#my last car was a 2008

[v171]

I got a new EV car to be environmentally conscious, but unfortunately I very quickly learned about myself that I am a Speed Demon that loves cranking that puppy into Sport Mode and zooming all over, likely negating any environmental benefits because I need to charge it twice as often.

[mcmansionhell]

namesake mcmansion

Howdy folks! Today's McMansion is very special because a) we're returning to Maryland after a long time and b) because the street this McMansion is on is the same as my name. (It was not named after me.) Hence, it is my personal McMansion, which I guess is somewhat like when people used to by the name rights to stars even though it was pretty much a scam. (Shout out btw to my patron Andros who submitted this house to be roasted live on the McMansion Hell Patreon Livestream)

As far as namesake McMansions go, this one is pretty good in the sense that it is high up there on the ol' McMansion scale. Built in 2011, this psuedo-Georgian bad boy boasts 6 bedrooms and 9.5 baths, all totaling around 12,000 square feet. It'll run you 2.5 million which, safe to say, is exponentially larger than its namesake's net worth.

Now, 2011 was an anonymous year for home design, lingering in the dead period between the 2008 black hole and 2013 when the market started to actually, finally, steadily recover. As a result a lot of houses from this time basically look like 2000s McMansions but slightly less outrageous in order to quell recession-era shame.

I'm going to be so serious here and say that the crown molding in this room is a crime against architecture, a crime against what humankind is able to accomplish with mass produced millwork, and also a general affront to common sense. I hate it so much that the more I look at it the more angry I become and that's really not healthy for me so, moving on.

Actually, aside from the fake 2010s distressed polyester rug the rest of this room is literally, basically Windows 98 themed.

I feel like the era of massive, hefty sets of coordinated furniture are over. However, we're the one's actually missing out by not wanting this stuff because we will never see furniture made with real wood instead of various shades of MDF or particleboard ever again.

This is a top 10 on the scale of "least logical kitchen I've ever seen." It's as though the designers engineered this kitchen so that whoever's cooking has to take the most steps humanly possible.

Do you ever see a window configuration so obviously made up by window companies in the 1980s that you almost have to hand it to them? You're literally letting all that warmth from the fire just disappear. But whatever I guess it's fine since we basically just LARP fire now.

Feminism win because women's spaces are prioritized in a shared area or feminism loss because this is basically the bathroom vanity version of women be shopping? (It's the latter.)

I couldn't get to all of this house because there were literally over a hundred photos in the listing but there are so many spaces in here that are basically just half-empty voids, and if not that then actually, literally unfinished. It's giving recession. Anyway, now for the best part:

Not only is this the NBA Backrooms but it's also just a nonsensical basketball court. Tile floors? No lines? Just free balling in the void?

Oh, well I bet the rear exterior is totally normal.

Not to be all sincere about it but much like yours truly who has waited until the literal last second to post this McMansion, this house really is the epitome of hubris all around. Except the house's hubris is specific to this moment in time, a time when gas was like $2/gallon. It's climate hubris. It's a testimony to just how much energy the top 1% of income earners make compared to the rest of us. I have a single window unit. This house has four air conditioning condensers. That's before we get to the monoculture, pesticide-dependent lawn or the three car garage or the asphalt driveway or the roof that'll cost almost as much as the house to replace. We really did think it would all be endless. Oops.

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[dear-ao3]

hey wait im also new to f1 but i saw the other ask and i was curious abt what you meant when you said no one will ever do it like nico rosberg?? also retiring after your first championship win is insane lmao what a power move

nico rosberg is just. he’s insane. he’s cunty. he’s wonderful. he possesses sass and audacity unlike any other. we unfortunately do not have time to get into his whole story (my lunch break is only so long) but here’s some highlights:

-technically he’s a nepo baby. his dad, keke rosberg, won the world championship in 1982 and they remain one of the Few father son duos to both win a world championship (don’t ask me who the others are idk but i know they exist)

-he and lewis hamilton met when they were kids in the late 90s sometime and were gokarting teammates at some point in i think the early 2000s? (not fact checking i don’t have the time rn) and they were Besties. they’ve talked about this before, mostly in older interviews, but the gist is that both of them were outcasts from the other karting kid in opposite ways (nico was the son of a champion and rich and lewis was from nothing and pretty much the only poc most of the time) and that drew them together and they were Menaces according to legend. everything was a competition and they trashed hotel rooms and ate pizza and ice cream and kellogg frosties and went to greece and dreamed of being in f1 together

-nico signed with williams in 2006. his teammate was mark webber. and nico had long flowing blonde hair (this is important). he crashed at one race and mark webber said “britney’s in the wall” cementing the nickname britney, like britney spears. jenson button (another driver) said later on that they called nico britney because he was “very pretty” (do with that what you will)

-he was just. insane. cunty. constantly looked like a european bond villain. wore god awful shoes. whole bit. once he stayed in his car when it got craned off the track cause he didn’t want his hair to get wet. which is insane cause he’s wearing a helmet it would have gotten equally as not wet had he gotten out.

-anyway, lewis made it to f1 in 2007 and they had their first podium together i think that year (?) and it’s cute and fun and oh boy you’re not ready for what these two have coming

-lewis won the championship in 2008 (but he almost won in 2007, his rookie year) at mclaren.

-nico went to mercedes when they recentered the grid in 2010. his teammate was michael schumacher, who was fresh out of retirement. (yes the michael schumacher, 7x world champion). michael fucked with nico endlessly according to legend, including making him piss in a bucket pre race because he would hog the bathroom until the last possible second. nico still out preformed him most of the time, and the car was mid as hell.

-michael retired part 2 at the end of 2012. and who replaced him but lewis hamilton

-so the two of them were teammates again. the cards were absolute Stacked against them. because yes they were besties yes they’d known eachother forever but the first person you’re judged against is your teammate. and you’re trying to beat your teammate. and lewis already had a championship. nico wanted a championship.

-2013 was relatively chill. the car was kinda mid. they did well but not fantastic and did some fuck ass pr (highly reccomend looking those videos up)

-2014 they had a car that could win. and they started fighting eachother for wins. they played all kinds of mind games against eachother and withheld stats and nico ran illegal engine modes (supposedly) and lewis said they were no longer friends after nico supposedly wrecked his monaco qualifying one year but they claimed they still supported eachother and were friends off track. lewis won in 2014 and in 2015. but nico was right behind him and he wanted to win a championship, he didn’t want to be a number 2 driver

-so in 2016 nico did some insane shit. he stopped sleeping with his wife so that he could get better sleep or something, he did weird things to cut weight, he basically did everything and then some to win. and then he did. he won the championship and then at the prize giving ceremony announced he was retiring. he didn’t tell lewis this.

more after i get off work :)

[starkwlkr]

the perfect dad | lewis hamilton

warnings: child loss, depression, online hate (if these topics are sensitive to you, please don’t read, your health is much more important!!)

The day Y/n and Lewis met, it felt magical, those were her exact words. It was 2008, a year after his F1 debut. Y/n, at the time, didn’t know anything about the sport other than the cars go really fast and there’s a world champion every year. She worked as a presenter alongside Natalie Pinkham. It took one interview for Lewis Hamilton to fall in love with Y/n L/n. After their interview, Lewis asked her out and from then on, they were named the paddock’s it couple.

Their relationship was made public after Lewis won his first championship and kissed Y/n on live tv. It became a regular occurrence for them. After every race win, Lewis would be interviewed by his girlfriend and interrupt her for a kiss.

The year was 2011 and after three years of dating, Lewis had proposed to Y/n and of course she said yes. The wedding was small with only close family and friends attending. Their perfect family was slowly forming and that’s all they could ever hope for.

Five months after the wedding, Y/n and Lewis found out the incredible news. They were going to be parents to a little boy or girl. Lewis immediately started buying baby related items and asked his father and brother for help on the nursery even if Y/n had no visible bump yet.

“We’re going to be parents!” Lewis kissed Y/n’s lips as he held the pregnancy test in his hands.

“The baby is going to be so loved.” Y/n smiled.

Everything was going perfectly fine. Y/n and Lewis went to all the checkups, Y/n read any books in order to prepare while Lewis dealt with baby proofing their entire house. They were more than ready for Baby Hamilton.

When the day finally came, Y/n was scared. She held onto Lewis’ hand tightly as the doctors and nurses motivated her to push. Her body ached and sweat began to form on her face.

“You can do this, love, you’re the strongest woman I know. Think about our little baby. They’ll be here soon.” Lewis whispered in her ear then gave her a kiss.

“Lew, I’m tired.” Y/n replied, breathing heavily.

“I know and I’m so sorry I can’t take your pain away. You can do this, Y/n, just a few more pushes.” Lewis said.

It felt like forever, but Baby Hamilton had finally arrived, the only problem was that neither Y/n or Lewis heard any baby cries. Y/n looked over at Lewis, who was just as confused as his wife.

“Where’s our baby, Lewis? I can’t hear them.” Y/n started to sit up, but the nurses told her calm down and sit back down. “No, I want my baby. Where are you taking them?”

Lewis instantly knew what had happened. Baby Hamilton didn’t even take their first breath. Lewis took his wife into his arms and let her cry as the doctors took their baby away.

“Our baby. . .” Y/n sobbed as Lewis held her. His heart had broken into millions of pieces. Why did it have to happen to him and Y/n?

For six months, Y/n stayed in her and Lewis’ room. She became a stranger. She skipped out races making the media believe that her and Lewis had divorced. Everytime a friend or family member reached out to her, she would push them away. Lewis tried his hardest to talk to her, but she would either kick him out of their room or leave the house then return an hour later.

It was supposed to be Baby Hamilton’s seventh month when Lewis finally got Y/n out of the house. Y/n had apologized to her husband for pushing him away when they were both grieving the loss of their baby.

“Baby Hamilton is with us always.” Lewis showed Y/n a tattoo that he had recently gotten last weekend. It was Baby Hamilton’s birth date along with a tiny heart. The tattoo was on his wrist so whenever he missed his child, which was often, he looked down at the ink and remember them.

“I love you, Lewis.”

After their talk, Y/n and Lewis got changed and dressed to go out to a restaurant to eat. It wasn’t one of those fancy ones that Lewis took Y/n whenever it was an birthday or anniversary or just because he felt like it. It was a small restaurant that sold vegan food that both Lewis and Y/n loved so much.

“Taste this,” Y/n held up her sandwich for Lewis to taste. He took one bite and stole the sandwich from Y/n’s hands. “Hey! You ordered the wrap!”

“But this one tastes good too! I’ll order you another one, love.” Lewis got up and walked to the counter to order another sandwich. While he was gone, Y/n could hear camera clicks and saw flashing lights from the corner of her eye. Paparazzi had found them. Of course every celebrity hated paparazzi, but Y/n absolutely despised them.

She felt uncomfortable as her body had obviously changed from the pregnancy and from her not taking good care of it after. She tried to ignore it, but soon some paparazzi had yelled out her name. It was impossible to ignore now.

“Y/n! You look different! Tell Lewis to order you more food, you look skinny!”

That was all it took for her to start crying.

When Lewis returned, he saw the paparazzi outside. “Let’s go home, come on.” He said and took off his hoodie. He gave the hoodie to Y/n and as she put it on, he asked a waiter for boxes to take their food home. “Ignore them, we’ll be home soon.”

