repeated. “A trainer?”

Your hand slipped around his waist. It was natural, comforting, right.

“Well, I need to win the 500 eventually and then I need to get into Le Mans. I can’t do it alone.”

Daniel looked at you, wearing that stupid grin you missed so much even if you had memorised it the first day you met. You missed him, despite hearing his voice on the broadcasts and seeing him in the paddock. You missed him, he was your missing piece after all.

Daniel looked at you, and you knew, you weren’t alone.

__________________

the end ♡

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[cazzyf1]

Interesting facts I learnt about Maria Teresa de Fillippis & Lella Lombardi from Motorsports Magazine: Italian Legends

Maria Teresa de Fillippis:

She originally started off racing horses

Her first car was a Fiat 500 which she raced when her brothers bet she couldn't be a fast driver

She won her first ever race in the Fiat

Her father inspired her to succeed in whatever she did and supported her racing, Her mum didn't object either as she was happy that Maria was winning

She never had any sponsors or managers as she came from a wealthy family and made her own decisions, took no orders.

She never raced for Ferrari because she didn't want Enzo Ferrari to try and control her - Maserati respected this

Fangio told her she drove too fast and needed to go slower

Fangio, Ascari & Villoresi were her hero's and they were always very good to her

On track she called Fangio her 'Race Father' because he treated her so well and she admired that

"The relationships within the team were influenced by the older drivers. They were all older than me so they would protect me from anything like that (people trying to romance her at the track) I could look after myself, you know, and when things became too intense or too vulgar then I would joke with them, make fun of them, and they would go away"

She was once courted by Luigi Musso

"She was admired not only for her beauty but her courage in a racing car. She had guts, and was respected by her fellow competitors. I thought it was absolutely great she was in Grand Prix racing"- Tony Brooks

Monaco was tough on her at the corners

She was known as 'pilotino' because she was the smallest person racing

A car was made for her but had so many delays that neither her, Hans Herrmann nor Wolfgang von Trips could get the car on the grid during qualifying. Stirling Moss advised her to not race that car anymore

She was due to race the car at AVUS but gave the car up to Jean Behra who's car it originally was and was without a car. He was killed at that race

After this De Filippis left the sport to focus on having a family and didn't return until 1973 to join the International des Anciens Pilotes de Grand Prix F1 club

She became the club's vice president in 1997 and made honorary president days before celebrating her 85th birthday

Lella Lombardi:

Robin Herd says the Nurburgring was Lella's best driver, not the time when she got half a point

She started off with Monzo-based Formula 875

Her partners name was Fiorenza

She did well in F3 and became Italian's Ford Escort Mexico Challenge Champion the same year, 1973

Jackie Epsteine ran a Formula 5000 team in the winter of 73 and was persuaded to let Lella try, and became impressed with her driving and technical knowledge like when she correctly pitted when realising the car was getting a puncture

She was nicknamed 'Tigress of Turin' though the place name is wrong

She had little trouble getting sponsors. She stayed in Italy and flew to each race and never asked for expenses.

"She was charming but stubborn and independent, and a tremendously careful road driver. I went with her from Snetterton to Norwich once: 30mph all the way. Painful. People were staring and peeping. She didn't care"

"She wasn't interested in fashion and usually wore trousers if she was in civvies. She had an image to keep; "I'm tough so don't mess with me" She was a loner, really. No entourage. She never brought a girlfriend"

"Her sex and sexuality were not topics of conversation in the paddock. She was judged purely as a racing driver"

"She wasn't a publicity seeker. BBC news came to her first test with us at Goodwood and she wanted to know why. That she was a woman was irrelevancy to Lella. She was a racing driver first and foremost" - Robin Herd

Lella would complain that her car was understeering badly in corners but Vittorio who tested the car out said it was fine. Only next year when Ronnie Peterson described the same handling with the car did they realise Lella had been correct

With Ronnie Person joining Lella was unfortunately let go from March

"Lella was the perfect co-driver. She was much more concerned by the settings than I was, great with the mechanics and very speedy. But she wanted me to be just as fast and was always giving me tips and help. She was passionate about racing. She was no interested in music, reading, culture or anything else. Just racing - and fishing" - Christine Beckers

"When asked in a press conference how she was coping with such a hefty car, she replied, "I don't have to carry it, I just have to drive it"

Lella felt she could have been rich and famous in America but her love for Italy made her stay there

She knew foreign people appreciated her but she wanted to be know in Italy

Lella knew of her breath cancer by 1985. She had hit her breast on a sailing trip and it hurt her a lot.

With her partner Fiorenza she was trying to create a team and find others to help her including Giusy Remondi

She used to sleep in her truck to save money for racing

"She and Fiorenza were a beautiful couple, reserved; the spotlight was never on them"

"Lella only complained about the inequality in Formula 1 - because nobody had listened to her about the changes for the car"

"On her deathbed she asked us to continue the team to preserve what she had achieved. We miss her passion, determination and modesty"

Lombardi checked into Milan's san Camillo Clinic in February 1992 and died on March 3rd, days short of her 51st Birthday

[xcalkenf]

SNEAKING OUT. [MAFIA!SUKUNA X F!READER] P2

NOTICE: f! reader, mafia sukuna, the reader was sold by her family to sukuna, sukuna calls reader brat + mine, fluff (wow), short part 2 note: This is a short one since I'm still sick and can't think of any good plot. Sorry about that, will upload more drabbles instead of 500-2k word fics since that will take less time to write. No smut, sorry people.

800 ish

The car ride back to the penthouse was tense. Sukuna’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set in a firm line. You, on the other hand, stared out of the window, your anger simmering beneath the surface. The city blurred past, a chaotic dance of lights and shadows.

When the car finally pulled into the underground garage, you practically flung the door open, desperate for space. Sukuna followed suit, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words.

As you stepped out of the elevator onto your floor, he caught your wrist, pulling you to a halt. His touch was electric, sending shivers up your spine. “Listen,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “Again, I don’t do affection. It’s not in my nature.”

You met his gaze, challenge burning in your eyes. “And what if it’s in mine?”

