#company bumpers

[yeowninefive]

Mime En Blanche - Stay Tuned

"Stay tuned after the feature for never-before-seen footage!" (The MEB project isn't over yet! I still got a few more posters and frames in the works.)

[stone-cold-groove]

The following program is brought to you in living color on NBC.

[athetos]

According to the official German Donkey Kong 64 website, Tiny Kong is a tax collector. Just thought you guys should know.

[nudityandnerdery]

"Profits for companies in some of the world’s largest economies rose by 30% between 2019 and 2022, significantly outpacing inflation, according to the group’s research of 1,350 firms across the U.S., the U.K., Europe, Brazil, and South Africa."

[camperdowncollision]

The Impact of Technology on Car Body Restoration in Sydney - Camperdown Collision Centre

Car body restoration is a process that requires skill, patience, and attention to detail. Over the years, the process has undergone significant changes, with technology playing an increasingly important role. In Sydney, car restoration shops have embraced technology to improve their services and provide their customers with high-quality results. Here are some of the ways technology has impacted car body restoration in Sydney. https://www.camperdowncollisioncentre.com.au/the-impact-of-technology-on-car-body-restoration-in-sydney/

[aurumacadicus]

In before I start seeing people bitching about rainbow capitalism MY favorite rainbow capitalism story is about Subaru. Yes the Japanese car company.

In the nineties, they were struggling. They were competing with a dozen other companies targeting the main demographic at the time: white men ages 18-35, especially after a failed luxury car launch with a new ad agency. “What we need is to focus on niche demographics,” they decided, and then focused on people who enjoyed the outdoors. The Subaru was excellent at driving on dirt roads that many other vehicles couldn’t at the time, so it was perfect for all those off-road campers; they started making all-wheel drive standard in all their cars to help with that. And the people who wanted cars to go do outdoor stuff? Lesbians.

Okay. Of course it wasn’t only lesbians buying Subarus. They’re on the list with educators, health-care professionals, and IT people. But the point is, this Japanese car company interviewed this strange demographic (single, female head of household) and realized one important factor: They were lesbians. They liked to be able to use the cars to go do outdoorsy stuff, and they liked that they could use the cars to haul stuff rather than a big truck or van. Subaru had a choice to make then. They had four other demographics they could market to, after all--the educators, the health-care professionals, IT professionals, and straight outdoorsy couples. Their company didn’t hinge on this one “problematic” demographic.

And they decided “fuck it,” and marketed to lesbians anyway. This included offering benefits to American gay and lesbian employees for their domestic partners, so it didn’t look like a cash grab. (This was not a problem. They already offered those in Canada.)

Yes, there was some backlash. They got letters from a grassroots group accusing them of promoting homosexuality, and every letter said they’d no longer be buying from Subaru. “You didn’t buy from us before, either,” Subaru realized, and ignored them. It helped that the team really cared about the plan, and that they had many straight allies to back them up. There was also some initial backlash when Subaru hired women to play a lesbian couple in the commercial, but they quickly found that lesbians preferred more subtlety; “XENA LVR” on a license plate, or bumper stickers with the names of popular LGBTQ+ destinations, or taglines of “Get out. Stay out.” that could be used for the outdoors--or the closet.

Subaru said “We see you. We support you.” They sponsored Pride parades and partnered with Rainbow Card and hired Martina Navratilova as spokeswoman. They put their money where their mouth is and went into it whole hog. In a time where companies did not want to take our money, Subaru said, “Why not? They’re people who drive.” And that was groundbreaking.

[newswatchindia]

Year end offers: Jeep company is giving bumper offers of more than Rs 11 lakh discount on these SUVs..

[todays-xkcd]

Now that airlines have started adding wheel locks to their drink carts, less than half of flights have one accidentally fall out through the hole.

Typical Seating Chart [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

Typical Airliner Seating Chart [Labeled items of a plane from front to back:]

[Front of plane:] Cowcatcher

[Cockpit (2 seats):] Please only pick these seats if you're a pilot

[First Class section (22 seats):] Main stage Mosh pit Various fancy classes

[Wings (2 x 55 seats):] Some airplane companies waste this space

[Ends of wings (2 x 1 seat):] Lookout

[Propellers (2 x 1 seat):] Passenger has to pedal

[Middle of plane, just behind wings:] Hole for trash

[Left side of plane, behind wings (7 seats):] Sidecar

[Back of plane (24 seats):] Extra middle seats

[Just in front of tail (4 seats):] Bumper car seating

[Tail (1 seat):] Penthouse

[Hanging off of left side of tail (3 seats):] Extra legroom

[Tail (4 seats):] Tail gunners (Must protect plane from pursuers but earn extra miles)

[Separate, smaller plane to the right (14 seats):] Fighter escort

[lunar-goodness]

If you’re gonna have bumper stickers that I agree with the least you can do is not drive like a fucking moron.

[theblacklewinsky]

Note: back with our favorite boo, Terry. It's my birthday, but I guess I can gift y'all with something lol! ❤️

Helpful Neighbors. | Aaron Pierre.

Toxic!Neighbor Terry Richmond x Black!Female Reader.

Warnings: MNDI!! this story is 18+ with depictions but not limited to; sexual content ( penetrat!on. toy play, water sports), extreme language (cursing, use of b-word and others.) slight daddy kink if you squint.

Summary: You confront your noisy neighbor about his loud late night company, he allows you to retaliate.

you fucking nasty,

first you cum and then you wipe it on my ass cheeks.

There wasn't much that you knew about your neighbor Terry. You knew he was generally friendly, you bringing him a small housewarming gift of a bath and bodywork's candle when he'd first moved in months prior. You knew he was a vet based on the marines sticker on the bumper of his pick up. You knew he was active, you often seen him heading out for camping trips, often seeing him in the apartments shared gym area when you'd take time out of your busy schedule to get a short work out in. You knew he was gorgeous, anybody could attest to that.

And he was loud. Very fucking loud.