As they left the restaurant, the paparazzi got more pictures of Y/n hiding her face from the camera. It was clear that she had lost tons of weight after the pregnancy. As Lewis opened the car door for her, a man called out for Y/n once again.

“Mate, fuck off.” Lewis said and walked to his side of the car. On their way home, Y/n ranted to Lewis about how the paparazzi makes her feel and him being the best husband, he listened to every word she had to say.

When they arrived home, Y/n walked into the house, Lewis slowly followed her. He was picturing them coming home from lunch of dinner with Baby Hamilton in a stroller. That was his version of a great day.

“It’s too quiet here, Lew. I don’t like it.” Y/n sighed.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Lewis grabbed her hand and together they walked to their shared bedroom. Baby Hamilton’s nursery was right across from their bedroom. It remained untouched ever since Lewis and his father finished painting the walls and installing the furniture.

“We are going to get through this, Lewis Hamilton. I know we are.” Y/n faced her husband.

A new year came and so did new changes. Y/n still remained with returned back to work with Sky Sports F1 and Lewis was still with Mercerdes. After every race, Lewis would look down at his wrist and see the date that belonged to Baby Hamilton.

“Well Lewis, it’s been a hectic week for you, where to start, but firstly I want to ask about something the fans noticed you’ve been doing at every race and that is you kiss your wrist before getting into your car. Is there any meaning behind that?” A lady from ESPN asked him during the Monza Grand Prix.

“There is a meaning and it’s something only my wife and I know about. It’s something to represent that my child, who is now looking down at me, is always with me. It’s to represent that no matter what, I’m always going to be their dad.” Lewis proudly stated.

Y/n watched from a tv inside the Mercedes hospitality as her husband was being interviewed. The couple had talked about announcing Baby Hamilton before since during the pregnancy, no one other than close friends and family knew. Lewis wanted to make sure Y/n was okay with announcing it before anything else.

After Lewis was done with his interview, the tv changed to another interview happening live. Y/n knew it would be a while before Lewis returned so she went onto twitter to distract her mind, which was the wrong move.

Her name was trending after the paparazzi photos of her and Lewis were finally posted. Mean twitter users were pointing out how skinny and tired she looked.

formula1facts this is hamilton’s wife?😂

paddockinsider someone give her a burger

lolurnotmichaelschumacher Lewis finds her attractive?? get this man glasses or something

Her mentions were all about her body. Every single one of them were how she had changed. Without thinking, she went to her settings and pressed the ‘delete account’ option.

Y/n and Lewis continued with their lives, occasionally having breakdowns when they remembered how their child was taken from them too soon. But that didn’t mean Y/n and Lewis stopped calling themselves parents. They were still a mom and a dad, their child was just waiting for them in the sky.

One day, Lewis had the bright idea to bring up a solution to the quietness in their house. A dog. The couple was laying in bed in a hotel since the Singapore Grand Prix was just a few days away.

“A dog? Are you sure we’re ready to have a dog? We travel like crazy and who would take care of them when you and I can’t?” Y/n asked.

“Dad could or we could just bring them on the road with us. Everyone loves dogs.” Lewis said.

“Something tells me you already have one in mind. Did you adopt a dog and didn’t tell me?” Y/n chuckled.

“Not really. But I can ask around.”

Lewis did just that. Eventually he did find the perfect dog for him and his wife. After the 2013 season ended, Lewis took a well needed vacation with Y/n where he would surprise her with their dog. When Y/n met the dog, she was in love.

“What their name?” Y/n asked as she scratched the dog’s belly.

“Roscoe.”

Roscoe became a family member. He wasn’t ‘just a dog’. He traveled with Lewis and Y/n, ate with them, slept on their bed. He was their second child. A few months after adopting Roscoe, Coco came into their lives. Both Y/n and Lewis treated the dogs as if they were their own kids because in a way, they were.

Often Lewis would show Roscoe and Coco the ultrasound pictures of Baby Hamilton and would tell them how excited he was to be a dad. Y/n would smile so much as how Lewis talked to their dogs. It didn’t matter if they were a dog or an actual baby, Lewis Hamilton was the perfect dad.

[carowleysposts]

What happened to Aziraphale and Crowley between 1941 and 1967?

It is well known by the fandom that Aziraphale realizes he’s in love with Crowley after Crowley saves him and his books from the n4zis in 1941. That moment marks the shift of their relationship, when Aziraphale sees that not only did Crowley know him well enough to save his books, but also was there for the sole purpose of rescuing him - because he cared. This moment led to their most romantic adventure yet, which involved the car “is there anything i can do for you in return?” scene, the magic trick performance, the “trust me” moment and a very intimate, private, candlelit dinner.

They had crossed a very visible line in their relationship, you could see it in the way they were looking at each other, being more open, talking and drinking together. They were acting romantically towards each other, even if they couldn’t admit it or talk about it.

But then, the next time we see them, it’s almost like they moved backwards in they’re relationship. Aziraphale is practically unable to look directly at Crowley when he first gets in the car. And then we get the iconic, yet heartbreaking and confusing “you go too fast for me, Crowley”. And you can see that Aziraphale looks almost mournful after saying that.

I saw a post on twitter comparing the two car scenes - the one where Aziraphale is practically throwing himself at Crowley and then the one where he’s hesitant towards him.

And it made me think. Like, whatever happened between those two car scenes has an impact that lasts for many years, as we can CLEARLY see that 2008 Aziraphale and Crowley were still a bit colder and more distant than their 1941 selves. Their relationship backtracked a lot from that candlelit dinner. And i don’t think that’s a plot hole, i truly think there’s something we don’t know yet.

Of course, after the events of season one, they’re back to being really close, their dynamic is pretty much restored and we can see them hold hand in the bus - which David Tennant has confirmed happened, and it is heavily implied that Aziraphale stays at Crowley’s that night, where they did the body swap for the trials.

BUT! In the first episode of Season 2, Aziraphale mentions that he had to do the “i’m sorry” dance in 1941. It definitely happened after that candlelit dinner, so could that event - which led to the apology dance - be connected to why they had a temporary falling out? What was it that happened after that dinner? Are we going to see more from 1941?

It has been the only time period that was shown in both seasons, and it was perhaps the most romantic and significant time they’ve spent together prior to the events of season two. Perhaps they went a little too far and weren’t prepared for that? Perhaps they’ve miscommunicated and had a big fight? I don’t know, i’m hoping our dearest @neil-gaiman has an answer for that.

Also, when Crowley says “no nightingales” before kissing Aziraphale, Aziraphale seems to understand perfectly what he’s referring to. He looks absolutely crushed after Crowley says that. So it led me to believe something in the past made them associate “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” to their relationship and perhaps talk about it. And i believe that, if i am correct and they have talked about the nightingales before, it was in 1941. But then, what do I know?

I would REALLY love to see your theories as to what happened between them after that dinner, if anything at all. Also, does anyone wanna be moots? My posts have been very successful but i’m not getting followers and i really want to meet more of you.

[spencereidluver]

H is for Hold My Hand

october 31, 2008

summary:  You take a cocky, halloween loving Spencer to a haunted house for his first time. He underestimates how scary it actually is going to be, and ends up being taught a very valuable lesson.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: details of a haunted house. nothing  bad though

Spencer Reid was a big Halloween fan. He loved dressing up and going to haunted houses and eating candy. He was a kid at heart, maybe because he never truly had a childhood. 

This year, you decided to take him to a haunted house on the outside of town. It was an old abandoned house that had been boarded up and condemned for years. A few years back, a family bought it and renovated it, turning it into a movie style horror building. It was one of the top spots in the entirety of Quantico during the month of October.

You decided to take your horror-loving boyfriend there as not only a late birthday gift, but also as a way to celebrate halloween. Because let's be honest, two mid-twenty year olds trick or treating isn’t exactly socially acceptable. After going out for a semi-nice dinner, you and Spencer drove 17 miles east to visit the haunted house.

“You know, I’ve never actually been to a haunted house,” Spencer said to you. His eyes were focused on the road as he made gentle movements of the steering wheel with his left hand. His right hand rested on the midsection of your thigh, gripping ever so slightly.

“Really?” You said. You ran your fingers over his, following the bumps of his knuckles.

“Nope. I’ve always wanted to go but never had anyone to go with.”

“Well, now you do.” He smiled, turning his head and giving you a quick peck on the lips. It took Spencer a few weeks to get used to kissing you. For a while, he would ask every time. Last week, the two of you went to the theater on a date. As this was a silent audience, he didn’t want to interrupt. About half way through the show, you felt the buzz of your phone. “Can I kiss you?” a text from Spencer read. You couldn’t help but giggle out loud, which got you a few shushes. You didn’t mind too much, leaning over and giving him a big kiss. 

Kissing Spencer was something straight out of a romance novel. He had this certain way about him, he was always so passionate. The way his lips moved perfectly in sync with yours was something unpredictable. You always imagined him being a good kisser, with practice of course, but he’d clearly done research.

Spencer pulled into the parking lot of the destination. The owners of the house tore down the shed in the back to pave an area. It’s almost as if they know they’d be a city-wide success. 

It was still slightly light outside, the sun having yet to set. You wanted to wait until dark to go inside. You wanted Spencer’s first haunted house experience to be memorable. Of course, anything with him was memorable, however, you wanted to make this extra special for him. After all, Halloween was sort of his thing, and you were sort of his girl-thing. 

You grab Spencer’s hand and turn to look at him. “Hey,” you say, ensuring to keep your voice calm and steady, “I’m not saying you will, but if you do happen to get too scared, we can leave.”

“Y/n, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he says. “I work for the damn FBI.”

“I know Spence, but this is different.” “Yeah. It’s fake.”

He really didn’t know what he was getting into.

“Yeah, it’s fake, but it almost makes it more scary. The people here can touch you, and it’s loud, and basically it’s all the stuff you hate grouped into one thing that you somehow love.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell you if I’m scared. But I’ll be fine, y/n.”

He was completely clueless. For one, you were going to prove him wrong. You just knew it. The two of you exit the car, meeting in the front and interlocking hands. Spencer rubs his thumb on the back of your palm and swings your arm back and forward with your steps. 

As you approached the steps to the house, Spencer’s hand began sweating. Yeah, he was nervous, but he’d never ever admit it. He liked to seem strong in front of you, though he’d be the first one to cry if he stepped on a bug. There was something so innocent about him. He just, he was different. 

_____

The line to get in was long, but it moved fast. The entryway to the house was filled with those fake spiderwebs. Those always made Spencer sneeze. The majority of your time in there was spent with Spencer’s arm over his mouth and you trying to convince the people ahead of you he wasn’t sick. 

As you approached the entrance to the basement- where the haunted house started- Spencer began to get giddy. He was so excited, like a kid in a candy store. Except he was a Spencer in a scary house that he was allergic to.

You enter the doorway to the steps that lead to the basement. Spencer trails behind you, walking a little slowly and paying careful attention to each spooky detail on the wall. He held a loose grip on your hand and let you lead him down the stairs. 

As you enter the actual attraction his grip tightens significantly. There was a coffin slightly ajar that had fake blood dripping out from the bottom. A plastic severed hand lay at the gape of the door. Spencer inched closer to you and hid his face in your hair. You silently laughed to yourself and continued walking forward.