His lips quirked, a hint of amusement. “Then you’re in for disappointment.”

But before you could retort, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss. It was fierce, possessive—the kind that left no room for doubt. His mouth moved against yours, demanding and hungry. And for a moment, you forgot everything—the gilded cage, the blood on his hands, the danger lurking outside.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart pounding. His eyes bore into yours, a storm of emotions swirling within. “That,” he murmured, “was a small affection.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you took a step back, steadying yourself against the wall. “I thought you said—”

“I know what I said,” he interrupted. “But, sometimes I crave a moment of tenderness..”

His ears turned a delightful shade of red, and he cleared his throat. “Go to your room, brat.”

And with that, he practically fled down the hallway, leaving you standing there, dazed and disoriented. You thought he was mad, but in reality, he was just adorably embarrassed. Perhaps there was hope for this guarded heart after all.

-

A gentle glow was created on the wooden floor by the morning light that slipped through the curtains. You sat up in bed and blinked, confused. You quickly wondered if you were alone in the quiet room. Maybe he had left early to go to work. 

You slipped out of bed, your feet sinking into the plush carpet. The penthouse was eerily silent, and you tiptoed across the hallway, pushing open the door to his room. Empty. The sheets were neatly folded, the pillows untouched. Great, another day without him. Even after last night, you thought. 

As soon as you entered the living room, your heart began to rush. The door to the balcony was slightly open, and there he was, sitting on its edge, staring down at the city. His shoulder tattoo was visible as he wear his "comfortable"-looking clothes and ruffled pink hair. To be honest, he did look quite nice now that you think of it. 

“You took the day off,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

He glanced at you, his eyes unreadable. “Someone has to make sure you don’t escape.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. “I’m sorry,” you blurted out. “For last night. I didn’t mean to—”

He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s in the past.”

“But—”

“Brat,” he interrupted, his tone sharp. “Move on from it.”

You bit your lip, the memory of his lips against yours still fresh. “Why are you like this?” you whispered. “One moment, you’re—”

“Because,” he snapped, “I can’t afford sentimentality. Not in my world.”

You turned away,  frustration warring within you. But then you remembered the kiss—the way he’d held you, his eyes. “Last night,” you said softly. “That wasn’t nothing, was it?”

His silence spoke volumes.

“Why?” you speak out. “Why bother?”

He stood, walking closer to you. His fingers brushing your cheek. 

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "I care about you," he admitted, his voice barely audible. 

"More than I should." 

Your heart skipped a beat. "Why?" 

His lips brushed against your forehead, a fleeting touch. “Because you’re mine,” he murmured. 

You gaze up at him, and thoughts of confusion cross your mind. "What's causing him to act this way now? Maybe he's trying?" You gave it some thought.

With a swift dismissal, you backed away from Sukuna and asked, "U-uh, have you had breakfast?" You ask in an attempt to lighten the mood, eyes looking everywhere -too ashamed to even look him in the eye. 

He raises an eyebrow while his gaze remain fixed on your face.

"Breakfast?" he uttered, as though the word meant anything more than just food. "It's not necessary for me."

But you didn't give up, your curiosity winning out. You spoke softly, "You should probably eat." "Even monarchs require food."

He snorted. "Brat," he remarked in a sarcastic voice. "You're annoying."

Unaffected, you shrugged. "Perhaps. However, sometimes even a killer needs a little sweetness."

And just like that, the tension eased, leaving room for something fragile—a thread of connection between you and him.

A/N: Ok so I did say I *might* put smut in this part, but I think I'm gonna move that to another part (If I manage to figure out what to write) Sorry about the short writing :) God bless <3

TAG: @szuuyl , @dimplesxx , @ssetsuka , @kozutooru , @domainofmarie

(for some reason, I can’t tag the people in itallic.)

@xstom in tumblr 2024. DONT REPOST/COPY! !creds to those who own the dividers and banners!

[temis-de-leon]

Day 25 - New Year's kiss

Characters: Mammon x fem!MC

25 kisses challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

CW: a bit of self insert (my parents are not every one's parents), Mammon is taller than MC and they have a well established relationship, they are whipped for each other

A/N: we're finally here. Time passed so fast, I'm gonna miss this. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Next will be the 500 followers celebration, see you there :) (if you want to ofc)

.

“Shit!”

MC could only watch as Mammon kicked the wheel and grabbed fistfuls of his hair. He seemed desperate, embarrassed and defeated, jewellery sparkling under the faint light of the rural streetlamps and eyes glistening with unshed tears. In a way, he also looked beautiful, and MC felt incredibly guilty for the thought alone.

He was wearing a suit, chest buttons opened and sleeves rolled up, ignoring the cold with nonchalance. Lucifer begged him to put on a coat to, at least, pretend that low temperatures did bother him a little, but Mammon wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t ignore his older brother’s suggestions. In the end, the coat ended up on MC’s shoulders.

The cold cut her skin when she got out of the car, but what hurt her the most was Mammon’s avoidant gaze. He was ashamed, but there was no way he could've known the engine would fail and leave them stranded out of town. The car wasn’t even his! It was rental!

“Things like this happen” she said in a low tone, grabbing the belt loops in his pants to pull him close to her. A blush immediately appeared on his cheeks and MC wasn’t able to hide her smile on time.

“Do they, tho’?”

“It’s an old car, so yeah”

“Well, it wouldn’t have if Lucifer let me bring my Lexura” he groaned, messing up his hair again “It’s his fault”

“It’s no one’s fault”

MC’s interruption went unnoticed and Mammon kept complaining to the air, growing aggravated without letting her get too far, her fingers still anchored to the loops.

She could understand him. It wasn’t the first time they celebrated the new year as a couple, but it would’ve been the first time spending it with her family. It was a milestone in their relationship he was eager to reach and the disappointment was evident in his face.

“You can fly us there and we can spend time with them still”

“But we’re not gonna be with them when the year starts”

His voice was meek, truly beaten, as if not being there when the year ends would bring bad luck to the new year. A superstitious thought that she wouldn’t have assigned to him before, but maybe this first impression was far more important to him than MC believed to be.