And if you didn't know anything else, you knew that for sure.

The noise varied. Most nights he was particularly quiet, you wouldn't even have noticed anybody lived there if you hadn't seen him before. But some nights, he was a little loud. Metal music from an 80's band bled through the apartment walls, straight into your bedroom, you actually didn't mind it—being an exhausted charge nurse, the metal music did something for you, calming you in a strange way. Him seemingly fixing something, sometimes in the latest hours, drilling, hammering.

But it wasn't any of that. There wasn't any metal music. But he was sure drilling or hammering somebody. And she was extensively louder than anything you'd heard from Terry's apartment. You had to quickly grab your remote, muting your comfort show on your television to make sure she wasn't screaming blood murder.

It wasn't bloody murder, but she was screaming alright. You sighed, it was your first off day in two weeks of working straight in the trauma unit of the local hospital. It'd been a viscous stomach bug going around, and with the big panic from the prior pandemic, the hospital wasn't risking another one slipping up—so work was rough, and long.

But maybe you were bitter? It'd been way too long since you'd properly got your rocks off—not anything involving your beloved rose. So maybe you were just a bit bitter that at least somebody was getting theirs. Good for him! Just not on tonight. Not this night. You'd planned to crawl in bed, eat the most unhealthiest snacks in your cabinet and watch your comfort show, and maybe weep the prior two weeks out onto your pillow, you deserved a good cry after all, girl.

You sighed heavily, placing the pillow over your head letting out a groan. You'd definitely have to catch him in the morning and talk about this, cause this was outrageous.

Maybe sleep was out of the equation, but you'd definitely moved on to weeping.

The morning sprung and you jumped into action. Due to working 7AM to 7PM, you left out for work around the same time as a Terry did his morning runs. 6AM.

You woke up at 5:30 on a mission, brushing your teeth and doing your skincare and putting on your biggest t-shirt, sweatpants to match, oh you meant business.

You caught him as soon as he'd left his door, jogging the opposite way of your apartment toward the elevators before you called out to him. He turned confused at first until he noticed you, giving a lazy morning smile as he did. Black compression shirt, with the pair of black basketball shorts to match. He had no business being so damn fine. But you weren't deterred by that, last night was fucking atrocious.

"Goodmornin', beautiful," he smoothly recited like he did every morning. He was just nice like that. He said it every morning without fail, he always found something to compliment you on. New color of scrubs, how you decided to get your hair, even sweeter when he sees you out of your deliciously fitting scrubs.

"Good morning Terry," you smiled weakly, "I don't mean to disturb your routine, but can we talk for a minute?" You uneasily shifted your weight. You weren't good with confrontation, it just wasn't in your nature, but you didn't play about your sleep.

He nodded and you walked inside still holding the door open for him to signal him to follow you. He did, his smile faltering a bit once he came inside, you could tell he was confused a little thrown off.

You closed the door behind y'all, moving into your large kitchen area to pour yourself a mug of coffee. "Want some?" You politely asked him to which he politely rejected holding up his thermal water bottle.

You added your usual fixings to your coffee, taking a cautious sip, cradling your mug in your hand before you continued. "I don't mean to be confrontational when I say this," you walked around him heading into the living area, plopping on your newly purchased gray plush sectional, " but you were very ...loud last night." You chose your words, nicely.

He featured you a puzzling look, his finger gesturing to the comfortable chair adjacent to you, "of course." You quickly obliged before he took a seat, uneasily continuing. "Your lady...company, I meant." Sex talk wasn't your thing. Sex was sacred to talk about for you—and you didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable at all.

"Oh shit," he softly cursed, his expression filled with slight concern, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize we were bein' so loud, I hope we ain't keep you up."

"Oh, it's not a big deal," you quickly intercepted not wanting him to feel any type of way, "it's just my first day off in a couple of weeks so I just wanted to wind down with some quiet time and you guys were very...vocal," you chuckled to diffuse the awkwardness of the conversation, to which he added a light chuckle of his own, "at least somebodies getting their rocks off around here." You said jokingly before taking a sip of coffee. You hoped that didn't sound suggestive.

A short moment of silence followed your statement before you recognized Terry's eyes locked on something behind you for responding, "I see I ain't the only one gettin' mine," you furrowed your brows slowly turning your attention to where he was previously locked on. Your rose, sitting cleaned and comfortably on your end table.

You really had to learn to start putting shit back. 

Or maybe not.

Somehow you found yourself on your back, pinned to the couch, Terry folding you up in missionary, knees to your chest, rose to your clit as he gave you long, deep, torturing strokes. You couldn't even remember the quick and somehow satisfying foreplay you'd taken to get here—and you didn't even care anymore. You could feel the fat tip of his dick kissing your cervix, and as if you weren't loud enough, you got louder. How ironic? You could barely hear yourself think, or were you thinking at all?

"Mhm," he hummed, his face composed, nothing but his teeth lightly sunken into his bottom teeth as he drilled you in, finger tips of his thumb and pointer finger giving your right nipple light squeezes and tugs, he kept his eyes on you, even when they rolled back, quickly turning up the vibrator, "look at you, mama. Why you bein' so vocal? Why you bein' so fuckin' loud, baby?" He taunted.

"My god, Terry," you whined, breathless, he kept up, dick hitting that spot that made your toes curl. How was he so good at this shit? You understood her completely. It wasn't atrocious at all. Very understandable. Very justified.

"Yeah, baby?" He quirked his brow up, his own soft groans almost mocking yours. "You want her to hear you? She still next door, wake her ass up mama. She kept you up all night didn't she?" He asked tearing his fingers away from your nipples to slap firmly against your cheek prompting an answer from you.