As you continued through the basement, there was lots of fake blood and red stained sheets covering walls and pieces of furniture. They did a good job of creepifying this place. There was a fog machine plugged in somewhere, and from out of the fog popped a man draped head to toe in blood stained clothing. He jumped out in front of you and Spencer, screaming into your faces. He then ran back into the fog, knocking over a stack of ceramic plates causing a loud crash. Spencer jumped. Literally, jumped. He pressed his body into yours, attempting to hide behind you. You turn around to look at him.

“You sure you can handle this, Spence?” You ask him. “We can leave if you want to.”

“No, I’m fine. Can you just hold my hand?” He answers, looking into your eyes, almost as if he was too scared to grab your hand himself. You smile at him, taking his hand and dragging him to the next room and through the rest of the basement.

_____

next chapter: I is for "I Knew It!"

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version! 

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a/n: hey guyyys sorry it's been a bit since the last chapter, i've been working a lot and had finals. i really hope i'm able to get back on the grind, but no promises. i hope you all are having a good holiday season! also, i would just like to say that chapter M is a christmas themed story, however it is non secular and celebrated for gifts with the team, not the birth of the christian god. i want to try to make all my stories inclusive to whomever and be able to read across all races and religions. have a wonderful night :)

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Have Recommendations? visit my recommendations page to submit your suggestion, no matter how big or small!

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[salford-blues]

The origins

A/n: It's been a couple weeks since I last wrote anything. I've been really busy and I'm burnt out :( Also this is my first proper written fic. I've mainly posted SMAU's, so if it's not good... I'm sorry. Would love to hear your critiques etc! Pairing: f1 x driver!reader Summary: The origins of our driver!reader - snippets of her growing up Warnings: butchered german??? Italics are the thoughts!

2008 - 5 years old

GROSSER PREIS SANTANDER VON DEUTSCHLAND 2008

The stands were crowded with energetic fans waiting for their favourite drivers to come out. Roars of laughter between friends and families. Piercing screams of devoted fans. In the middle of it all, a 5-year-old girl wrapped in the arms of her father with her hands over her ears trying to block out the deafening noise.

''It's too loud Papi. When's it home time?'' the girl pouted.

''Not just yet Spatzi (little sparrow). The drivers should be out any minute now.'' her father sighed. The child frowned and buried her head into his shoulder and neck.

Instantaneously, the crowd began to yell. Names were shrieked left, right, and centre. People pushing and shoving trying to get a picture or an autograph with their favourite driver. Luckily, the child and her father had managed to make it to the front without too much effort. They now had a perfect view of the track.

One by one the cars came out of the paddocks and lined up at the starting line.

''Who do you like Papi?'' the girl questioned, intrigued by the cars and their colours.

''I like Williams, do you see the navy blue and white car over there?'' her father pointed towards the middle of the grid.

''Uhhuh,'' she nodded, eyes lighting up at the car.

''That's the one that I really like. Which one do you like Schatz (treasure)?'' he questioned the child.

''Hmmm, I liikkeee... I think I like Williams too! Just like you Papi. I think I like the red car too.'' the girl's eyes shone as she spoke. Excitement now lacing her voice. There was a look of adoration on her father's face. Oh, how he loved his little bundle of joy.

''You can like whoever you want. The red car is a Ferrari.'' her father exclaimed.

''F-Fir-aa-r-ee? Ferrari! Yeah, I like that one too, but that one goes second!'' she said adamantly.

Suddenly, the cars were off, speeding down the track.

There was a glisten in the youngster's eyes. The screaming of the crowd was long forgotten. All she could hear was the vrooming of the cars. Wow, they're really fast. I want to do that.

''I want to be a race car driver when I'm older Papi! I'm gonna go really fast like vrrrrooomm." she held out her hands and acted as if she was driving a car.

2009 - 6 years old

''Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, Spatzi! (Happy Birthday, little sparrow!)''

The young girl stirred in her bed.

''Wakey wakey sleepy head... you don't want to miss out on opening presents do you.''

At that comment, the girl shot up in bed. Her wide eyes glanced up at her father, excitement running through her body.

''Please can I have waffles for breakfast? Can we go see Oma? Can we see Mami? Oooh can we make those doughnuts with the sugar on top for dessert? Plleeaassee?'' she gave her father her best puppy dog eyes.

''Okay, okay. How about we open your presents first and then see where the day takes us? How does that sound?'' her father queried.

A swift nod of the head gave her father all the conformation he needed and with that, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her down into the living room. The room was decorated with brightly coloured banners, balloons stuck to the wall via sellotape and streamers hung from the ceiling. On the living room table, 6 presents stood tall and were screaming to be opened by a certain birthday girl.

Once set down on the ground, the birthday girl ran over to the presents. She picked the first one up, inspecting its size before placing it down and ripping open the wrapping paper. Inside a box of Lego with an image of a Ferrari. The girl giggled with excitement moving on to her next present.

The small child was down to her last two presents. Both were small and sat on the corner of the table. Small hands picked up the thin present that sat on top, tearing open the wrapping paper. A signed driver's card sat inside. Shock spread across the young girl's face. A signed piece by Kimi Raikkonen. This just might be the best present ever!

''Oh wooooow! Danke Papi! This is the best present ever.'' She ran over wrapping her small arms around the man's neck.

''You're very welcome. But how about opening up your last one.'' he smiled at her.

She curiously looked back and took the present into her arms. The present was squishy under her touch. Possibly clothes? Carefully, the wrappers ripped open. A blue and white race suit sat inside.

''Do you like it, Schatz?''

''I love it! I love it! I love it!'' the girl twirled around with the race suit in hand.

2015 - 11 years old

''Hallo Logan!'' The girl ran up to the young lad. ''Do you want to get ice cream after the race? I'll ask Oscar if he wants to come too."

The blonde boy nodded his head and smiled. ''Yeah, I'd like that.''

''Okay, bye Logan.'' The girl waved before heading in the direction of her Aussie friend.

''Hallo Oscar! Do you want to come and get ice cream after the race with me and Logan?''

''Sure. Let me ask my parents.'' He ran off towards his parents.

Alone she stood listening to her surroundings. Loud chatter coming from children and parents. Birds chirping in the trees.

Hearing the latter she skipped towards the trees before noticing a small bird hopping around. Approaching the bird slowly, she scooped the animal into her hands and held it against her chest.

''I will help you little birdie! Papi, Papi look what I found. Can we help it get better?''

''Sure, we'll take it home with us.'' he smiled.

Strolling over were Oscar and Logan.

''What'cha got there N/n?'' Logan asked curiously.

''It's a bird... We're gonna take it home and look after it.'' She exclaimed.

''We are still up for ice cream though aren't we Birdie?'' Oscar peered a the girl.

''Of course we are Osc... birdie?? Why that??''

''Oh y'know... you've got a bird in your hand, so your new nickname is birdie,'' he uttered as if it was obvious.

''Ahh okie.'' A blush spread across her cheeks in embarrassment.

A whilst blew signalling that the race was about to begin.

''Papi, will you take care of it whilst I race?'' She turned back.

''Of course I will Spatzi. Now run along. The quicker you go the quicker you can get ice cream.''

yourusername

landonorris, georgerussell63, liamlawson30 & others liked

Ice cream dates just like old times. @oscarpiastri @logansargeant

View all comments

oscarpiastri Birdie delete this. This makes it out like we're all dating

> yourusername WAIT... WE ARENT????

>> logansargeant now look what you've done, you've made her cry...

>>> oscarpiastri We're not dating though???

user.1 why is Logan acting like a third wheel??

user.2 are they dating though? or is it two of them and then the third just tags along?

> user.3 I think they're just really weird friends

>> user.2 yhhh checks out

liamlawson30 annnd where was my invite?

> yourusername you weren't invited because you beat me at connect 4

>> user4 lmaaooo. Didn't realise y/n was a sore loser

>>> liamlawson30 you should see her when she plays monopoly

[uniquexusposts]

Below Deck | C. Leclerc (2)

Summary: Y/n and Charles had broken up a few weeks ago. Y/n thought it was a good idea to enter the yachting world to get over the break up, but suddenly he shows up at the last charter of the season. How will they cope with it? Words: 2008 Read the story that was based off the one shot here Part 1

"Do you watch F1?" It was Max who asked it.

Luca, Otis and Y/n were standing in the lounge. They were having a conversation with the guests, well, Max, Charles, Carlos and Pierre did. They just got back from the beach picnic. Y/n hated that these people were polite, curious and just... Why can't they leave me alone? Luca stirred Y/n into the conversation, and she couldn't just leave.

"Yes, I do! Well, not so much now I work all the time, but where I can, I follow it," Luca said.

Luca was such a sweetheart. He always looked angry, but that was just his facial structure. And he looked so intimidating because of his muscles, but he was a real sweetheart.

"I'm more of a NASCAR guy, I'm sorry," Otis mentioned awkwardly.

Otis was the guy who was probably the most responsible. He never had drama, never. But when there was drama, he was always there. He sometimes had funny comebacks. Together with Y/n, they were drama free.

"And Y/n says she doesn't watch F1," Luca said and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "But I think she secretly does."

Y/n played along with him. "Secretly, I'm a big fan," she smirked. "But don't tell anyone."

"See, I knew it," Luca laughed.

The guests laughed along, trying to not make it awkward. Y/n had to bite her lip to try not to burst into laughter because it was so fake and uncomfortable. She knew almost everything about F1.

"The next race is..?" Luca asked.

"France and right after that, Budapest. The last races before the break," Pierre responded.

"Very cool. I can catch up with it right after we finish this job," Luca happily said. "The last race I saw was with the accident, Imola, I believe." He let go of Y/n. "Dear Lord, that looked horrible."

Y/n pressed her jaws on each other, and her face straightened. She quickly remembered she had guests - who were still her friends - in front of her, so she relaxed all the muscles in her face. Get out of here.

"It looked more horrible than it actually was," Charles replied. "Which was explained later on."

This was a sneer, and Y/n knew it. She looked impressed and nodded. "Of course it did," she mumbled.

Pierre and Carlos looked at Y/n and then at Charles; if looks could kill... They looked at each other and sent each other a look. A look that told: it's bad.

"May I ask how it was for you? I really can't imagine how it must be to be in that car. It really looked so bad. What a small touch can cause..."

Italy, Imola, Sunday. Everything started fine that afternoon until a gearbox of a driver stopped working. Red flag. All the cars went to the pits. Very unfortunate for the driver who had his race finished way too early.

On the other hand, Charles could make an advantage with the restart since the official start went like shit. The car was removed from the track, and everyone was ready for a standing restart. So it began again.

Until Charles Leclerc got a small touch of someone.

Charles shoved over the track at many kilometres per hour. His car flipped upside down. His car hit the barrier with 40G. His car crashed and shattered completely. It took the people over 30 minutes to get him out of the car. It took Ferrari another 90 minutes before a statement was released.

"When you get into a F1 car, you're packed. The impact was gigantic, and I saw my life playing in front of my eyes, but it really looked worse from the outside than from what I saw in the cockpit. Thank god for every regulation and the modern cars," Charles summarised.

"My goodness, it still sounds horrible. I'm glad you got out safely," Luca mentioned, relieved. "I feel like, when it goes wrong, it goes good wrong. Just like with Zhou at Silverstone last year."

"That one was pretty ugly as well," Max agreed.

"I still think the crash of Grojean is the worst in years," Y/n stirred. "I saw it happening, and I thought: nope, we're not doing this again. When he got out of the car, I've never felt so relieved," she said.