“Baby, come on… I swear it’s okay”

MC called his name, moving her arms to hug his waist, and a wave of relief covered her body when he hugged her back and let his cheek rest on top of her head. Although she couldn’t see him anymore, she knew he was blushing and that made her smile.

Not that far away, crossing the darkness of the countryside and beaming with street lights and firecrackers, the sound of chimes broke the silence. People screamed in excitement and anticipation and Mammon sighed with sadness. Only half a minute of the year remained and they were lost in the middle of the road, the asphalt too old for her to comfortably walk on and the distance too long for them to arrive in less than forty minutes.

Her parents would have to wait, but she knew they wouldn’t feel insulted. And frankly, it’s not like she was sad either. She was with Mammon, after all, listening to the weak ringing of the chimes with poorly hidden joyful agitation, and the closer they got to midnight, the faster her heart beat.

Mammon looked at her in surprise, keeping her close to shield her from the cold. The artificial light from above crowned his hair like a halo and MC was too happy to comment on the irony.

“Are you seriously okay with this?”

“Of course I am! As long as I start each new year with you, I’ll always be okay!”

The chimes got louder and people started to scream the countdown. Only 12 seconds left.

They were both smiling like idiots, the disappointment of not arriving on time slowly disappearing. MC stood on her tiptoes and Mammon leaned down.

“Stop being so cute, dammit”

She chuckled and he kissed her and the scream got louder. Fireworks exploding in the air while he spread his hands across her back and she cradled his face, keeping him where he was for a few more seconds before he managed to pull away.

With eyes half closed and a flushed expression, he murmured against her lips.

“Happy New Year, treasure”

“Happy New Year, Mammon”

MC smiled while he kissed her, repeating the gesture again and again until they started laughing. Then, they kissed once more.

.

.

Taglist: @ourfinalisation  @owlisbuffering  @chizukimp4  @ravenredwine @darkflowerav  @craftysclown @mehkers

[farenmaddox]

saw the WIP challenge from @wanderingcas about posting a snippet from something you're working on and getting some motivation for it. I've gotten all in my head about my post-canon SPN fic and completely stalled out on it, so I thought I'd just... try this and see if it helps.

“You’re in heaven?” Sam speaks up, when Dean can’t seem to find any words.

“Oh. Yes. I suppose that would be news. To be fair, Jack having the power to bring me there was news to me.”

Dean is so, so fucking stupid. Obviously Jack came to get Cas, that would still be part of fixing all of the shit from before, not interfering in new stuff. Obviously Cas isn’t just suffering in the Empty for eternity, holy shit. It makes him so relieved that he kind of has to lean on one of the posts for a minute.

“Dean?” Cas asks, tensing up immediately.

“M’good,” he mumbles, waving him off. He just… needs to breathe.

Sam rushes in and pulls Cas into an absolutely crushing hug, saying, “Thanks for coming. Is… is Jack...?”

“He can’t visit without violating the rules. He asked me to say hello on his behalf, though.”

“Oh,” Sam says, deflating a little. “That��s okay. Glad you’re here, anyway. Are you, uh, do you have to go back right away? Does the interference thing include, you know, talking to us?”

“I’m not Jack. I am free to do as I wish,” Cas says.

“Man, it would be nice if you wished to help us get rid of some vamp bodies,” Dean mutters, because the enormity of what just happened is slamming into him like a truck, and he kind of wants to do the rest of this debrief somewhere that isn’t covered in his own blood, maybe after getting those kids home to their deeply traumatized mother.

Cas just looks at him for a long time, but that’s not new. Dean just looks back. He’s so, so tired and there’s work to do, and this is how they operate, right? Do the job until the job’s done, and then they do the celebrating. Cas knows that as well as anybody.

“Fine,” Cas says, short and clipped. And then the bodies are just gone, and so is the blood, from one blink to the next.

Dean chuckles in spite of himself. “You that eager to get to the part where you yell at me, ya big fuckin’ hypocrite?”

Read the rest (approx. 500 more words) under the cut

Cas flinches away from that, actually, and goes striding back out of the barn. “The children are hiding behind a large tree roughly fifteen yards that direction,” he says, waving vaguely. “I assume there wouldn’t be room in the car if you need to transport them, so I’ll meet you in town.”

Sam and Dean stare at each other.

“Jesus,” Dean mutters. “Well, it’s definitely Cas, huh?”

Sam’s face twitches. Dean’s twitches right back.

A few seconds later, they are fully busting-up, clutching-their-guts, howling-like-animals laughing. They collapse into each other’s arms, and yeah, there are a couple of tears thrown in there. Just like, a few. Because hell, Dean had been dying, literally and actually dying, and they had been having a fucking Moment, and it’s not that easy to shake off.

Eventually they get their shit together and find the boys, and they bring them to their mom, who is not great, but is obviously better for having her kids back. There’s a lot of crying going on when Sam and Dean retreat, but their job is done and the part with the tissues and trying to put lives back together doesn’t have anything to do with them.

Cas is waiting by the car when they come back out. Sam immediately rushes in and gives him another hug, the sap, saying, “Sorry, man, I just… it’s really good to see you.”

Cas gives him a huge smile and return hug. “You too, Sam,” he says.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Dean says, already making for the driver’s seat. “I can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Sam says immediately.

“What?”

“Dean, it’s a fourteen-hour drive to get home from here.”

“And?”

“And I’m not having this conversation in the car! And no, I’m not sitting in the world’s most uncomfortable silence for fourteen hours either! We’re taking our happy asses to a motel or something and finishing what we started in the barn, and it wouldn’t kill us to get some sleep, either.”

Dean stutters something that is trying to be a protest, but isn’t. Sam’s just scowling at him and still pitching a bitch-fit.

“And you’re talking to Cas, too, because you obviously need to!”

“Do I get a say in this?” Cas asks with his eyebrows raised.

“No!” Dean and Sam snap at him at the same time.

“The most recent person to do self-sacrificial bullshit in this family loses voting privileges until the next person screws up,” Dean adds. Cas opens his mouth, scowling, and Dean points a finger at him. “Just now in there does not count, because I did not fucking do that on purpose and you know it.”