"Yessss," you slurred out, throat raw from moaning and groaning. You'd say yes to anything he asked you in this moment. You'd adopt six German kids and live on a farm with him if he requested you to do so in this moment, the world was his oyster. He was digging you out so good, so deliciously good. He was getting more than your rocks off and you knew that when the pressure in the pit of your tummy came weighing down on your bladder. "Ooouuu fuck! Fuck I'm gonna—"

"Yeah," he chuckled, evil all evident in his tone, all in his smile as he glanced down to the mess unfolding between y'all, "wet this dick up baby, I feel that shit." He groaned, eyes zoning in on the creamy ring you were leaving around him. "Wet me up, and you better wake her ass up when you do."

"Cumming!" You abruptly announced nearly cutting him off from his lewd rant, the sounds of your own arousal clashing with his dick sent you tumbling over the edge, clear juices spurting out of you with so much force it ejected him out as well. It only prompted a more lazy laugh out of him, shaking the suction of the rose on your clit even faster. Trembling underneath him, your breath hitched in your throat as he sent you into complete overdrive, your voice was hoarse once a moan came tumbling out of you loud and broken. Why did you cum so hard from knowing that she was next door, possibly hearing you get your nut off with him?

"I like that shit, mama," he mumbled to you, turning the rose off slapping his free hand down on your clit, watching your body jerk in response. He said nothing dipping his body down momentarily to give your soft, sensitive nub three sloppy, mind numbing sucks. He was so loud and lewd with it, smacks loud, tongue slurping loudly. You were too turned on, too sensitive, but too fucked out to even object given how sensitive you were. He stood up on his knee once again, other floor planted flat on the ground. "Sticking up so pretty f'me and shit," he hummed, "put that ass in the air, I'm finna give her some more."

You whined, you were too tired to move. If this was sex? What the fuck were you having before? And he seemed to insatiable, how was he asking you for more when you already so tattered from your last orgasm?

"Can't," you weakly managed to get out.

He took the initiative to help you, his hands firmly grasping your hips and flipping you over roughly, bringing your hips up into the air, spreading out so nicely for him. He moaned in response, looking at how both your holes seemed to open for him. He slapped his massive hand against your ass cheek, the loud sound seemingly filling your quiet apartment, a high wince following behind it, his dick twitching at the recoil. "You gon be a good girl for daddy and hold this shit on your clit while I take care of you back here?" He asked you the dominating reference only furthering the throbbing in your pussy, one hand softly kneading the sting out from his slap. You could hear the quiet buzzing from behind you, head nodding eagerly as your hand reached from under you, making grabby motions for the toy.

Once it was in your possession, you placed it where he asked you, body lightly trembling since your clit hadn't had a moment long enough without stimulation. Both his large hands had been planted on your ass cheeks, spreading you apart for him. He groaned in response, spitting down onto your second hole winking for him so sweetly, you moaned in response to his lewd action. "Fuck yeah," he muttered sending another lighter slap to your ass. No further words were spoken as he grabbed his girthy member in his hands, fat tip rubbing softly against your slit before he stretched you open once again around him.

A loud whine erupted from you as soon as you felt him sliding into you, stretching you, the light sting providing the perfect pain to compliment the pleasure of him literally stuffing you. It was mind numbing for him, feeling you stretch and clench around him so perfectly, gummy, wet walls feeling so warm and snug around him. "Pussy so fuckin' good," he muttered not sure to who, you or him.

His strokes had already started off staggering; hard and deep. Pelvis slamming into your ass with loud, rippling sounds through your apartment, the force literally nudging your couch across the floor. You couldn't care about the scratches you knew were now engrained in your hardwood flooring, everything was so good. Too good.

"Fuckkkk!" You slurred out, eyes fluttering closed, face pressed against the plush cushions beneath you. Brainless wasn't the word for you. You were hyper focused on the pleasure you were receiving, the vibrations from the toy, Terry's back breaking strokes, and the sounds of your arousal around him didn't help the diagnosis. Your free hand held onto the top of the couch for a sense of stability. "Why—why you fuckin' me like this?!" You stammered out through a moan, voice hoarse and broken.

"What you mean, mama?" He asked through a groan, sending another rough slap to your ass. "You such a good girl, you deserve this dick. Workin' all hard and shit, always lookin' so fuckin' good." He grunted, working himself inside of you. Thumb tracing your asshole teasingly. "You deserve some good dick, baby."

The praise only heightened your moans, encouraging you to slam your ass back on him until you felt your own orgasm once again lurking around the corner.

"Show the fuck out, then, baby," he said breathlessly, stilling his own movements as he watched as you fucked yourself on his dick, ass slamming back onto his pelvis with dizzying recoil.

"Shiiiit! I'm finna cummmm!" You moaned out, your movements only increasing in pace, using him for your own pleasure now. And he ate that shit up.

"That's right, get that nut mama. Get yo' shit, fuck me," he affirmed through a series of groans accentuating your own, "fuck, I feel all that shit. Nasty ass bitch, get that nut." His dirty words filling your ears as you released around him, halting your movements. Squirting for the second time, the orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks literally. This one cramped your muscles as it temporarily paralyzed you, huge steaks of pleasure coursing through you. Terry didn't give you a moment to recover, his own climax brewing in the background. He resumed his strokes as if he never stopped, powerful, fast and hard. The rose clobbered to the floor with a hard thud, still buzzing away as your body flattened into the couch, Terry using his upper body strength to drop dick in you.

"You runnin?" He asked breathlessly through a series of overstimulating strokes to your pussy. "Why you runnin? Daddy, let you get yours right? Let daddy get his." He hummed to you.

You couldn't tell him you were overstimulated. Could you talk at all? Were you even breathing? What the fuck even was this?

"Dick got you goin' stupid, look at you," he groaned, dick hitting that spot again, and again. You came again, with announcement. You hadn't even known you were that close again. "Fuck, you keep cummin' on my dick."

Your voice came back to you in little squeals, nodding in agreement to his last statement.

"Pussy so good—I'm finna nut baby," his voice rushed and panicked as he kept up his strokes, "fuck I'm finna nut—shit!" He hurriedly pulled out of you, groans and grunts spilling from him earnestly as warm, ropes of cum painted your ass.