Pierre nodded. "He got so lucky. I've seen the reconstruction video, and I heard his story; it was so... I don't have words for it."

"F1 is an ugly sport," Y/n blurted.

"It depends," Charles shot back.

"It is an ugly sport," Y/n sneered.

"Felix for Y/n," the radio went off.

Thank you so much. Y/n grabbed the transceiver from her skirt and held it to her mouth. "Go ahead," she said.

"Can you make two mojitos for Kelly and Rebecca, and bring them to the front deck?"

"I'm on it," she said. "If you will excuse me," Y/n smiled and walked away without waiting for a response.

The smile on her face dropped straight away, and her eyebrows lowered. She was so done with everything, and she wanted to go home so badly. Then she remembered that she didn't have a home, so she had to return to her dad. Y/n was close to having a breakdown but had to keep it together. She arrived at the bar and made two mojito's as requested. Y/n brought them to the two girls and walked to the laundry room to fold and steam some clothes.

She walked with the folded clothes to the bedrooms of the guests. She knocked on every door, making sure no one was in there. In two of the bedrooms, it was that case. Y/n knocked on the last door and opened it without hesitation as she expected it to be empty.

"Oh, excusez-moi," Y/n said when she saw someone in the room of Pierre and Charles. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. It could be Pierre, she hoped not for Charles.

"No, it's fine."

It was Charles.

"I have your clothes," Y/n mentioned. "Or Pierre's," she mumbled, trying to not give him attention.

The door opened from the inside. "Thank you," he said. "You can put it in the closet."

A sigh left her mouth. For some reason, she didn't accept it. Now it really felt like he was using her. Well, he paid for this service, but it just felt so weird to Y/n.

"Sure, perfect," she said and entered his room again. It was deadly silence, awkward silence, in the room. Y/n placed the clothes in the closet.

"Why did you say that?" Charles suddenly asked.

"Said what?" Y/n was glad that no one from the crew on this boat spoke French. She could hold a conversation without them knowing what they were talking about. Now she had to control the tone of her voice.

"That F1 is an ugly sport."

"Because it is."

"That is not fair to say."

"Why? It's my opinion." Y/n stepped to the door, ready to leave the room.

"It is not fair, Y/n," he repeated.

She closed the door behind her and stepped toward him. "You know what is not fair? The time that you have let me wait after your accident in Imola. Do you remember how long it took me to discover that you were alive? Two fucking hours," Y/n whisper-yelled.

"I still do not understand why this is why you broke up with me," Charles replied in the same tone.

"For me, it is."

"Why? Tell me why, Y/n. Or is that even too much to ask?"

Her face straightened. "I'm not doing this here. Find someone else to mock on, Charles." She stepped towards the door again.

"Explain it to me! I had asked my team multiple times to contact my family when I was at the medical centre; how many times do I have to tell you that?"

"It is so fucking ridiculous that I had to wait for two hours. I had no idea if you were alive, if you were dead. Nothing. Those two hours were almost the two longest hours of my fucking life. Perhaps you were dead, I don't know," she replied and shrugged. "It's the fact that I had to read it in a statement on social media, I didn't get that message from you personally. Even if it was two hours later, it would have been much better than a social media statement on Twitter."

"Why are you still blaming me for it? I have asked-"

"You don't get the point, do you?"

"Then explain it to me, Y/n. I have been guessing for weeks, and I still don't know what went wrong." Charles scanned Y/n's face, and he noticed the change in her eyes. A glossy layer washed over her eyes, and they became bloodshot. Her shoulders hung low, and she looked down. Charles straightened his face and looked down as well. "I am sorry, Y/n," he whispered.

She was shaking her head, and she took a short breath. Soft sniffs filled the room. "I am sorry."

"Mon amour..." Charles stepped towards her and wrapped his arms around her. He pressed a kiss on her forehead and stroked her back. He closed his eyes when she snuggled her face against his shoulder. His heart broke again.

"My mum," Y/n began and pulled back. "She...erm..."

Charles knew her mother passed away nine years ago. He had no idea what she had to do with this.

"...passed away in a car accident," she softly said. "One night, she didn't come home from work and..." She took a deep breath. "She caused an accident because she was drunk, five other people passed away, and four people got injured."

"Jesus Christ," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know that." Everything started to make sense now.

"We only found out a day later because the police failed to contact us."

All the strings got connected together. Accident and no communication.

"So when you crashed and when I didn't get any updates, I panicked. And when I read the statement, I got so angry because... I'm sorry. I probably overreacted," Y/n mumbled and dried her eyes. "But I didn't want this to happen again, and I...the same rollercoaster began. I should have talked to you."

Charles retook her in his arms. It was her trauma, and she panicked. Of course, she would get angry. "You never told me this..."

"It's not really a positive thing to talk about, is it?" She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his waist. "My dad asked us not to talk about it with anyone because, you know, we're the family with the alcoholic mother who killed five people."

"Is that why you moved to France?"

"Yup..." She took a deep breath and looked at him. "I'm sorry, I should have reacted differently. It was not your fault. I was just really scared that something bad happened with you, and I compared this situation with my situation."

"But why did you run away, baby?" He whispered and stroked a piece of hair behind her ear.

"I was scared." When Y/n blinked, tears rolled down her cheek. "It's a stupid reason, but I was scared. And then I got an offer to work on this yacht... I am so sorry, Charles. Working in this environment makes you forget everything around you, but I collapsed when I saw you again. Mentally and physically." One thing she loved about Charles was that he gave her time to speak; he never pushed her to talk. "And I fucked it up, I know. I am sorry."

Charles showed a small smile. "You should have told me..." He kissed her forehead again.

"I know, I'm sorry." Y/n looked at him; of course, she wanted to redo the moment, but she couldn't turn back the time. "I know it was not your fault, I know I hurt you, I..."

It was silence between the two again.

Y/n was deciding whether this was a moment where they would fix it or not. Of course, she hoped he could forgive her, but she hurt them by hiding her own problems.

"How many more days until you are done?" Charles suddenly asked.

"Two."

"Two?"

Y/n nodded. "You're the last charter."

He gently pushed her head in his direction, making him look her in the eyes again. "Do you want to come home then?"

Her face softened, and new tears came into her eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, really," he smiled. "Only if you want."

"Yes, please, I'd love to."

They looked at each other, and they pressed their lips to each other.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos@crashingwavesofeuphoria@maryvibess @softi92

[preseriesdean]

for @spnficrecfest day nine: vintage fics 🧡 (published pre-season six)

by CANDLE_BECK

Last Day on Earth 10.8k words, rated E, published july 2009 A list of things to do if you only have one day to live, presented in inconvenient non-list form.

Eight Things You Should Know 7.7k words, rated T, published dec. 2008 Being in love with Dean is the most annoying thing.

Speechless 11.2k words, rated T, published oct. 2008 Dean loses his voice and their rapport is only moderately impaired.

Second Map of the World 13.9k words, rated E, published sep. 2010 They're on a lucky streak, and then Sam does something ill-considered, and the plot thickens.

American Myth 11.5k words, rated M, published nov. 2007 As long as you have a car, you are free, and other lies my country taught me.

by WHEREUPON

Breathing Hard 9k words, rated E, published aug. 2009 The day Dean figures it out.

Love Letter 4.8k words, rated E, published sep. 2009 It's almost fall and Sam hasn't said anything about leaving.

Head On 8.3k words, rated M, published june 2009 And then, just like that, Dean falls.

by SEVENFISTS

Wear Him Like a Habit 2.2k words, rated M, published march 2008 Their first kiss isn't an accident. It's anticipated well in advance, discussed for weeks, argued over, second-guessed.

Someone Else's Blood 6.7k words, rated E, published aug. 2006 The first time, of course, was an accident.

Life As We Know It 13.7k words, rated M, published apr. 2007 On the morning that Sam woke up, Dean ran five red lights on the way to the hospital, his half-empty coffee cup sloshing in the holder.

Just Reach Out 1.9k words, rated E, published apr. 2006 Sam wakes up slowly. The dull hum of noise in the distance resolves into Dean's voice, quietly singing along with the radio. Sam's face is stuck to the leather seat. He's been drooling a little; the corner of his mouth is wet. He moves his hand tentatively, feeling it prickle, heavy with blood. The window's rolled down.

The Art of Manly Hugging 1.6k words, rated E, published aug. 2007 Sometimes, you know, Dean just needs a goddamn hug.

by COYOTESUSPECT

Odysseus, American 10.1k words, rated M, published feb. 2010 Dean finds Peter O'Toole's recording of the Odyssey in a bin marked “Audio" in Casa Grande's only used bookstore. The place smells like cigarette smoke and old books, and it reminds him of Sam.

Divine Intervention by coyotesuspect 3.8k words, rated T, published aug. 2008 "Dude," says Sam. "I think Castiel just hit on me."

by ASTOLAT

Leader of the Pack 14.9k words, rated E, published dec. 2007 Teaching old dogs new tricks.

Inseparable 6.7k words, rated M, published jan. 2008 It was just plain sense, so Dean didn't understand why something about the way Dad said quietly, "It's time you had your own bed," made him feel guilty and confused.

Unasked 15.3k words, rated M, published june 2007 Sam doesn't ask.

Worth The Wait 4.4k words, rated E, published jan. 2008 Sam couldn't remember a time when he didn't want Dean.

Generosity 1.7k words, rated E, published may 2007 John had traded the gun; he'd have traded away more, and he was still feeling the cold dread of the moment when the demon had cocked its head like a pistol and said, "You know, I'm feeling generous today," because if it hadn't taken more, that was only because it figured what was in store was going to be worse.

by MOLLYAMORY

North of Wednesday 3.5k words, rated G, published feb. 2008 Coda to Mystery Spot.

Open Road 2k words, rated T, published may 2010 Sam's old enough to know what's good for him.

by FLESHFLUTTER

whose wings, though tattered, shall carry me home (dean/cas, sam/dean) 2.2k words, rated T, published march 2009 There is a breeze moving across the field. It stirs the long grass in lapping waves like the sea. Castiel runs his fingertips through it and remembers flying.

I'll take my chance on a beautiful stranger 3.9k words, rated M, published june 2007 If Chase were a better friend, he might try to end the game now, before Brendan loses even more money. But if Brendan is a dick at Stanford, it’s nothing compared to how he is on break.

by others

The Last Outpost Of All That Is by gekizetsu 59k words, rated E, published feb. 2008 The world ends while they’re asleep.

a journey of a thousand miles by killabeez 2.3k words, rated T, published aug. 2006 Sam spends a lot of time being afraid, but it's not the things that go bump in the night that scare him the most.

Almost At Home by balefully 24.3k words, rated E, published july 2008 Sam graduates from high school in early June in rural Tennessee. He and Dean start the summer with an all-nighter of celebration; the day after, while both fight hangovers, John calls to assign them their first hunt by themselves.

State of Love and Trust/As I Busted Down the Pretext by cormallen 2.9k words, rated M, published jan. 2010 When you know exactly what your brother's thinking, there are some chances you just don't take.

[wanderingblindly]

22 for the kiss prompt? do whatever you wish I'll eat it up BUT I will forever believe that drivers should be allowed to make out on the podium (or after races in general, they deserve it)

Sometimes I just write shit on phone and pretend it’s passable. Anyways, WAG Oscar for the Prompt Game???