Cas closes his mouth.

[acourtofkindness]

Thank you for sending in all the stories, here you can find the collection! Some of these are one-shots, some are longer stories, just click your way through them and also check out their other fics!

A Court of Vice and Victors

by @wishcamper Acosf rewrite where Nesta actually gets help and she and Cassian have a healthier dynamic, plus an Illyrian murder mystery

Pages Turned

by @climbthemountain2020 A character study on Nesta Archeron, the hardships she's faced through her life, and how they've shaped her as a person.

Could You Love Me While I Hate Myself

by @witch-and-her-witcher Humans have just been freed from servitude to the fae after years at war on Prythian and times are desperate for Nesta Archeron. With Feyre MIA and Elain a shell of herself, her options are becoming increasingly limited. When one of the young fae warriors, Cassian, who has carved a name for himself on the battlefield proposes to her after recognizing a mating bond between them, Nesta doesn't see any choice but to agree to take him as her husband and move herself and her sister to his home Court and the wilds of Illyria. War brings them together, a bond binds them - but is that enough for two broken people to find love with each other?

Firm and Fragrant Still the Brambleberries

by @foundress0fnothing When Nesta became a nurse at the start of the war, she could not have predicted a patient as challenging as Lieutenant Cassian Davies, nor he a nurse as captivating as her. As the same war that brought them together threatens to tear them apart, Nesta and Cassian must navigate the complexities of love and duty to find the way back to each other. A WWI historical AU.

Wreck My Plans, That's My Man

by @c-e-d-dreamer Drummer for the Bat Boys, Cassian has a large following, but sometimes Nesta doesn't appreciate fangirls calling themselves "Cassian's future wife."

It Looks As Though You're Letting Go

by @Darkcat18 (on ao3) Everyone is born with an arrow on the back of their hand which points to their soulmate at midnight on their eighteenth birthday. After her parents' disastrous marriage and her father's subsequent depression following the death of her mother, Nesta realized a soulmate is nothing more than guaranteed heartache and ruination. On the eve of her eighteenth birthday, she packs up her car and leaves her family and life behind forever. What she doesn't count on, however, is having a soulmate like Cassian, who may be the one to prove to her that a soulmate is what she needs.

I Guess It's Half Timing (And The Other Half's Luck)

by @moodymelanist Nesta and Cassian have a steamy one-night stand while out celebrating St. Patrick’s Day, but their lives are changed forever once Nesta realizes her period is late. Follow along as Nesta and Cassian navigate preparing to become parents, balancing their other life stresses, and figuring out their feelings for one another!

Amidst the Madness

by @This_Immortal_Hope (on ao3) Love and war have always followed the same rules: Quick to ignite, slow to extinguish. There aren't many things Cassian has dared to openly want in his 500 years of existence. Not even the position he currently occupies as Lord of Windahaven (far too lofty a spot for nothing more than a well-blodded bastard, if you ask the other Illyrian Lords), but from the second Nesta Archeron stepped foot in his camp, the entire world ebbed into a single truth. She is his. He is hers. Everything else - the war he is meant to lead, the people relying on him, the legacy he should be fighting to protect, cease to exist the second his eyes are caught in roiling silver flames. There is pain in this female, his female. And retribution will be exacted. Rhysand has his war, and now so does Cassian. Whether the two align ... only Nesta can give that order.

Sweetest Con

by @separatist-apologist Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before. She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.

The Whole Truth

by @TheTeaQueen (on ao3) A beautifully heartbreaking story about what if Papa Archeron used/sold Nesta back in their village, and the IC learning this truth. It features Rhys and Nesta sibling bonding over their respective SA traumas. And Cassian helping Nesta to heal and feel comfortable with touch again

The Nesta Variation

by @persegrace (on ao3) A modern AU where Cassian is a military vet and Nesta is a former ballet dancer. They're both dealing with trauma, and meet in AA.

Ultima Ex Nobis

by @fieldofdaisiies Six years into a global pandemic which was caused by a mass fungal infection that turns hosts into zombie-like creatures and makes the whole of Prythian collapse, the former army general Cassian Cadell is tasked with one very special mission – escorting Nesta Archeron, one of the few immune survivors, across a post-apocalyptic Prythian to a group of people of the name L. Their identity is unknown but they can make an antidote.

you make my motor run

by @wilde-knight When Nesta and Cassian are set up on a blind date, neither of them can imagine their families feeling whole again. But with sparks flying between them, will they finally be able to imagine the road ahead?

[random-thot-generator]

Written for Cali's nameless challenge hosted by @the-californicationist (love your fics btw, sweets.)

Went a tad over the 500-word mark by about 50 words. I tried.

SFW, no smut or violence. (I know, disappointing.)

A Quiet (K)night

It's just you and him again.

You watch as the last of the passengers exit the car, the doors closing with a hiss as the train lurches forward. Book in hand, you chance a peek up at your silent companion. As always, he's seated near the back, eyes on the window, booted feet spread wide and firmly set. Heart fluttering, you direct your eyes back to the page, unseeing.

Since switching to the evening shift, you've been leery about traveling alone at night, but something about this bloke makes you feel safe. He just gives off a protective vibe. Or maybe it was the uniform he was wearing the first night you saw him. Either way, you've dubbed him your 'quiet knight'.

He never speaks, but you think he keeps an eye on you, just the same. You both get off at the same stop every evening, him following several paces behind you, hands in his pockets, walking as though he's out for a stroll. Once you reach your building and step inside, you always linger by the door, waiting for him to pass by. Only then will you go up to your flat.

Your eyes drift up from your book again. He's still looking out the window, but you don't think he's seeing what's beyond it. There's a far away look in his eye, and you wonder what he's thinking about. You hope he's not thinking about some other bird. It's silly, but the thought of it makes you jealous.

Your stop comes up and you grab your purse, watching from the corner of your eye as your quiet knight stands as well. He always waits for you to go first, leading the way out of the car, and it strikes you as a very gentlemanly thing to do. You don't see him take notice of the soft smile that's formed on your lips.