That was so unreal.

You focused on steadying yourself as you heard Terrys whispered curses behind you. It wasn't long before you heard his lazy chuckle, soft lips kissing down your spine causing a small chill to sneak through you. "You good?"

"Yes? I dunno," you answered bleakly, voice rasped out. Terry laughed gently, hands rubbing some warmth into your thighs and midsection.

"You enjoyed yourself?" He asked softly, kissing up to your neck, and shoulder tenderly. You nodded eagerly to his question, earning another chuckle for him. He sounded so good. "I'm glad, where towels at pretty girl. Lemme clean you up."

"Bathroom closet," you jammed your finger in the direction of the closet. You were halfway into a slumber when Terry came back with a warm towel, cleaning you up gently.

You knew for a fact it was gonna be a lot of noise coming from the both of your apartments.

-

still don't have a tag list together but I hope y'all enjoyed another toxic Terry fic 🫡 my favorite Terry after all! Happy Friday! 💗

[wigmonster]

defunctland continues to do the coolest shit

[chxrrysangel]

Thinking really hard about Mr. Logan Howlett this week. Haven’t even watched Deadpool & Wolverine yet but the Hugh Jackman renaissance is making me FERAL.

ANYWAYS

Logan has always been a hands on kind of guy. Always the “better to do it yourself than trust someone else” you know? So when your dear next neighbor has some car issues, he refuses to call up the local mechanic.

It’s summer, 90+ degrees outside and humid like a motherfucker. On what’s typically a quiet morning during days like this, too hot for even the local kids to venture outside, you hear some clinking and what sounds oddly enough like a drill. Peeking through the curtains, your eyes scan the mostly empty street to see Logan bent over the hood of his car.

And he’s shirtless.

Even from this distance, you can see his flushed skin glisten with sweat as he works. You fall into a daze, how could you not? It would take being blind to not notice how hot your neighbor was, and your brain never failed to forget it. His jeans hung somewhat low on his hips, hugging his strong thighs in a way that made anyone salivate with need. His back muscles were a sight to behold, straining and shifting as he worked.

He wiped the sweat off his brow, turning around to lean against the bumper. You panicked, ducking your head out of his sight. You angled yourself in a way that would hopefully obscure your compromising position, decreasing your chances of a potential complaint. From this new position, you found it even harder to move away from the window. He was perfect chiseled and toned, almost as if he was crafted by the gods themselves.

“Fucking hell,” you whispered.

The longer you stared was the more flushed you felt, unable to pull away as he moved to work under the car. The two of you hadn’t spoken more than a minute at a time, but his charming demeanor quickly enticed you. Just then, you got an idea.

Scrambling to the kitchen and almost slipping on the hardwood, you gathered your ingredients. By the looks of it, he’d be outside for quite a while. What kind of neighbor would you be if you didn’t offer him a drink?

A little bit later, you stood in front of the mirror trying to work up some courage. Giving yourself a little pep talk and a little minute shot of liquid courage, you ventured outside with a tray and the brightest smile you could muster. Upon hearing your footsteps and the soft clinks of ice, he turned around before you had the chance to call out.

And he smiled, canines on full display and cheekbones puffy with glee.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Your cheeks heat up at his compliment, feeling bashful.

“Stop, you’re too kind.”

“Never that,” he retorted with a wink. He points to the strawberry printed tray in your arms.

“Some of that for me?”

“As a matter of fact, it is. Thought you could use a drink.” He gushed, taking the tall glass cup gratefully. You set down the pitcher and tray on his tool kit, planning to come back for it later.

“Well uh…call me if you need anything else yeah?”

He didn’t respond at first, choosing that moment to make your escape before you ran your mouth.

“Wait.” You paused mid-step, turning back to face him.

“I could use some company…if you don’t mind that is.”

“No, no. I’d like that,” you responded, stumbling over your words.

“Yeah?,” he said with a boyish surprise in his tone. You assured him with a nod and smile.

“Lemme get you a seat then. Be right back.” You watched as he wiped the grease off his hands, jogging past you to get a chair from inside. Even covered in sweat and grime, he was hottest man you’ve ever seen.

[norrizzandpia]

I absolutely love your writing, I am obsessedd! Could you do a story where yn is in a car crash (or something along those lines), and then a scared Lando? And I would love you even more if yn doesn't immediately wake up or immediately is ok

Kissess

Is it mentally ill for me to love this trope?

What Died Didn’t Stay Dead (LN4)

Summary: Y/n’s close to fatal car crash and the epiphanies that followed.

Warnings: detailed depictions of a car crash, mentions of death, lots of angst, happy ending

Note: GUESS WHO’S BACK AND READY TO WRITE OVER THE SUMMER

There was a distant memory of Lando going ninety in a forty-five as Y/n drove his McLaren to work. Her hands on the wheel and mind elsewhere, she giggled to herself when the image of him pouting at a ticket and its astronomical price sat in the forefront of her mind.

“Could you, for one second, respond to what I’m saying?” The voice of her boss rang through the car’s speakers.

Y/n rolled her eyes. She hated this woman. “I am responding to you. I just have nothing more to say.”

The woman coughed on the other side of the phone, phlegm prominent in the sound, “What you need to generally understand here is that we, as a company and a branch, cannot have you dating someone with such a high profile. Especially when he continually goes against vehicle regulations and laws. We are a law firm, Y/n. One that helps clients who have been involved in car accidents. Lando Norris, Formula One Driver and known speeder, dating someone who handles cases such as ours.”

Y/n nodded to herself, “I get that, Ann. But, I don’t know what you want me to do? You can’t fire me due to my personal relationships and you can’t demand me to separate from him. This is an empty issue, which you have brought to my attention without a concise and cohesive solution. When you can figure out a way for me to continue to date my partner and keep my job as it is without this supposed issue, come to me. But, for right now, it sounds as though this is empty complaining.”