On Adrenaline

He can’t feel his hands. He’s grasping the flag — unceremoniously bunched up in his lap — so tightly that they’d gone numb twenty laps ago. But he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t move an inch, frozen in one of the mechanics’ collapsible chairs and fixated on the screen.

The image blurs a bit, papaya shooting into indiscernible streaks alongside brilliant red and dangerous navy; Oscar blinks rapidly, clearing his eyes.

His feet are numb, cold-sweat numb.

He could hear a pin drop.

Beyond the screaming engines, the buzzing fans, the non-stop commentators, and own heartbeat, it’s like nothing exists. It’s him, the skin-warmed nylon in his hands, and the television screen. It’s like the world goes silent, somehow, everything moving in slow motion.

Lando rounds Becketts.

“…ever since he was a boy, ever since he signed as the youngest British racing driver in Formula 1 history…”

The mechanics are moving; Oscar can sense them in his periphery, but he stays — eyes unyielding, heart lodged in his throat. He can’t see the screen anymore, tears welling too quickly to blink them back. With the last of his resolve, he tightens his grip on the flag in his lap.

Lando rounds Stowe.

“And Lando Norris, for the first time since Lewis Hamilton in 2008, looks to bring home victory to Woking —”

He sucks in his lower lip, pinning it between his teeth to stave off the quivering.

They grab his shoulders, two hands on each side, and drag him to his feet. There are hands all over him, dragging him towards the mouth of the garage, but neck stays fixed; his eyes never stray from the screen. Because he sees it, sees the endless waves of that hideous flouro yellow and papaya, sees Lando exit Club corner, sees him straighten out towards the finish, hears —

“And Lando Norris takes Silverstone 2025!”

“Oh my god,” He whispers, hands shaking, voice drowned out by the immediate chaos. The mechanics are jumping, cheering, Lando’s side of the garage rushing with Oscar — stunned stiff — in tow. “It’s —” He starts, seemingly to himself, throat gone too tight to say anything else, to speak up.

Lando’s done it.

He’s —

“Lando! Lando! Lando!” The mechanics chant, pushing as a united front towards the barricades — shoving Oscar to the forefront like an unrelenting wave. The metal hits him in the ribs, the force of it makes him gasp, snake him back into his body.

Lando pulls into parc ferme, tapping his front wing on the number one placard. Even in his car, he looks larger than life. He looks like a champion, the neon livery brilliant against the clear July sky.

With jittery hands, Oscar shakes out the British flag and whips it through the air, catching Lando’s attention as he stands on top of his car — as he strikes his fist high, jumping with the force of it. And Oscar, strung like a wire for hours, finally breaks; the tears don’t stop, falling rapidly down his cheeks. He sobs.

Hideous, disgustingly atypical sobs shake him, only held upright by the crush of Lando’s team — of the people who got him here. Finally.

Loudly this time, loud enough to make Andrea laugh beside him, “Oh my god, Lando!”

Helmet and HANS device unceremoniously and hastily abandoned, Lando sprints to the barricade. Through the tears, through the jostling and screaming and adrenaline, Oscar feels like he’s seeing Lando for the first time; he’s seeing a new part of him that glows brighter, smiles harder, and drives into his chest deeper.

He crashes into him with the unrelenting force of a tornado, throwing his arms around him with enough strength to bruise.

Part of Oscar hopes he feels it forever, that ache.

“Lando, Lando, you —” He tries, sobbing uselessly into Lando’s neck. Lando doesn’t manage to say anything back, pulling away to look him in the eyes; electrically bright, like the whole moment is over-saturated in color. “For you,” Oscar gasps, trying to move enough to drape the flag over Lando’s shoulders. “The team brought it for you, for when you won.”

“God, I love you,” Lando beams, grabbing Oscar’s face with both hands and smashing their mouths together — Oscar’s lips slick with tears, Lando’s dry and chapped.

It’s the worst kiss they’ve ever had; their teeth clack together painfully, the team jostles Oscar back and forth, camera crews crowding to capture the moment, and Zak wolf-whistles from far too close. But Lando’s palms on his cheeks, squishing them too hard, and the taste of his smile makes it perfect.

Beyond perfect.

[pucksandpower]

IN MY BLOOD

Y/N SENNA x CHARLES LECLERC

Series Masterlist

INTERLUDE: Grid Walks

2000 — Age 5

“Hello, Y/N. How are you enjoying race day so far?” Martin asked, bending down to her level.

Y/N grinned mischievously, “Oh Mr. Brundle, I love it! But you know what? I've been to so many races that I think I know this place better than you.”

Martin chuckled, intrigued by her confidence. “Is that so? Well perhaps you can give me a guided tour sometime.”

Y/N's eyes sparkled with excitement. “Deal. But first you have to catch me!” With that, she darted off into the paddock.

“Hey, where are you going?” Martin called out, chasing after her.

But Y/N was already gone, her laughter echoing through the air. Martin found himself in a comical game of cat and mouse, weaving through the paddock, trying to keep up with the energetic young Senna.

Finally, after a series of twists and turns, Martin managed to catch up with Y/N. She was standing by the side of the track, giggling uncontrollably. “Gotcha!” she exclaimed, clearly proud of her mini-adventure.

Martin gasped for breath, a grin forming on his face. “Y/N, you really gave me a run for my money. You're as fast as your father on the track!”

Y/N smiled in delight, her small chest puffed with pride. “Thank you, Mr. Brundle. I'm just getting started.”

2004 — Age 9

Spotting Y/N near her father's memorial, Martin approached her with a smile. “Hello, Y/N. How's the karting going?”

Y/N's eyes lit up and she eagerly launched into a passionate monologue about her karting experiences. “Mr. Brundle, you won't believe it. I had this incredible race last weekend. I started from the back but I overtook one kart after another and finished on the podium!”

Martin listened intently, captivated by Y/N's enthusiasm. “That sounds like an amazing race. It's clear that the racing genes run strong in your family. Your father would be proud.”

Y/N nodded vigorously, her ponytail bouncing with excitement. “I want to be the best, just like him. I practice every day and study every race I watch.”

Martin couldn't help but smile at Y/N's determination. “I have no doubt that you'll achieve great things. Keep pushing and one day we might see you in a Formula 1 car.”

2008 — Age 13

On the grid, Martin spotted Y/N intently observing the mechanics working on the cars. He approached her with a smile, ready to engage in a conversation about the technical side of the sport.

“Y/N, it's great to see you here. What fascinates you most about Formula 1?”

Y/N's eyes sparkled as she replied, “Hi, Martin! I love everything about it. The aerodynamics, the engineering, the strategies — it's like a puzzle waiting to be solved. Did you know that the airflow around the car affects its performance? It's amazing!”

Martin raised an eyebrow, impressed by Y/N's knowledge. “Well, you certainly know your stuff. I might have to come to you for technical insights in the future.”

Y/N beamed with pride. “Absolutely! Anytime you need a crash course in this side of F1, just let me know.”

Martin chuckled, enjoying their banter. "I might take you up on that offer. Just be prepared for a barrage of questions."

Y/N nodded eagerly. “Bring it on, I'm always up for a challenge.”

As they continued their conversation, Martin couldn't help but notice Y/N's genuine passion and curiosity for the technical aspects of Formula 1. It was clear that she had inherited her father's analytical mind and thirst for knowledge.

“Y/N, you remind me so much of your father. He had a similar fascination with the technical side of racing,” Martin remarked, a touch of nostalgia in his voice.

Y/N's eyes widened with excitement. “Really? That means so much to me. I've always looked up to him and admired his approach to racing. If I can carry even a fraction of his dedication, I'll be happy.”

Martin smiled warmly at her. “You're already making your own mark. Keep nurturing that passion and who knows where it will take you?”

2012 — Age 17

Martin found himself amidst the bustling paddock, searching for the now seventeen-year-old Y/N Senna. He spotted her in deep conversation with her future team, a determined expression on her face.

Approaching her with a smile, Martin congratulated her on signing her first Formula 1 contract. “Y/N, congratulations on your contract! How does it feel to be back in the paddock but as a driver this time?”

Y/N's face lit up with joy as she replied, “Thank you, Martin! It's an incredible feeling — a dream come true. I can't wait to show what I'm capable of on the track.”

Martin nodded, his excitement mirroring Y/N's. “I have no doubt that you'll do amazing things. Your journey has been incredible to witness, from that mischievous young girl to the talented racer standing before me today.”

Y/N filled with gratitude, her eyes glistening with determination. “Thank you. Your support means the world to me. I'll give it my all and make my family proud.”

Martin patted her shoulder, a paternal gesture filled with encouragement. “Remember, you carry the legacy of a true racing legend. Your father's spirit and passion live on through you. Embrace the challenge, enjoy every moment, and keep making us all proud.”

As the interview concluded, Martin couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and anticipation for the upcoming season, where Y/N Senna would make her Formula 1 racing debut.

With a playful twinkle in his eye, Martin leaned closer to Y/N and whispered, “You know, your father was known for his incredible speed and skill on the track. But you seem to have inherited his mischievous spirit too.”

Y/N laughed, her eyes shining with a mix of innocence and determination. “Maybe I got it from him. I can't promise I won't give you another run for your money someday, Martin.”

Martin chuckled, his heart filled with warmth. “I'll be ready for the challenge. Just make sure I have my running shoes on.”

With a final wave and a shared laughter, Martin left the grid, eagerly awaiting the moment when Y/N would grace the Formula 1 circuits as a driver. He knew that her journey would be filled with triumphs, challenges, and the unwavering support of so many motorsport legends.

As the engines roared and the lights dimmed on the current season, the motorsport world brimmed with anticipation for the next. They eagerly awaited the day when Y/N Senna, with her father's legacy as her guiding star, would step into her racing car and write her own chapter in the history of Formula 1.

And so, the world watched with bated breath, knowing that the story of Y/N Senna would unfold in the seasons to come. With every lap, every victory, and every challenge she faced, Y/N would make her mark, continuing the legacy of her father while creating a legacy of her own.

And through it all, Martin Brundle would be there, cheering her on, sharing in the excitement, and forever grateful for the lighthearted moments they shared during those unforgettable grid walks.

Taglist: @xeliaaaa @cl16version @aileeincomplexity @uh-oh-spaghetti-oh-my-gosh @ninifee1802 @oprantodomar @vanishingcherry @ferraribabe @magicalcowboyarbiter @materialgirl01 @miureiz @kavyaas-world @noodle81937 @cl16gf @laura-naruto-fan1998 @stillbreathin @alexisquinnlee-bc @chiliwhore @itachissneakylink @lxverboy-333 @nim360 @celestialams @chimchimjiminie16 @saturnsrinqs @sharllec @sticksdoesart @ivegotparticulartaste @kruellaaa @multifandomfanfic @love4lando @lunehlana @judeswifey22 @gentlemonsterjennie1 @spencerrxids @eugene-emt-roe @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @g4ns3y @notleclerc @magical-imagination-kgp @ru-kru @christianpulisic10 @paigem00 @paletragedydreamer @fluffyspaceprincess @ironmaiden1313 @dr3lover @deviltsunoda @belennasif @honethatty12 @idkiwantchocolatee @omgsuperstarg @jwilder0406 @ruleroftheuniverse @chonkybonky @angelulls @daniellarogers @ocyeanicc @serenityleah @dazecrea

[sohnric]

sweet like candy – e. sohn

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: summer au, strangers to something more ?? fluff, suggestive. very much stargazing by the neighbourgood and fantasize by the boyz capsuled into a fic. eric is a simp and a hopeless romantic because i said so. a girl romanticizes sharing a lollipop (its me im girl)

warnings: alcohol, maybe some minimal swearing, a heated make out session that hints onto a hookup (no smut mentioned!). the use of a cheesy nickname babydoll (dont @ me or i will deactivate), reader has hair long enough for a claw clip

word count: 6.9k

a/n: almost cried while trying to name this fic somebody send help. Also this doesn't feel like my best work its kinda rushed imo but 🤠 yolo

part of the @deoboyznet summer on you event! cant believe i made it on time

a summer tradition of renting out a cabin every year invented by a couple of friends takes a turn for eric when a new addition to the circle brings him to his knees - in other words, he never knew tequila could taste so sweet.