Now out of the station, you set the pace, hearing his footsteps behind you. With his long legs he could easily pass you by, but he never does. He stays with you, not too close but never too far away. You wish he'd draw closer, maybe say something about the weather to start a conversation.

When you reach your building, keys in hand, you pause. Something takes hold of you, an inner voice whispering to take a chance. You glance up and see him nearing, his eyes focused on you, his steps slowing. Feeling a rush of bravery, you smile at him.

"You walk me home every night, don't you?"

He stops, shrugs, his expression sheepish.

"Jus' keepin' an eye out for ya. Dangerous, a pretty bird walkin' alone at night."

Your breath hitches at his admission, but also because he called you pretty. Your smile grows wider.

"Maybe you should walk with me tomorrow evening, then?"

He nods, eyes sparkling. "I can do that," he replies.

You like the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. So handsome.

You tell him goodnight before you enter your building and wave to him once you're inside, heart pounding, elated. Your quiet knight shuffles, gives a nod, then continues on his way, a smile now on his face, too.

-

[muddyorbsblr]

why him?

See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @fictive-sl0th

Summary: An invitation to a Thanksgiving family reunion was sent addressed to you and Loki, and you're not exactly all that excited to face everyone after over a decade of no contact.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Audrey and her grade-A parenting…and she's got friends this time; family drama; hints of Loki's insecurity over his brother if you squint; language (get over it, Rogers) [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: established relationship

The air was unreasonably thick as the car drove through the streets of your old neighborhood, the layout hauntingly familiar to you and growing increasingly stifling as you passed each picturesque home. Every single one of those houses looked like they didn't age a day, the paint jobs pristinely done to ensure they looked as good as when its owners moved in over a decade and a half ago.

The lawns were a uniform obnoxious radiant green, a blatant show of affluence that yes, you were in a neighborhood that could afford to allocate obscene amounts of water to maintain the lush green hue of a patch of land that nobody could walk on. All for the sake of display.

"My love, I rarely ever say these words to anyone besides myself, but you must calm yourself." The feel of a large hand taking yours and fingers lacing through yours brought you out of your trance, not realizing that you'd been incessantly shaking your leg until Loki placed his free hand on top of it to stop you. "We can still turn around and head home instead. We need not face these people if even the thought of seeing them again has you shaking this way."

"I just don't get it," you murmured, relaxing your posture to let the god maneuver you and place you onto his lap, resting your head on his shoulder. You could practically feel your nerves melting away as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, the backs of his fingers stroking along your spine making you lean into him all the more. "Why now? After all this time?"

"Perhaps they wish to show you off," he grunted, sighing when he felt you tense up again after his words. "I don't wish to think ill of the very people that brought you into this world as I owe them a great debt for that alone, but if they had made the monumental mistake of ceasing to be a part of your life for so long, then my mind cannot help but think of ulterior motives on their part."

"Maybe they need me to win a pissing contest," you added, rolling your eyes. "But if that's the case then why didn't they reach out when I got into the Avengers Program? When Tony announced me as a new member of the team? How come after years of my mother voicing how disappointed she's been in me straying from the family business, suddenly we're--Holy fuck I know what it is." His light squeeze at your side prompted you to continue. "It's you."

"I'm afraid you've lost me there, darling. How is it--"

"Think about it," you kept going. "What happened days before we got the invitation? And just the fact that they addressed the invitation to both of us. Not just me and telling me that I can bring my boyfriend. The invitation said Y/N and Loki. They're not out to brag about me to their pretentious fuckwits at the country club. They're out to brag about you."

"Y/N that's absurd--"

"It's makes complete sense and you know it," you insisted. "We went public just a few days before we got that invitation--" He cut you off with a pointed look, challenging your spin on the situation. "Okay fine, people took photos of us out on a date and before theories got out of hand I tweeted 'Yeah we're dating. Deal with it.' and gave Pepper a migraine, same difference. Anyway, that happens, and suddenly they want me at Thanksgiving? That's not a coincidence, sweetie."

He pressed his forehead to yours, letting out a long sigh as he wrapped his arms tighter around you. "Say the word and we can call off this charade. I will speak with Stark and tell him we truly do not need these people as stakeholders if it comes at the cost of your peace."

Your heart swelled at his offer, knowing full well that he was more than ready to put an end to this shitstorm before it even began. But you also knew that a guilt would always eat away at you if you didn't so much as try. You owed Tony a great deal, after all, especially considering that he didn't even hold it against you when you outright refused to participate in that skirmish back in Germany and also proceeded to refer to all the parties that took part in it "a bunch of babies incapable of just talking it out instead".

"I have to at least try," you muttered, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. "At the very least it'd be nice to see my little sister again. Scare her fiancé within an inch of his sanity if he even thinks of hurting her."

"If you're sure, darling. But if at any point you wish to leave, let me know. We'll be home in seconds. Leave Stark's transportation behind. Surely Hogan will be able to find his way back to the compound."

"I heard that," a voice broke through the speakers on your side of the divider. "Look if you two have to make the dramatic exit a heads up would be nice is all I'm saying. Don't wanna have to spend a second longer in here than we have to, you know?"

"Happy I get you, but I'm sure you know by now that if we're gonna be texting you about a dramatic exit, by the time you read it, we'll already be back in our apartment." His groan over the speakers was all the agreement you needed. "Just--if anyone in that house asks you any questions, say it's classified information under Tony's orders or some shit. I don't want anyone in there knowing a goddamn thing. Nosy pretentious asshats." You grumbled the last part under your breath, earning a chuckle from the god still cradling you in his arms.

"Well I hope your poker face is ready, Y/N," Happy spoke up again. "Because we're about three houses away and a woman that looks like an older Botox'd to the high heavens and bleach blonde version of you is waiting by the mailbox."

"I'm assuming the woman he's describing is your mother?"

You nodded, refusing to lift your head from Loki's shoulder as if it would somehow prolong -- maybe even prevent -- the inevitable. "Fucking Audrey."

"Should I be especially cautious around anyone?"