Ann scoffed, “Between me and you, Y/n, it would be in your best interest to part ways with Lando Norris.”

Speechless and shocked, Y/n’s eyes averted to the screen with Ann’s name and number presented. She couldn’t believe the suggestion, much less the blatant disregard for professionalism. With the massive distraction, she failed to see the aggressive driver approaching her right in the rear view mirror.

A sentence she began to speak fell short when the car attempted to move into her lane, one that had no more space to accommodate his large truck. He hit her front bumper with such force she spun out into oncoming traffic. With the rush hour and the lack of free area to miss an out of control car, the McLaren was smashed to pieces after being hit at every angle and every speed.

The shredded mound of parts smacked the shoulder of the road, ending its violent rampage. Ann stayed quiet on the other side of the call, having heard Y/n’s screams and the dwindling of them as crunching metal continued on.

“Y/n?” She whispered into the speaker, but there was no answer.

—

“Oscar! That’s not the way you do it!” Lando screeched, looking at the phone screen and the comments popping up in outrage over the way Oscar was trying to mold his car.

The Australian just scrunched his nose at Lando, “I do things the way I want to!”

Raging laughter from Lando met the ears of everyone watching the stream just as Oscar’s clay car fell apart moments after he uttered his rebuttal.

His pale hands came up in defense, “How was I supposed to know?!”

Lando just continued laughing, “‘I do things the way I want to!’ Dumbass.”

Oscar scoffed and the words formed on his lips just as the door burst open. Adam stood at the threshold, eyes red and phone clutched to his ear as he stared at his son.

“Lando.” He said, his voice breaking.

Maybe it was the tone or the fact the syllables couldn’t quite leave his mouth because of the sobs emitting from him. Lando thought it had to have been the look on his father’s face, the pain etched into his eyes and his soul, that told me what he needed to know.

HIs face dropped, remnants of laughter completely destroyed by the suggestion of Adam’s sorrow. Lando grabbed the jacket off the back of his chair and in a haze, he muttered, “Is she dead?”

Part of him wished Adam would’ve given him a definite answer. Part of him thought the answer yes would’ve been better than the I don’t know he was given.

I don’t know meant Y/n was almost there. I don’t know meant Y/n was fighting for her life and what everyone knew her to be. He hated the idea she was fighting for the existence of her memory and the achievements he knew she was bound to make in the future.

When they left the room, running to the car outside and waiting for them, Lando hated the idea that Y/n was fighting for the future they had always wished to share together. Marriage, kids, settling down, and going gray with her was almost completely out of his reach and that dread prompted the vomit that spewed from his mouth into his backpack as they rode to the hospital.

—

Lando’s phone blew up so much, he had to shut it off, so the silence he was forced to endure in the chair of the hospital’s waiting room was brought about unwillingly.

At that point, his nails had been bitten so far down, he was bleeding. Blood only spurred the picture of Y/n dosed in it as she was lifted from his wrecked car.

The insurance company and McLaren had both agreed it was very clearly not Y/n’s fault and they would cover the cost of his beloved, customized McLaren.

Beloved.

He thought it had been funny when one of the McLaren engineers had said that to him, promising his “beloved” car back to its original state. Funny because “beloved” didn’t describe how he felt about that car. He loved that car. It was everything to him. He remembered getting the car, feeling as though his life had changed completely for the better with the presence of this beauty in his life. He cherished it, he took care of it, that car would always hold a piece of his heart.

Then he realized that the sentimental thoughts he was having surrounding the car was just an allegory for Y/n.

He loved Y/n. She was everything to him. He remembered meeting her, feeling as though his life had changed completely for the better with the presence of her beauty in his life. He cherished her, he took care of her, she would always hold a piece of his heart.

Losing her was not an option. It never would be.

Please, to anyone out there, do not take her from me, he pleaded out to the emptiness of the universe. An empty universe that was trying to take his happiness from him. A cruel universe that was trying to strip the world of her impact.

Please was the only word on his mind when the doctor appeared from behind the swinging doors that led to the operation rooms. A tired look on his face was warranted for the hours of work he had just put into trying to save Y/n’s life.

He stopped in front of Adam and Lando, his tall frame making them stand up. On wobbling legs, Lando began to cry.

”Please tell me she’s going to be okay. You have no idea who she is, what she has done. Please, Y/n has gone and could continue to go so far. This cannot be it for her. She has so much left to do. Please, tell me-”

“Lando,” The doctor interrupted, his hand on his shoulder as a comfort, “Her injuries were extensive, but she pulled through. The recovery will be long and painful, but there’s no permanent damage. She’s incredibly lucky and one of the strongest people I have ever helped.”

A loud sigh of relief left Lando’s mouth, his body slinking down into the chair behind him. He held his head in his hands, his fingers clasped together as he said a silent prayer to a God he thought he didn’t believe in.

Thank you, he gave over and over in his mind.

—

“Do you think I could see her now?” Lando caught up with the doctor’s steps as he seemed to be rushing to another room.

The man stopped, turned to Lando, and then cocked his head. He stared at him for a moment with the wheels turning in his head.

A curt nod and smile had Lando rushing off to the room number he had made the nurse repeat back to him so many times just so he could memorize it for when the time was right.

Now was his time.

Pulling open the door, he stopped himself. He prepared himself for the battered and bruised Y/n he was bound to see. Lando’s mind flooded with vivid videos of her laughing, sleeping on his chest, looking at him like he had single-handedly given her the world and more. He wanted to remind himself of that Y/n, not the one he was about to see. She would always be the same to him and he knew she would come back to him, but, for the time being, he knew he would have to rely on the memories of her where she was truly electrictrified with life.

He finally stepped through and the sight of her in whatever comatose state they had put her in made his teary eyes leak.

His body fell into the chair by her bed, his hand coming to clutch hers. Her skin was cold when he brought it to his cheek, but the red tint to her cheeks was still there.

Her lungs falling up and down grabbed his attention, “Baby,” He breathed, “I love you.”