If anyone ever asked Eric Sohn if he believed in love at first sight, he would, without a doubt, say yes. 

What was the proof he had? Well, absolutely nothing. All he ever knew about love at first sight was from romance movies he watched during lonely nights with his roommate Juyeon, never having the experience of the whole world stopping and zooming in on one particular person, taking his breath away– but to put it simply, Eric Sohn is a true romantic. Call him cheesy if you want– he wouldn’t like it, but he also wouldn’t disagree. 

On one summer afternoon, though, his world tilts in its axis– the moment comes, and he is finally able to test out his theory.

You walk out of the passenger’s side of a red 2008 Toyota Auris, hair put up into a claw clip, jean shorts showing off your long legs and a pearl white button-up opened and lazily thrown over your outfit, and suddenly, Eric Sohn finds his knees buckling and his palms sweating with affection. He was aware that Juyeon’s girlfriend was bringing her best friend to tag along to their little summer retreat (more like a trip to a cabin in the middle of the woods), but he sure as hell didn’t expect the stranger to make him feel this type of way. 

Sure, it might just be him being incredibly attracted to you. But with how fast his heart was beating when you smiled at everyone after introducing yourself to the group, he was sure he was slowly, but surely falling for you. And he was falling hard.

He feels like the world is moving in slow motion as he watches the group go and unload the car– you and your best friend Yeri were the last ones to arrive– and what wakes him up from the haze is when he watches you struggle to carry a cooler out of the trunk into the cabin, his legs dragging him closer to the vehicle and near to your body.

Now is his time to shine. “Let me help!” he hurries out, sneakers crunching on the gravel. His hands firmly grab onto the handle of the blue cooler, muscles flexing under the weight (making him wonder why you would willingly want to carry the thing and not ask him or any of the guys for help in the first place), and when your eyes look up at come in contact with his, he presses a smile to his lips. “I’m Eric, by the way.”

“Ah,” you gasp, a grateful expression breezing over your features, “thanks. I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Eric hums, watching your every move. Your figure walks over to the front of the car, your head popping in close to the window to look inside, and when a satisfied look overtakes your features, Eric finds himself asking. “Is that everything?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “we can head inside, I think.”

The boy tries hard to keep his cool, he really does. But with how he’s trailing behind you like a lost puppy, attempting to find a topic that would engage him in a conversation with you, he feels like a boy that is just experiencing a crush for the first time in his life. Everything about you is enchanting– and sure, you could say he was just painfully attracted to you and this had nothing to do with love– but he was also convinced that if you asked him to jump off the Empire State Building, he would do it without giving it a second thought (which is kind of worrying, but again– it says a lot). 

You open the door to the cabin for him, and he finds himself speechless at the action. Once your eyes meet again and you offer him another subtle smile, he finds himself gasping at the sentence that comes out of your mouth.

“Hey! We’re matching, kinda,” you note, pointing towards his outfit.

And you’re right– Eric didn’t even notice at first, too enchanted with your sheer existence– but you two were indeed wearing the same thing. Jean shorts, and a white button-up– in your case, thrown over a white tank top, in Eric’s, closed (although he did leave it a bit open at the top, revealing his tanned skin). Suddenly, the boy is glad he’s wearing a red cap to cover up his hair, since he foolishly thinks the hat provides him enough shade in the face to not reveal his burning cheeks as he utters out a weak response.

“It looks so much better on you, though.”

With that, he walks into the cabin– escaping the situation, not really paying a single thought to chivalry and letting you go through the door first– and as he reaches the crowd of people in the kitchen, he prays for all high sources to find him, get to him and wipe his brain clean of all thoughts, because

even though you are basically matching (and he does think you look so much better in the outfit than he does), all he can think about is just how much more he’d like your outfit if the white button-up enveloping your body was the one he’s wearing right now instead.

The next time Eric finds courage to talk to you is when it seems like you’re not finding it to talk to anyone else yourself– the big group is currently sitting around a fire, marshmallows and sausages slowly burning in the blazing flames– and while everyone around was either talking to each other or singing along to the songs Jacob was playing on the guitar, you were sitting alone in the middle of two commotions: Chanhee and Changmin arguing about something seemingly important, and Yeri and Juyeon making out right in front of everyone’s eyes. 

And Eric was supposed to listen to Sunwoo talk about his latest heartbreak– how the man still gets no girls despite having such an objectively handsome face, Eric truly doesn’t know– but the topic of the conversation was too boring for him to engage with it. That, and he was also painfully aware of your every move– you didn’t even move much– and word– you weren���t talking to anybody– and that was slowly driving him insane.

You looked a little out of place. Eric supposes it was because you didn’t really know anyone here– except from your best friend and her awfully sappy boyfriend– but even though it was logical and a little expected for you to be a bit excluded in such a foreign circle, the man took it as his mission to make you feel as welcome and as included as he physically could.

Completely ignoring Sunwoo’s blabbering (like he was doing for the last few minutes anyway), Eric confidently (and a bit shakily– hands sweating and breath hitching in his throat) walks to the other side of the bonfire, from where he’s been watching your stone expression through the flames, and sits down in the small place between you and Changmin. Changmin wasn’t even facing you, too engrossed in the debate he was having with Chanhee, and so it was Eric’s job to wobble his bottom into the place, efficiently making the older boy move away with a light elbow jab sent into his lower back.

“Hi,” he clears his throat, “are you having fun?” he asks, but mentally curses at himself right as the question escapes his mouth– does she look like she's having fun? Of course she doesn't, you stupid idiot.

You smile at the question, though, nodding. “Yeah,” you hum, “having lots of fun listening to your friends argue and my friends making out next to my ear.”

“You seemed like it too, y’know,” Eric laughs, “they’re always like this, by the way. They’ll forget about the fight in the morning.”

“Oh, that could never be me,” you sigh, shaking your head at the sentiment.

“No?”

“No,” you shrug, “I get too petty. If we have a fight, I’m not speaking to you for at least two weeks.”

Eric finds himself laughing at your comment. “I’ll remember that for future reference.”

Straightening your back and looking at your companion– as if you were going to call him out on his subtle hint of there being any future meeting between the two of you– you suddenly gasp and swiftly turn towards the bonfire, an honest mourn escaping your lips.

“Oh fuck!” you curse under your breath as your hand reaches towards a stick that’s had its end in the flame, the device efficiently resting against a rock in a position where you didn’t have to pay any attention to the snack you were cooking– more like burning– for yourself. With a quick move for the stick, you pull the tip of it out of the scorching red of the bonfire and look at it in an examining way, as if the result would be different and the marshmallow would unburn itself if you stared at it long enough. “I completely forgot about this!”

Eric takes a glance at the burnt piece of fluff, letting out a laugh at the black marshmallow in front of your face. “That’s not how you make a good s’more,” he notes, poking fun at your annoyed face.

“Oh, no shit, Sherlock…” you mutter under your breath, but your face looks a bit sad to see the piece go to waste. “I don’t know why I even tried, I’m bad at this stuff.”

There comes his moment, Eric thinks. “Well, you’re lucky, ‘cause you just met an expert at making s’mores.”

“Does a thing like that even exist?” you chuckle, rolling your eyes at the male in disbelief. 

“Of course it does! You’re looking at one now,” he grins, leaning over you to take a brand new marshmallow out of the bag to your right– sandwiched between your thigh and the couple in love– before he reaches over to your hand and takes the roasting stick out of your hand, slides the white fluffy cloud through the sharp tip and hovers it above the flame.

“The key is to hold it above the flame, and not in the flame,” Eric chuckles as he looks at you from the corner of his eye, watching your expression change.

“Oh, but I thought the key is to burn the thing,” you ironically gasp, shaking your head at his teasing. “Where did you even learn all of this?”

“I grew up in the States,” Eric hums, “they would deport me if I didn’t know how to make s’mores.”

The comment gets a giggle out of you– a sound Eric almost folds at and falls into the open fire (thankfully, he held his composure– he doesn’t think 3rd degree burns would suit his look) – and it takes everything in him to not scream like a teenage girl at the thought of making you laugh. Yes, that’s how down bad you managed to get the male.

“Do you have a special recipe?”

“Just the basic one,” he shrugs, turning the skewer in his hand to make the marshmallow equally glazed on each side, “I will make it extra good for you, though.”

“I thought a master always does their best?” you tease, watching as the boy crumbles under your gaze.

“Not always. I don’t like to put effort into things that aren’t worth it,” Eric hums as he takes the marshmallow out of the burning fire, examining it, and after deeming it worthy, taking the skewer and holding it up in between his knees. The male takes a graham cracker and tears it in half, before adding chocolate to one of the sides. After he’s done, he carefully places the golden fluff ball onto the cracker and closes it, offering the sweet sandwich to you with a subtle smile.

“For you,” he winks as he turns back towards the fire, putting another marshmallow onto the stick to make himself a s’more as well (and also mentally kicking himself at the sudden burst of courage). He hears you take a bite out of the snack, his knee bouncing up and down nervously as he awaits the verdict.

“Man,” you hum, “this is so good.”

“Told you,” he says, “if there’s something I’m confident in, it’s making s’mores.”

“That’s a very unuseful skill to have,” you note, but continue to eat. The comment has him chuckle and shrug.

“Well, I used it now, so I’d argue it’s actually very useful.”

A hum cuts out of your throat at this, finishing the s’more he made for you with a satisfied sigh. “Is this how you got girls back in the States?” you ask, making the male choke on his spit.

Eric was too young to get girls when he learned how to make the greatest s’mores. He went camping with his dad and his older sister and he burned a couple before he got it right. He was in middle school and before what the kids call a glow-up these days (back in the days, you just called it overcoming puberty), but still– he decides to test the waters with another lazy, half-assed flirty comment. “Only the pretty ones.”

He hears a chuckle out of you– a reaction he decides to not pay much attention to or overthink, for he doesn’t really remember what a good reaction to flirting is anymore– but then, you sigh and nod. “Well, I give your s’more a 5 star review, so I’d find that believable.”

The comment has Eric press his tongue into the inside of his cheek, battling a victorious smile that wants to oh so desperately appear on his lips. Turning his attention fully to you, he looks at you with confidence coating his insides– it only grows when he notices you staring at the side of his face, the flame of the fire twinkling in your eye and making your features sharper and twice as attractive to the poor boy. 

His eyes scan you over for a few seconds before he notices a glimmer of something on the side of your lip– a chocolate stain that has him cautiously lean in and swipe a thumb over the sweetness, not even thinking twice before smoothing his finger over your skin. 