You scoffed at the question. "Everyone. Just as a rule of thumb, if any of my aunts corner you and ask you about sleeping habits or stamina, call me. If anyone touches you anywhere that only I should be touching and not in front of a live audience unless we're feeling especially risqué, shout and I'll beat them up and make a scene so crazy it'll make Wade proud."

"I don't think you should pride yourself on your ability to incur that Wilson's pride, darling," he cautioned you with a soft chuckle. "But I will make sure to take your words to heart." You let out a whiny whimper as he eased you off his lap and seated you beside him, feeling the car coming to a stop. "Shall we?"

You placed your hand in his, lacing your fingers together as he exited the car before helping you out as well. When you saw the obviously newly bleached blonde middle aged woman approaching you, you could feel Loki's thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand the moment you began to tense up. "Mother," you spoke up, smiling through gritted teeth. "Thank you for extending the invitation. Let me introduce you to Loki, we work together and we…also live together. He's my boyfriend."

Every nerve in your body tensed itself for a fight the second she gave him a head-to-toe look, her eyes so visibly dismissive and judgmental. "It was your father that extended the invitation. Come on, we shouldn't keep him waiting." And then she turned around and walked back toward the house, completely ignoring the god's outstretched hand to shake.

"What in the actual fuck?" you muttered, both of you giving each other a look before following Audrey into your childhood home.

The second the door opened you saw a familiar dark-haired ball of energy running toward you for a hug. "Y/N holy fuck you actually came!" your sister Stella squealed, the impact of her embrace making you let go of your boyfriend's hand. "I fucking missed you so much!"

"It's great to see you too, sis," you chuckled, returning her embrace as you took a look around the house that barely resembled your home from years past. "Any idea why they sent the invite, though? I mean I don't wanna sound like a right bitch but--"

"The short version is that Dad saw a video of you on a mission last year and he started missing you. When you went viral a few weeks ago after those photos of you and your boyfriend went around, he decided it's been too long since he's seen you and he wanted to meet you. And Loki. He just wants to meet the guy who made you smile the way you do in the pictures. You seem really happy with him."

You beamed at her words. "I really am, Stell. Actually I was wondering if you and your fiancé would be up to it, we could all meet up next time you're in the city." If it was possible, her smile got even wider at your offer. "I never wanted to be the first to show weakness since Audrey would fucking jump in glee at that but…I really fucking missed you, too, моя маленькая сестра."

The wonder that entered her eyes tugged at your heartstrings, reminding you so much of how she looked before you'd left home all those years ago. Back when she was still smack dab in the middle of high school. "What was that you just said?"

"My little sister." She let out a childlike giggle as she wrapped her arms around you again. "Nat's been teaching me mainly so we can talk shit. The only ones who can tell what we're talking about are Loki, his brother, and Bucky."

"Ohh if you knew how fucking thirsty everyone's been on the family group chat over literally everyone you just mentioned. Oop--you should probably go save your mans from some of them because our aunts? Well, let's just say they got handsy over my Nate, and he's nowhere near as built as your--"

"Say less," you muttered, walking toward the aunts in question. There were three of them standing in front of your boyfriend, the closest being Brenda who was basically the slutty wine mom version of Audrey, and she was about to reach out and place an overly manicured hand complete with long coffin acrylic nails on Loki's arm.

You put a stop to her wine-aided show of interest in people that weren't hers inches before acrylic met cotton, your hand catching her wrist in a thinly-veiled death grip and earning you an incredulous head-to-toe look from her. "Why, little horsey, what's gotten into--"

"Touch him, and it will be the last time you have hands, Brenda," you seethed, placing enough pressure against the joint of her thumb to let her know you weren't kidding. "I might be one of the non-enhanced members of my team, but that doesn't mean I can't break your hand like a fucking toothpick. And since you can't seem to remember anything you were taught as a child, let me just refresh your decaying memory. Touch that which belongs to someone else and lose a fucking limb."

She struggled to free her hand from your grip for a few moments before you made a show of "graciously" letting go, the three women stumbling away from you and the raven-haired Asgardian, a look of caution in their eyes as they made their way back to the kitchen. "Can I steal that line from you, little bunny?"

You turned towards the source of the new voice, a smile stretching across your face as you met eyes with you father. The only other friendly face you'd seen so far besides Stella since stepping foot in this house. This time around you were the one running for a hug, nearly sending him stumbling back from the impact. "I'll even teach you where to apply pressure."

"Horse? Bunny?" You broke the embrace to turn back towards Loki. "Any particular reason why your familial nicknames are based on animals?"

"When my permanent teeth were coming in, my front teeth looked a little too big for my face, so…" You trapped your bottom lip under your front teeth and wiggled your nose like a bunny, making him chuckle as you stepped back into his embrace before pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Horse is because I had an overbite and despite growing into it, Brenda always fucking neighed whenever I stepped into  the room."

"Darling, that's horrid."

"That's Brenda for you," your dad retorted, holding out a hand toward the god. "I'm Thatcher. I apologize for Y/N's mother. And her sisters. And my sisters."

The tension that had knots forming all over you began to relax by the slightest as you slipped out of Loki's hold, leaving him to talk with your father in relative peace compared to how you began your re-entry into this chapter of your life that felt too full of ghosts you thought you'd exorcised a long time ago.

"The last time I saw her this happy she was a little girl twirling around in a yellow princess dress getting ready for Halloween trick or treating around the neighborhood. Do you--have that? Back in…?"

"Asgard?" Loki finished for your father. "We do not. In truth Y/N was the one that kept me apprised of all the traditions mortals have in this realm. And the sweets that children tend to hoard during that time of year. We still have some from this year's festivities in our apartment left over from when she handed them out to the children."

"Is that how you and her became a thing?"

The god let out a mix between a chuckle and a sharp exhale as the memories of the early days of your relationship came back to him. "No. Those days we were simply friends. I'd only started truly courting her earlier this year. It was my brother that tipped us both off that we were as you mortals would say…dancing around each other? Truly I'd been taken with her the moment we met, I just never dared think she would return the sentiment. Since then I'd barely ever left her side." He looked to you, speaking with your sister once more as you both walked down the hall toward the kitchen, heart pounding in his chest as his mind was bombarded with the thought of perhaps living in a home similar to this with you one day, perhaps starting a family of your own. "You raised a remarkable woman, you should be very proud of her."