Silence responded and he continued, “When you wake up, I promise you I will not continue to make the cowardly decision of chickening out of asking you to marry me. I know you know I have the ring. That night when I came home to you elbow deep in my sock drawer was a dead giveaway. I know you know it’s taking me so long to gain the courage and I thank you for being patient, but I cannot go another waking moment with the idea floating around in my head that there is a possibility you will never share my last name. I need you to be a Norris if it is the last thing I do.”

Her body stayed in its place and her hand stayed still in his clutch, but he knew she was in there. She needed her rest, just as the nurses had explained to him and he agreed. The bruises on her face, the casts surrounding her body, he didn’t want her to wake up to this.

—

And she wouldn’t have to. When she woke up weeks later, the bruises had healed, the cuts had become skin once more, and the casts had dwindled down to one. Lando was there too when her eyes squinted open and she groaned out. Groggy and confused, Y/n’s face turned to Lando’s. The two met each other’s eyes and the rest was expected. The rushed words of gratitude, love, and adoration accompanied by Lando’s repeated statements for her to marry her were all seemingly written in the stars. Cliche, maybe, but the way they held each other in the soft sunlight of her hospital room, the now fiancées happened upon the thought that whatever was meant to happen was going to happen.

And they were meant to happen.

[foone]

As much as I don't support the company (for the well known reasons, and this isn't a good place to talk about them), I can't help but smile when I see a Bad Dragon bumper sticker out in the wild.

It's something about how car stickers are such an earnest, direct method of communication. There's no room for nuance or irony, so the statements you can make are very simple.

And you're driving down the road and you see them and it's like, oh this guy likes a sportsball team, they like fishing, this person has a kid who is a honor student, that person voted for Hillary, and the this person enjoys stuffing their greedy holes with silicone animal dicks!

It's just SLIGHTLY out of the ordinary in a way that you have to respect.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (3/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Charles takes you on an adventure, that you won't forget that easily.

Warnings: angst (talks about Charles dad), comfort, google translated French

Word Count: 3.4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: part 3! hope you enjoy it! feedback is appreciated!

Sitting on the passenger side of your own car is strange.

It doesn't feel completely wrong, but still, a queasy feeling spreads through you. Like when you lived with your parents. Whenever someone was visiting, your mom had said, "Just sit anywhere," and of course the guests didn't know that you had an unassigned assigned seat. And when they actually sat down in your seat and you couldn't sit in yours, you had the same feeling as you do now at this moment.

After you dressed for the weather, you grabbed your car keys and your camera. If Charles was actually taking you to the most beautiful viewpoint in the country, then maybe you could snap some pictures for your private Instagram account. Your little private photo album. With no followers, no obligations.

Charles car is at his primary residence, according to his statement. Except for a few cars, the underground garage where your car is parked is empty. Your roommate insisted on driving because, first, you don't know where the trip is going and, second, he doesn't want to tell you where to go. Grumpily, you threw him the key and he caught it with a grin. 

Then Charles made himself comfortable in the driver's seat of your old Renault as if it were his birthright. Right hand on the wheel, left elbow on the door and head propped on his hand, he maneuvers you through the streets of Monaco. Black sunglasses sit on his nose and the radio plays a pop song that somehow gets played every time you get in the car. Charles whistles along with the rhythm.

You turn in his direction. "Are you going to tell me where exactly we're going?"

Instead of answering you, he just shakes his head briefly. He runs a hand through his brown hair once, whistling merrily along. 

You roll your eyes and rub your forehead.

Not only did you just get in the car with a stranger - to be fair, it's your car and Charles isn't a stranger (anymore) - but he actually won't tell you where he's going. "Like I said, we're going to the most beautiful view," is all he replies. 

You've looked it up. According to Google, there are about fifteen lookouts. And each of them is supposed to be the "most beautiful view in Monaco," according to the websites. You looked up the locations on Google Maps, but none of them are in the direction you're heading. Maybe he's trying to kill you after all. 

"I haven't driven a real stick shift car in ages." Charles wraps his big hand around the gearshift knob to shift into the next gear. His bracelets slide from his forearm to his wrist as he does so. Without much jerking and very smoothly, you move forward.

You raise an eyebrow. "So you only drive automatic cars?"

Charles shakes his head. "My personal car - the one that's at my other apartment - is an automatic. The company car I drive is manual." His hand moves from the shift knob back to the steering wheel. His long fingers grip the worn, dark leather. 

"So what do you prefer to drive?"

He shrugs. "I like both."

You purse your lips and look out the window. You drive past small boutiques whose clothes you could never afford, and see cars whose insurance per month is sure to exceed your former annual salary. But this is nothing new to you. This is Monaco, after all. "I've never driven an automatic car before."

Charles glances over at you for a moment. "Really?" You shake your head. "It's kind of like riding a bumper car. Two pedals, gas and brake." He has to grin. "But if you ever drive automatic, please don't crash into other road users."

"Haha."

Charles drives the car out of town. The view out the window changes from old houses, whose architecture enchants you every time, to rocks and trees. By now, a quiet song is playing on the radio, Charles has stopped whistling, and somehow you're enjoying sitting here, next to your roommate, who wants to show you new, exciting things. 

It's been ages since you've been introduced to something completely new. 

The brunette turns off the main road onto a path that you would have missed yourself. It's not paved, which is why the car jolts quite a bit as you drive along. Trees and bushes line the path, and it is so narrow that it would be quite difficult if another car were to come towards you. If you were driving, you would have peed your pants for sure.

But not Charles. He drives as if he were driving this route every day. He knows where there are big rocks that he has to drive around to avoid damaging your car - which wouldn't be so dramatic - and also where he has to countersteer to avoid driving over potholes deeper than the Mariana Trench. 