“You had a little… something there,” he hums as he licks the chocolate off his thumb. Your eyes still trained on him force him to avert his gaze back to the fire– for it was unbearable, as if sparks were flying and burning his skin, everything about the interaction making goosebumps appear over his body; even though he felt hot in his cheeks and not at all cold– when the sight of his marshmallow in flames suddenly comes to him, startling him awake.

Hurriedly dragging out the burnt snack out of the fire, he hears you chuckle at him from the side– so much for not ruining the moment. (It’s okay, though. As long as you’re entertained.)

“I thought you were a master at s’mores,” you poke fun at him, “got distracted?”

Meeting eyes with you, Eric shrugs, a lazy grin settling to his lips. “I guess you could say that.”

The night progresses quickly– with Sunwoo getting so drunk he borrows Jacob’s guitar and clumsily strums the strings, freestyle rapping about the most random topics with flushed cheeks and eyes dramatically glued to the fire; Hyunjae wanting to have a competition of who can jump over the flames and Sangyeon having to stop his drunk friend with the force of his own body– and Eric finds his eyes lacking the candy he’s been occupying himself with the whole evening. You disappeared somewhere into the house a few minutes ago, and although he didn’t want to be clingy, he walked up to the cabin with a nervous pep in his step– that’s it, he just wanted to make sure you were okay.

Eric walks through the doorway, having his body immediately be met with the joined common room slash kitchen area. The cabin is kind of small (too small for the amount of people currently occupying it) and kind of old, but it’s a tradition to rent it every year during the summer, so no one ever questioned the decision or made the move to rent out a bigger one, no matter the growing friend group.

Your figure finally appears in the dimly lit kitchen area, your back turned to the doorway. Standing at the kitchen sink, it seems like you were doing the dishes– tons of plates used to carry grilled meat and sausages dumped carelessly into the sink, forgotten in a minute and leaving the last remains of food dry up on them and get hard to scrape off, a couple of glasses and mugs with their ears broken off from their age waiting with coffee stains at the bottom– and Eric immediately feels his heart fall down to his stomach, because why would one do the dishes in the middle of the night? Those usually get left there until the morning, when the least hungover person will take mercy on the rest and take care of them. Were you feeling excluded from the conversation? Did you feel bored? 

“What are you doing here so alone?” he asks, making you turn your head over your shoulder and smile at him– a stone falling off his heart at the action– before you shrug at him.

“Washing the dishes,” you say, as if it wasn’t clear already.

“I see that,” Eric chuckles, “what I meant to say was, why are you washing the dishes in the first place?”

“Well, somebody’s gotta do it.” 

Eric huffs– and he doesn’t even know why he’s so defensive about it. “That someone didn’t have to be you, y’know.”

He’s standing next to you now– your eyes meeting as you stare at the boy for a heartbeat– a smile spreading on your face at his furrowed brows. The action has him visibly relax, watching as you shrug and get back to the dish washing. “I just wanted some alone time for a bit,” you muse, “outside was getting too loud for a second, I’m not used to crowds.”

“Ah… once Sunwoo drinks, he can’t shut up, so I kinda get that it was starting to feel insufferable,” Eric notes, nodding at you in acknowledgement before the realization hits him. “Wait– you said you wanted to be alone, so I should probably-”

You halt him with a soft laugh– the one Eric finds his heart liking a little too much, with how it jumps up and down and makes all of him feel warm inside– a soapy hand reaching out in his direction. “It’s okay, you can stay,” you muse, “I enjoy your company.”

“O-okay,” Eric stutters– so much for the smooth lines he had prepared in his head before coming in here, all of them flying out of his head straight out of the window– and to not seem so silly, he gets his hands occupied and reaches for the clean dishes you started stacking on the counter next to the sink, deciding to dry them and put them away. The kitchen falls into a comfortable silence that only gets broken by an occasional scream landing through the walls from outside, and Eric can’t help but indulge himself in the domesticity of the act.

He can almost imagine you two washing the dishes like this in your shared apartment after you two cook dinner together and eat it in your cozy living room. That scenario sounds almost too good for the boy, having warmth slowly ooze into his cheeks, and that, he finds to be the hint that he should probably stop thinking about you in that way now or else he’ll get too distracted and break the glasses he is currently putting away. (God forbid– there were not enough of them for the entire friend group in the first place.)

“Are you having a good time, though?” Eric finds himself asking through his weird delirium.

You smile– oh god you smile, you should stop doing that if you want him to survive the night– and nod at the boy, calmness overtaking your aura and slipping into his cracks as well. “I am. It’s nice meeting new people and everyone’s very nice,” you say.

“That’s good to hear. How long have you and Yeri been friends?”

“A couple of years,” you note, “we met during high school. We always dreamt of moving away to college and living together at dorms or something, so it’s… it’s nice that it worked out for us,” you say, having Eric nod at your words with a sweet smile.

“That’s great to hear,” he muses, “I met Juyeon and Sunwoo in my freshman year of college, and the rest just… came along after a while.”

“Your friend group is pretty big,” you point out, having the boy shrug.

“I guess so,” Eric mumbles, never really thinking of it this way– in his eyes, this was normal. This was how he operated, how he lived. A lot of people around him, always close– one would think such a large friend group wouldn’t be as close with each other, but it’s quite the opposite in his case, he thinks. Maybe he was just blessed.

“How do you do that?” you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I dunno,” he snickers, “guess you could say I’m quite the social butterfly.”

“I can see that,” you laugh. Eric watches you, his hands now empty of any dish– he’s been drying them quicker than you manage to clean (and rightfully so, the food is stuck on there) – he starts noticing the details of your sheer presence. How you have a slight smile playing with your lips even when your eyes are glued to the sink, how your hair slightly slips out of the claw clip and frames your face, how close you’re standing– his eyes slip towards your hands, noticing the water running down your forearms and dangerously close to the sleeves of your shirt.

Acting on reflex, mostly, the boy reaches towards your sleeves and gently tugs them up, the contact of your skin that he initiates and should realistically be prepared for making the tips of his fingers tingle, the action having you stop in your movements and glance up at him through your eyelashes– a sight he wishes he could engrave into the back of his eyelids so he could stare at it forever and always.

“Thank you,” you hum, voice barely louder than a whisper when he retracts away from you, taking his previous stance against the kitchen counter.

Eric hangs his head low for a second, clearing his throat to ease his own tension. Now is your turn to start up the conversation, a casual question falling off your lips as you get back to washing the last remains of dishes. “Yeri said you come here often?” 

The boy nods enthusiastically to your sentence. “We do. We started in freshman year, because Juyeon was going to this exchange program to Paris for a couple of months, so we threw him a goodbye party. Then he came back, so we threw a welcome back party here. And then we celebrated Younghoon hyung’s birthday here, and it kind of stuck, I guess? We go here at least once a year during summer.”

“That’s a nice tradition to have,” you sigh, turning the faucet off as you finish rinsing off the last dish– a big bowl that Sangyeon used to marinate the meat a few hours ago.

“It is,” Eric nods, smiling fondly at the sentiment. He reaches for the bowl and dries it with the now damp rag (there were a lot of dishes to dry, after all), and moves to put it back to its place under the sink. With your figure still in its previous spot, the boy puts away the towel onto the kitchen counter and gently grabs your waist with his free hand, moving you away a few inches to the left. He crouches and opens the cabinet under the sink and puts the bowl into the pyramid of other ones, straightening his back when he goes back into a standing position, catching you staring at him from above, watching his every move. Your body is leaning against the counter, having Eric mirror your stance only a few inches away from you before speaking up again. 

“You’re welcome to join us when we come back next time.”

The time reads 3AM– or at least that’s what his circadian rhythm tells him, because he doesn't bother to check as he twists and turns in the bed, too hot and too alert to fall asleep– when Eric decides to walk down the steep stairs and try to get some fresh air. The cabin is hot inside, but he still takes his lost button-up that he had thrown over one of the kitchen chairs and puts it on before he makes his way outside, knowing that the forest will make his bones get cold with the crisp breeze. 

He opens the door and moves to sit on the little patio– the silence of outside is overwhelming even after the cabin has quieted down and everyone has gone to sleep (each one on a different level of tipsy ranging from completely chill Sangyeon to doesn’t know where he is Sunwoo– with Eric somewhere in the middle of the spectrum). His legs drag a little tiredly as he scans his surroundings– god forbid there’s a bear out waiting for him– when the sight of a figure sitting on the floor takes him by surprise, their head already turned to him after hearing the sound of the door opening. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks as he walks over to you, noticing your frame dressed in a tank top and sweatpants, hinting that you at least tried to get some sleep before coming out here, just like he has.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrug, confirming his suspicions.

“Same here,” the man sighs, “mind if I sit with you?”

“You’re welcome to join me,” you smile at him, patting the floor next to you and watching as Eric crouches down before taking a seat on the wood, ignoring the sunbeds and old rattan chairs situated all over the patio. (If you’re on the floor, he’s on the floor– it’s as simple as that.)

You’re holding a lollipop in between your fingers, your other hand occupied with a half-empty bottle of tequila that was previously passed around the circle at the bonfire. Eric raises his brows at the sight, having you shamefully avert your gaze from him.

“I thought it would be a waste to not finish this,” you say, snickering, “and I also… kind of hoped that it would put me to sleep…”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures?” 

“I guess you could say that,” you laugh. Taking a sip from the bottle, you gulp the alcohol down before putting the lollipop inside of your mouth, sucking on it and licking your lips after. This is not the way you’re supposed to drink tequila, but Eric figures that gathering salt and a lime would be too much work anyways.

“Are you really using that lollipop as a chaser?” he giggles, making you hum.

“Yeah,” you stare at him, a grin overtaking your features, “this girl taught me to do that at a party last year. It’s not as good as literally anything else, but it gets the job done. Wanna try?” you ask, offering him the sweetness on the stick and the bottle.

The truth is, you were only a bit tipsy when the group slowly started to scatter into their beds. Eric didn’t drink as much either– only enough to make him laugh at everything that was said and make his staring at you twice as obvious as it was before– so he thinks he can take some more. As you said, it would be a shame if the bottle went to waste– and also, something about the idea of drinking with you alone on the patio was making his hopeless heart hammer against his chest in dangerous measures.

“Sure,” he agrees, taking the bottle first. The boy takes a sip, feeling the alcohol burn down his throat, and when he moves the dark brown glass away from his lips, he is met with the image of you leaning closer to him, offering him the lollipop. His hand instinctively grabs the plastic stick, thinking you’re letting go of it, when he’s met with the feeling of your flesh under his fingertips. You put the lollipop against his lips, making him open up on instinct and suck on the strawberry flavored candy, a million different sensations (all unrelated to the alcohol) swimming through his brain– you’re so close, you smell so good, he’s holding your hand, he’s sucking on the lollipop you previously had in between your lips and it’s driving him crazy– before you take the candy out from between his lips and put it back into your mouth, tongue swirling around the sweet ball. 

The lollipop had an aftertaste of tequila on it, but it was enough to chase down the faint bitterness– Eric finds himself wanting to taste more of the sweet strawberry, but foolishly desiring to get the sensation off your lips instead. His eyes stay locked with yours throughout the whole exchange, sparks flying in between the two of you even though the bonfire has long gone out, his fingers lazily dropping from the candy.

“How was it?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper– goosebumps appearing all over Eric’s skin when he swears your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second. 

“Good,” he admits. It’s silly how he feels so breathless at the action.