"I have been. I've always been. Honestly the only reason I haven't reached out to her sooner is I knew she wouldn't want to see most of the people in this house since they're the ones that practically drove her out all those years ago. But getting hit with the realization that my little girl was building a future that I wasn't going to be a part of felt so wrong to me. I only wanted for us to reconnect but the second Audrey and the rest of the family heard I was planning to reach out they took over. Invited themselves. Turned it into this entire thing."

"Apologies but I don't quite follow. She talked as if she knew that this would be a full family affair. Braced herself for it, even."

"That's only because she knows her mother painfully well, always sticking her business in places it didn't belong," he grumbled. "I don't know if she told you, but her mother and I have been separated since years before she even left the house. Our families have just been so tangled up with one another that I can't seem to escape as cleanly as my daughter did. Really I only planned for this to have been a simple meal shared with maybe Stella and her fiancé. I should have met with her instead, fuck I really clowned with this whole thing."

"Something that Y/N told me throughout my acclimation into this realm was…we learn as we go." Your father snapped his gaze towards you the moment Loki said the words. "She said you taught her that."

Thatcher straightened his stance and faced the god once more. "Do you love my daughter?"

He didn't hesitate to give his answer. "More than anything."

A lump formed in Loki's throat as your father reached into his pocket, pulling out a ring box that seemed generations old, set in a black leather and gold detailing. "The second I saw those pictures of the two of you, I recognized that look in your eyes. It's the same one I saw in Nate when he looked at Stella. When you're ready, and more importantly when she's ready, all I want is to be able to walk my baby down the aisle. But until then, keep this somewhere safe."

With a wave of his hand, Loki made the box disappear in a flash of green, keeping it in the safest place he could. "I'm sure she would love to have you walk her--"

"Are you fucking kidding me, Audrey??" The sound of your voice going shrill had him ready to march over to you. "So not only did you have the fucking audacity to invite yourself to this, bring your air-headed sisters along with you, and disrespect me and my boyfriend within sixty seconds of getting out the fucking car, but now you think you're in a position to pass your judgment and tell everyone how you think I 'picked the wrong Asgardian'."

A chill spread throughout Loki's body at your words. Despite the knowledge that yes, Thor was in fact the one that practically pushed you two to finally admit to your feelings towards one another, there would always be a deep-seated fear in him that you would wake up one day and choose differently. As so many before did in their youth.

"I'm just saying, little horsey, that if I was given the choice between two brothers, I would have picked the one that could make me a queen of a whole planet. Not the alien equivalent of an ex-con," your mother sneered at you, making his skin bristle at the sight of your rage visibly beginning to build. "Then again I shouldn't be surprised. You always did make it so difficult for us to tell any of our friends about you. Turning your back on the family business, specializing in a field that could do nothing for the image of my family, and now we can't even tell anyone you're dating a prince because all they're gonna see is the guy on YouTube back in Stuttgart that told everyone to--"

"Audrey, you finish that sentence I'm gonna make you fucking kneel," you seethed, shoulders squaring as you took a step toward them. "You haven't had a single good thing to say about me since I got first runner up in that stupid pageant you dragged me into when I was three. I turned my back on the family business because I refused to participate in a cycle of helping raise a new generation of girls that would turn out to be as brainless and shallow as you lot. I specialized in technological advancements in sustainable energy so I could actually do some good in the world and it got me an internship in Stark Industries that led to my training at SHIELD that led me into the Avengers program.

"And I don't give a single flying fuck if you can't brag to your friends at the country club about who I share a home with! Tell them whatever the fuck you want, but the long and short of it is this: I am dating a god. And a King." You lowered your voice as a smirk tugged at the side of your mouth, picking up a book that had been placed on top of the counter and waving it in their direction. "And these big boy blue-skinned ice aliens you're thirsting over in your horny wine moms book club?" You tossed the book back on the countertop with a resounding smack. "I'm dating that, too."

Your sister's jaw dropped to the ground as her gaze flickered between the scene in front of her and towards the front door where Loki still stood watching along with your father. "You go, sis," he heard her mutter before she cleared her throat. "If it helps, she's unimpressed with Nate being a neurosurgeon, too."

Somehow that sentiment caused you to chuckle, your stance a touch more relaxed now. "You know for such unimpressive women, you seem to have impossible standards for what you think is impressive to you. And the funniest thing is that somehow you all got it into your heads that the blonde himbo I call one of my best friends, that got banished to Earth for trying to destroy an entire realm because he was always a little too excited to wage war 'in his youth'…The same blonde himbo that had to grab and shake my shoulders to knock some sense into me because apparently my not so subtle crush on his brother was reciprocated and we were being idiots friendzoning ourselves? That Thor? Somehow you think you know better than I do and that he's somehow the better option? Fucking. Laughable.

"When I choose who I give my heart to, Audrey, that's it. I don't do the stupid thing and look around and see if there's greener pastures somewhere because I was raised better than that. By someone with more character in his pinky toenail than you have in your entire body, you bumbling idiot. Fact is there is no better option and there will never be a better option. Not for me. Thor doesn't even begin to compete. He's just the matchmaker. And if you can't even suck up your ego for five seconds and show me a modicum of respect then I don't need to tolerate your pretentious ass for one more minute."

As you walked out of the kitchen, marching your way back to him, Loki could see a fierce protectiveness in your eyes that he only ever saw out in the field. He'd come to terms that he would never see you donning that look over himself because out there he was better equipped and more than willing to be the one protecting you. He had to admit, however, that seeing it now had his heart doing somersaults in his chest.

I'm going to marry this woman, he thought to himself, a smile stretching across his face once you'd reached him and stepped into his outstretched arm, your own hand sliding across his lower back as you both settled into a familiar embrace.