When he stops after a few minutes, he turns off the car. Then he turns to you and takes off his sunglasses. "I know this place looks pretty shady, and I can understand if you don't trust me. But if you get out of here with me now, I promise you, you won't regret it." He pulls the key out of the ignition. "Unfortunately, we can't get any further here by car. That's why we have to continue on foot for a short while. If you want."

You took a leap of faith when you decided to drive here with him. And he didn't try to kill you last night. That's a big plus. And that's why you hold out your hand to him without giving it much thought. "As long as I can have the key."

A smile spreads across his face as he drops it into your hand. "Let's do it, then."

Charles wasn't lying - it's actually not a long walk. You walk side by side in silence, the key held tightly in your hand. There's not a whole lot of sunlight shining down on you through the trees, and you regret not taking a thicker jacket. You didn't expect it to be so cold in the shade. 

And then you arrive. At the most beautiful view in Monaco. 

You're standing on a small hill that can't be seen from the main road. There is a single tree here, which is why the sun can shine relentlessly on you despite the winter, warming the skin on your face. You take a few steps forward, not realizing that Charles is not following you as you take in the view.

From here, from this beautiful spot, you can actually overlook all of Monaco. The houses, the yachts, the luxury for which this country is famous. But you don't only see the typical postcard Monaco. You also see the green of the forests, small blue bays of the Côte d'Azur, which you have never seen - neither in reality nor on the Internet - and the Mediterranean Sea, which stretches out in front of you and whose sound you can hear despite the distance.

You feel Charles next to you, but can't tear your gaze away from the view. "It's..." You can't think of a suitable word to describe what you're looking at. None of the million words, both in English and the few in French, would do it justice.

"I know." His voice rings softly in your ears. "Shall we sit down?"

You settle down near the tree. The meadow is dry - thank goodness - as you sit down cross-legged, facing each other. For a few minutes, you enjoy the view in silence until Charles interrupts.

"My father showed me this spot when I was little." He plucks a few tufts of grass from the ground. "He liked to come down here when the world down there" - with a nod of his head, he points to beautiful Monaco - "got too stressful for him. Or too noisy. Or just too much." He smiles faintly. "With three young sons who liked to mess with each other, I can't blame him."

You watch as he grinds a few blades of grass between his index finger and thumb until they trickle down in small pieces. "Then he's lucky you're all grown up now."

Charles lips pucker into a thin line and he lets the remaining grass fall to the ground. He folds his hands in his lap and looks toward Monaco. Even though he has his sunglasses on, you can see he closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. "My father died when I was nineteen."

You don't know how to respond. You're glad Charles keeps talking. "Aside from my mother, he was the best and kindest person I know. He saw something good in everyone, even if they didn't deserve it. He..." Charles swallows the lump in his throat. "He always pushed me to be better, but always brought me back down to earth when I took off. He was never disappointed in me, ever."

You have to smile. "Sounds like a wonderful man."

Charles nods. "He was." He looks back down at his hands. "I miss him every day."

It's strange to hear someone talk about their parents like that when your own are the complete opposite. You can't remember your parents ever being proud of you. Their disappointment and criticism were your constant companions, which is why you couldn't wait to finally move out. And you haven't looked back since.

"I like to come here when I'm stuck. When I'm stuck in a situation where I wish I could ask him for advice. Or I'm feeling lonely." A faint smile returned to his face. "I may not get an answer here, but somehow - I don't know - I don't feel quite so alone anymore when I'm here."

You don't know what to say to him. You've known each other for less than twenty-four hours, were at each other's throats yesterday, and yet he's confided something so intangibly private to you, while you've been nothing but skeptical of him. Charles has revealed himself to you, laid bare some of his cards, made himself vulnerable. And he did so without much hesitation.

"You don't have to tell me who called you. Or whatever that person screwed up. But if you need to talk to someone, I'm here for you." He takes the sunglasses off his nose so he can really look at you, and hangs them on the collar of his sweater. The green of the woods behind you is beautiful, but nothing can compete with the green of his eyes. "That's what friends are for, after all."

You have to smile. "Are we?" You point your index finger at the distance between you. "Friends?"

You feel your question is justified. After all, your "friends" dropped you after ... after everything that happened.

Charles shrugs. "If that's what you want. After all, we live together. Of course, I don't want to force you into it, nor could I. You'd sooner smack me with a rolled-up magazine. I just think it's almost impossible for us not to become friends."

He is right. The apartment is not very big and there is no way you could avoid each other. Especially since you don't have any obligations anymore, no job to go to every day. You'll be hanging out at home all the time and you'll definitely spend all your time next to each other, as long as Charles has nothing to do either. 

That you two will become friends is inevitable.

One look at Charles and you'll throw all worries out the window. Charles, who lets you live in his apartment. Charles, who lets you have the bedroom. Charles, who can cook incredibly well. And Charles, who takes you to the most beautiful place, even though it means so much to him. 

He looks at you in surprise as you pull the car key out of your jacket pocket and toss it to him. Surprised, he catches it. "I guess I won't need to lock the bedroom door then, will I?"

Charles grins. "I promise not to kill you while you're sleeping." With his index finger, he makes a cross over where his heart beats in his chest. "I might try it when you're awake, though." He winks at you.

Your grin widens. "Luckily, there are still some magazines lying around at home that I can use to defend myself. Just please don't do it when I'm only wearing a towel. That would be an unfair fight."

Charles laughs. He laughs even though he has just expressed one of his deepest feelings and this place reminds him of someone he loved and lost. Even though he's poured his heart out to you. And yet he's sitting there, cross-legged, in front of you, and he's got his head thrown back and he's laughing so loud you're afraid he can be heard all the way to Monte-Carlo. 

And good heavens - it's the most beautiful sound you've heard in a long time. 

For a moment longer, you enjoy the moment. Despite the call and Charles past, a lightness has spread through you that you haven't felt in ages. The worries have not fallen off your shoulders, but they are no longer so heavy and you would like to thank Charles for that. But as soon as you can open your mouth, he's on his feet in front of you again, looking down at you. 