"Sorry to rain down on this whole thing, Dad. I know you tried." You and your father gave each other mirroring shrugs. "Maybe you could--go to New York next time? Bring Stella with you? Y'know…just because I never wanna see those sad sacks of silicone and bleach ever again doesn't mean I wanna live the rest of my life without you two."

"I'll reach out next time I find myself in your neck of the woods, little bunny. Might be sooner than you think."

Your hold on him tightened the slightest bit as if to draw his attention back to you. It was adorable that you thought it ever left. "Let's go home." The way your tone audibly softened as soon as you turned to face him had the god unable to hold back from pressing a kiss to the top of your head before turning toward the door.

"Home?" a new voice perked up, making you both turn and face the dark-blond haired man who stepped in next to your sister. "I take it Audrey fucked up that fast, huh?" He set the grocery bags in his hands down, wiping his hands on his trouser legs before extending one towards you. "I'm Nate."

"The neurosurgeon, right?" you answered, taking his hand in what Loki knew was a handshake a touch firmer than necessary. "You know I work with someone who used to be a neurosurgeon, too. And…" The god stifled a chuckle as your grip tightened and tilted his hand to a point of discomfort. "If you ever even think about hurting my little sister, I will make what Stephen Strange went through look like a walk in the fucking park."

"Wouldn't dream of it," the Midgardian healer squeaked, letting out a breath of relief when you relinquished your hold on his hand. "Sorry you have to leave so early. Would've loved the opportunity to get to know the woman Stella can never seem to stop talking about. She's an entire fangirl whenever she sees you on the news."

"Shut up I am not!" Your sister faced you with a slightly sheepish look not too dissimilar from a look he occasionally saw from you. "Okay maybe I am a little bit. I mean I can't help it! My sister's a superhero!"

The sentiment had you nearly mirroring her jovial tone as you stepped out of his hold to pull her into an embrace. "I love you, too, sis. Come see me if you're ever in New York, okay?" When you pulled away from one another, you held her shoulders as you imparted one final piece of advice to both her and her intended. "You don't have to tolerate her behavior. Neither of you do. Today or--any other day of your lives."

It was just before dark when you and Loki got back to the Avengers Compound, already bracing yourself for what Tony was about to say once you stepped through the threshold. You knew you fucked up any chance of a new stakeholder for the Avengers the second you walked out of that house hand in hand with Loki, but you couldn't bring yourself to tolerate Audrey and her vapid posse a second longer.

Nobody got to pass judgment on you and your choices like that, especially when the choice they were so dismissively passing their judgment on was the love of your life. You should have broken their hands the second they started talking about how they thought you fumbled so badly for not choosing Thor.

"Thanks for not leaving Happy in hoity toity upper middle class Suburbia, you two," Stark hollered seconds after you stepped through the compound's main entrance.

"Tony I'm sorry--"

"For what?" he cut you off. "While you two were on the road your dad called me, said he wanted to invest in the Avengers Program, even offered his consulting company to be in our roster of resources. On one condition."

"And that would be?"

"Regular visits. At least once a quarter, he said. With you as the official liaison. Said he doesn't wanna miss any more of your life if he can help it."

A grin threatened to split your face, your heart warming at the knowledge that when your father said 'might be sooner than you think', he truly meant it. You no longer had to "all or nothing" your embargo on your family. "I think that can be arranged."

A/N: If you got that book reference, let's be best friends. And that name drop.

I'm so glad to knock another request off the 500-follower list! And this was honestly so much fun to write because I got to create a larger family dynamic that wasn't all bad for Reader but also showed that a few bad elements can really just throw off the whole vibe that that in itself is a good enough reason to walk away. (aka fuck u Audrey)

And also writing scenes where Reader tells Audrey off will never not be cathartic for me 😂🫡

Thank you so much for sending the request in, Camille! I hope you love the story as much as I loved creating it 💖💛

'everything' taglist: @sailorholly @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @sarahscribbles @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @dangertoozmanykids101 @elizabethmidnight2017 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina

Loki taglist: @calumance @severuslovebot @moonlightreader649 @i-stand-with-loki @nixymarvelkins @infinitystoner @lokisgoodgirl @purplegrrl27 @thedistractedagglomeration

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Chrysler 340 Six Pack!

This engine design was guided by none other than Tom Hoover, later known as ‘the father of the Hemi’. For 1970, as delivered in AAR Cuda and Dodge Challenger T/A for use in the SCCA Trans-Am Racing Series, the factory stock Six Pack 340 engine was a well-optioned animal straight out of the box. It meant business, leaving plenty of scope for modifications allowed within the racing regulations that would help it thrive in a Trans Am racing environment. There was no stone unturned, starting with a high nickel stress-relieved engine block, utilising thicker webbing in the pan rails and other areas to allow the option of installing four bolt main caps on 2,3 and 4. High-performance ‘J’ casting cylinder heads were utilised along with large diameter valves, working in tandem with a unique rocker arm/shaft/pushrod assembly. Within this cylinder head design, the pushrod holes were offset to allow more material for oversized porting on the intake runners. Forged crankshaft, heavy-duty conrods and high-performance pistons. A windage tray was also featured. A healthy 10.5 to 1 compression ratio complemented an aggressive 276/284 duration camshaft driven by a dual-row timing chain and the fire in the combustion chamber was ignited by dual points ignition with the spent gasses exiting through a free-flowing exhaust system.

One highlight of this engine combination was the Six Pack (or 6 barrel) carb set-up, running a trio of two-barrel Holleys sitting on top of a factory-fitted Edelbrock intake manifold. A 375 cfm centre carb acted as a primary, then at a given throttle percentage, the two 500 cfm outer carbs would open up and join the party to provide a whopping total of 1375 cfm in total air flow, along with an induction howl you’d never forget.

The factory officially rated the engine at 290hp and 345ft/lbs of torque. The consensus is that it produced at least 330hp, particularly when you consider its claimed 14.4 second quarter-mile capability and 5.8 sec 0-to-60 mph times in a 3500 pound car. In race spec, the engine was de-stroked to just under the Trans-Am regulations 305cu limit and during the development phase across its racing lifespan, was rumoured to have produced between 460 and 500hp.