"I didn't promise you too much, did I?" Confused, you look at him. "I mean, about the view."

You shake your head and stand up as well. Side by side, you gaze down at Monaco. "It's the perfect postcard view."

Charles watches you while you take some photos with your camera. You try to take a good picture from every angle, from every position, and as far as you can tell from the small display, some of the shots don't turn out too badly. When you turn around, Charles is standing right behind you. 

"If you need another model," he puts his hands on his hips, "I'll volunteer."

You laugh. "Absolutely not. Or I'll get a crack in the lens."

He pushes his bottom lip forward and pouts. "Okay, wow. I'm going to take that personally. Then don't." He's about to turn away from you when you manage to grab the sleeve of his sweater. He glances briefly at where your fingers are gripping the fabric, and unsure, you let go. 

"All right. One photo." You raise your camera. Charles tries to get a decent stance, puts his hands in his pockets, then decides against it, crosses his arms in front of his chest, drops them again, runs his hands through his hair. "You'll have to stand in style for me to take a decent picture."

A slight blush creeps onto his cheeks. "What exactly do you want me to do? What would you like?"

You smile at him. "Relax. This isn't a professional shoot, after all." You lower the camera again. "You said you have two brothers. What's the funniest thing you've been through together?"

Charles thinks for a moment and starts to grin. As he tells you about a Christmas when Arthur had been in charge of dessert but unfortunately switched sugar for salt, making the food inedible, you snap a photo of him. His smile is wide, a dimple adorns his cheek, and the wind ruffles his hair. You don't need to snap another. This picture is perfect. 

" ... And then we went to McDonalds in the middle of the night to get ice cream," he finishes his story. He looks up. "Did you take a picture? I didn't even notice!" He stands close to you so he can see the camera's display. His perfume hits your nose. "Oh my God." He takes a step away from you, his grin wide. "I've never looked so good. Can you send this to me?"

The walk to the car takes longer than the walk there, in no small part because you don't really want to leave. You memorize every single step so you can find Monaco's most beautiful view again. 

"Thank you for bringing me here." 

He looks up from his feet and over at you. "I've never brought anyone here before." He smiles gently. "But somehow I felt like you needed this. To be away from it all for once."

"I appreciate that very much. I promise I won't tell anyone about this." You draw a cross with your index finger where your heart beats. Just like he just did. You know how much this place means to him. Never in your life would you bring anyone else here. 

Your car comes into your field of vision. In a moment you would drive back home and everything you successfully repressed until just now would be waiting for you there. But it still can't spoil your mood. Not after the beautiful morning. 

You hear Charles inhale to say something when suddenly his phone rings. Annoyed, he pulls it out of his pocket and looks at the screen before tossing you the car keys. You almost drop them on the floor. "I need to make a quick call." His voice tone is cold, definitely not as warm and mellow as it was just a few minutes ago. "Go ahead and get in the car. I'll be right behind you."

You nod to him and walk the few feet. You catch the beginning of the conversation anyway.

"Nous en avons déjà parlé. Je t'ai dit que je ne rentrerais pas chez moi pour le moment. Non, écoute, je n'ai ni le temps ni les nerfs pour en parler avec toi. Je suis en déplacement en ce moment. Cela ne te concerne pas". coming home – discuss – not your business

You unlock the car and plant yourself in the passenger seat, which, unlike a moment ago, no longer feels too wrong. While you can no longer understand what Charles is saying, judging by his facial expressions and gestures, it's definitely not a pleasant conversation. His face is flushed and he runs his hand through his hair several times before rolling his eyes. 

When his gaze catches yours, you feel caught. As if you're watching him do something private that's none of your business. And for a moment you think that Charles is annoyed, telling you to do something other than watch him. But he just tilts his head and smiles softly before raising a finger in the air with his free hand. His mouth moves and it looks like "One minute" and some French word you can't make out by lip-reading.

You also answer him with a smile and look at the photo on the camera again. It's a little blurry and definitely not your best work, but it was taken from a beautiful moment and is one of your favorite pictures for that alone. 

"Sorry." You barely notice Charles sitting down next to you in the car.

You drop the key into his open hand and look at him with concern. "Are you okay?"

He breathes in and out before putting the key in the ignition and letting the engine rev. He doesn't give you an answer to your question, but starts a new topic. "We're going to see Joris. I'd love to know how he got the idea to rent out the apartment without discussing it first." He doesn't smile, but his voice is no longer so callous. You just nod. 

The situation is tense, and there's nothing you can do to defuse it except sit quietly and let Charles feel his feelings without judging him. You'd like to reach for his hand and squeeze it so he knows he's not alone. But you don't dare. The look on his face when you just touched his sweater-not even Charles per se-and the thought that you might be crossing a line burns into your brain. 

You interlace your fingers in your lap and look out the window.

Of course, you don't notice that Charles' gaze briefly falls on your hands and that he wishes he could take yours in his for a little comfort.

next part

[rrat-king]

imagine for but a moment, that you are me:

last night me and my friends wanted to smoke, only to find we did not have a lighter in my apartment. all good. i keep a lighter in my car. so i went out to grab my car lighter and lo and behold there is a piece of paper stuck under my windshield wiper. i thought maybe it was a ticket from the towing company at my apartment cuz i had registered my car wrong.

it was not a ticket. it was in fact this piece of paper:

now. at first i thought oh, fun joke, my roommate must have stuck that there cuz we watch game changer together, so i grab my lighter and head back to my apartment. i make a comment about it to my roommate.

she did not leave the note.

now i'm spiraling. i understand brennan lee mulligan on deep personal level because what the fuck. why did someone leave that note on my car? am i in a secret game changer episode somehow? has sam been here the whole time?

thank god, my roommate pointed out that i have a dropout bumper sticker so someone in my complex must have seen it and left the note on my car as a little i see you moment.

all this to say, if you left this note on my car and see this know that you gave me an existential crisis and also! pls dm me. we can watch game changer together