The sound of the wind playing with the leaves of the forest is the only thing accompanying you two. It’s as if you two were thinking of the same thing when you pull out the lollipop out of your mouth and offer it back to Eric, watching with utmost interest as the boy leans closer to capture it in between his lips, never breaking eye contact. The action feels a little too electrifying to him, a little too intimate, but he can't stop– can't even imagine wanting to.

Taking a sip of the tequila, but not chasing it down with the candy, you speak up again, lazy eyes practically glued to him. “This would be a perfect moment for a kiss…” you mumble, licking your bottom lip for a split second before biting down on it.

“Are you flirting with me?” Eric foolishly asks, tone of voice a bit weak, a little unsure, the candy still in his mouth, making his words come out a little jambled.

“Mhm,” you nod, grinning to yourself– Eric wonders how much of your behavior and how much of his raging heartbeat is due to the effect of alcohol in both of your veins.

His fingers pull at yours as he takes the candy out of his mouth, voice dropping as he answers you. “Then we probably shouldn’t waste the moment.”

Even though the intentions are clear, the boy can’t bring himself to make the first move– he’s completely enchanted with your presence, staring at you with tension in his shoulders and eyes trained onto your face, watching and examining it for any shift or change. Focused on the way you move, he thinks you must have realized you were going to have to be the one to take the first step– your lazily smile before you lean closer, impossibly close– making Eric’s eyes flutter shut with anticipation, your breath fanning his face making goosebumps appear all over his body.

When your lips finally touch his, he feels like he’s being kissed for the first time again, with the amount of fuzziness in his stomach and buzzing in his ears. He regains his composure quite quickly, though, as he positions his head in a way that makes you two even closer to each other, lips pressing firmer against yours now. His hand instinctively reaches out to hold your jaw, fingertips glazing the soft skin under them, your lips retracting only to go in for more. 

Blindly placing the bottle onto the floor next to your bodies, you peck his lips and sigh into the kiss. “Damn, you’re good at this…”

“We’re only getting started,” he muses, making you chuckle. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” he nods, watching as you once again lean in and suck on his upper lip, making his eyes flutter close again. A weight appears over him as you shift in your place and move to straddle his lap, your hand moving to cup his cheek and tilt him upwards, everything about the kisses getting more hurried– less gentle, less hesitant– when you tug on his bottom lip with your teeth and grant your tongue entry into his mouth.

Sweetness mixes in between you, your hands moving around his neck, heavy breaths shared across the patio. Eric feels like he’s levitating, his body having an out of body experience, yet being awfully present– every little shift pushing him to overdrive, the slightest touch making his skin burn and heart drum against his ribcage.

You shift in his lap, making him huff under the pressure, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck. Teeth glazing the jointure of your shoulder, kitten licking the place and sucking in a bruise that will eventually be visible to everyone when you two wake up in the morning, Eric feels your hands tugging down the sleeves of his shirt, fingers feeling up his biceps. The action makes him chuckle into your neck, but the smile fades quickly as he feels your nails scratching gently at his flaming skin.

“Take this off,” you mutter, and Eric finds it endearing– helping you take him out of the button-up, sitting under you in just a white tank top and black basketball shorts. 

“Why?” 

“Your arms looked good in this,” you hiss before you hide your face into his neck, leaning down to give him your fair share of kisses and love bites, having the male teasingly joke as his hands run up under your tank top, painfully aware of the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra anymore.

He moves his head to the side to give you more access before speaking out, tone of voice husky and coated in lust. “What if I get cold now?” 

“Then I’m more than happy to move this to your room,” you purr into his ear.

Eric sighs, fingers playing with the hem of your top before he lets his palms drift towards your exposed stomach, roaming across naked skin. Goosebumps appear all over your body at the action, making the boy victoriously grin. “It looks like you’re the one that's cold, though, babydoll.”

Rolling your eyes at the male, you shut him up by latching yourself onto his lips before you speak against his mouth. “I’ll take that as an invitation, then?”

“Wake up Eric! The girls are leaving, you should at least go say goodbye!” Sangyeon roars into the boy's room, making the male turn over in the bed and huff out in frustration. He drags his arm up to shield his eyes from the sunlight hitting his face, the intention of just rolling over and sleeping more written very clearly in his face.

“Come on man, we’re leaving in an hour too, so you should go send them off and then pack your shit so we can load the cars,” Sangyeon says when he gets no reaction from the youngest. It’s to no use, apparently, and so as the oldest and most observant out of the group, Sangyeon decides to use physical force– he knows Eric would hate to have you go without saying goodbye. He’s not stupid. Or blind. 

A strong hold on his calves drags Eric out of the bed and makes his half-naked body fall to the floor, a yelp coming out of his throat finally making Eric’s body fully alert and awake. 

“Yo! What the fuck–”

“Put a shirt on and go say goodbye to Y/N before she goes, would you, sleeping beauty?” Sangyeon huffs before rolling his eyes at his younger friend, escaping the room and shutting the door close after himself with a loud thud (to add more effect to the scolding, Eric thinks).

The mention of your name has Eric quickly scrambling out of the bed. His heart hammers at the adrenaline rush, pulling a clean shirt out of his bag and dragging it over his head, the basketball shorts from yesterday’s night found on the floor being pulled over his lower frame in approximately 0.5 seconds. Eric takes the stairs 3 at a time– with how steep they are, he questions how exactly does he not trip and break his spine on his way down– and puts on a pair of slippers he finds at the door (that are not his, or his size, for the matter, making his heels comically stick out from the back). 

Without checking his appearance in the mirror anywhere, he swings the door open and walks out of the cabin, watching as the group settles in a half-circle around your car, Yeri loading the trunk with her duffle bag before she closes it shut and smiles at her boyfriend Juyeon on the side. Eric joins the crowd, clearing his throat when his eyes fall onto your figure, the sight in front of him freezing him in his spot.

You’re standing there, in your jean shorts from the day before, an oversized white button-up enveloping your frame. A clueless stranger might not tell the difference, but he does– you put the shirt onto your bare skin and buttoned it just enough to reveal a bit of your cleavage– and it’s so similar to the outfit you had on yesterday, just with one difference. 

You’re wearing Eric’s shirt. You’re wearing his shirt and your neck is scattered with red and purple-ish bruises, and no, Eric wasn’t that drunk and he remembers everything, but the events of last night suddenly play out right in front of his eyes like a movie, still nailing him to his spot and wiping out all of his vocabulary.

The boy feels hot in his cheeks as he watches you and your best friend pay your goodbyes to the rest of the boys, the men pulling you into side-hugs and fist bumps, shared ‘It was nice meeting you’s and ‘You should come by next time too’s resonating through the place. Soon enough, you reach the end of the make-shift half circle and lock your eyes with Eric, a playful smile softly appearing on your face.

“It was nice meeting you, Eric,” you hum, “I had fun,” you note, shooting him a knowing look.

“Me too,” he nods, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. He doesn’t know where the confidence of last night went, but he suddenly feels unarmed and lost. What does one do now?

The sight of you in his shirt makes him feel like his biggest (wet) dream has come true– call him cheesy, but it also wakes up a sense of déja vu in him from the day before– you with sunlight in your eyes, hair messed up in a claw clip. He feels like he just fell in love at first sight again. Is that even possible?

It’s good you have a sense in you that makes you take the initiative and be in charge when you see him faltering. A giggle cuts out of your throat as you lean in and hug the boy around his neck, your lips dangerously close to his ear as you speak in a hushed whisper, not wanting to be heard by the men around you.

“I stole your shirt from you, by the way. You should text me if you want it back, so we can meet up, or something,” you mouth, lips gently glazing the sensitive skin of Eric’s ear, and god does he feel like he's going to suffocate from the lack of oxygen this causes in his lungs.

“You look amazing in my clothes, so I won’t ask for it back,” Eric hums, “but I’ll text you just in case you ever wanna bless my eyes with the sight again.”

“Deal. I’ll make Juyeon text me your number,” you say before you pull away from him, shooting him a wink that almost has his knees buckling like a school boy in love for the first time.

You walk backwards and wave at the group, sending Eric one last look before you join the passenger’s side and close the car door behind you, the sound of Yeri starting the engine resonating through the quiet forest. The men wave at you until the Toyota disappears out of sight, only scattering inside when it does to gather their things and load up their cars as well.

Eric is woken up from his trance by a teasing whistle coming out of Sunwoo’s mouth and a father-like slap to his back from Sangyeon.

He wonders if he’s truly being so obvious. (He's unaware of the fact that you two had very visible matching love bites on your necks. It doesn’t take much effort to put two and two together– don't tell him that, though.)

Still, Eric shrugs and goes inside with a different kind of pep to his step. 

When he licks his lips, he swears he can still taste the strawberries.

[keepthedelta]

what would you consider Rosberg's best race? (wanna hear people wax poetic about their special interest)

it's going to be a list because i am weird about nico

singapore 2016. an absolutely dominate weekend for him, fastest in every single session, outqualified lewis by 7 tenths (and danny ric by 6) setting what was (at the time) a track record. spent the entire race managing brake and engine issues, got screwed over by merc strategy when they were trying to get lewis back onto the podium after he got overtaken by kimi, had to make his tyres last an extra 20 laps with danny ric chasing him down 2-4 seconds a lap faster than him. won the race and then posted a slutty shirtless photo of him being cooled down by a fan in what could be considered the ancestor of the ice bath videos that teams post now.

canada 2014. a real contender for my favourite ever nico race even though he didn't win. both merc cars had mgu-h failure about 20-30 laps in thereby losing half of their power. nico switched brake bias to the front brakes so that less strain would be put on the rear brakes because on the lack of power and potential overheating. about five laps later lewis dnfs with rear brake failure. nico should have been overtaken by just about everybody, but instead he spends the next 30 laps using all of his power and speed in one specific sector (the one with the drs detection point) so that checo (now in second) is too far behind to get drs, and then, even though nico's car is barely alive for the rest of the lap, he can never overtake him. it literally took checo's car breaking down and allowing danny ric (now driving the best car in the field) for nico to lose the win. the mechanical masterclass of modern f1 (and yes it might not have worked at another track or i f someone other than checo had been in second, but i firmly believe that the lowest nico could have ever come given the circumstances was third) and it is not appreciated enough.

china 2012. i rewatched this recently and literally no one believed that nico was going to win until about five laps before the end. he was driving one of the world's shittiest mercs (i promise every single merc pre-2013 was worse than any car since then), got pole by half a second, got a perfect start, flawless tyre management, cruised to victory while everyone else was fighting for their lives behind him (the battle for second was absolutely insane, and nico was just minding his own business about 15 seconds ahead of them all).

singapore 2008. crashgate has entered the building. back then cars refuelled during the race and so another factor in the strategies was fuel load. nico and a number of others were running low initial fuel loads, so they would have to stop relatively early. except, just before they were going to stop, nelson piquet jr binned it into the wall (on purpose) and the stewards closed the pitlane for safety reasons. however, nico and the others on similar strategies needed to refuel so they had to enter the pitlane anyway which earned them a stop and go penalty which had to be served within three laps. nico did those laps as fast as he possibly could, meaning that after he served his penalty he only lost a handful of places (i think 3). robert kubica who also took a stop and go penalty on the exact same lap for the exact same reason (and was in a better car) lost far more places and i don't think he even finished in the points. nico spent the rest of the race rising up the field and finished second only to fernando (who got there by cheating) with lewis in a distant third (tbf i don't think he needed to try that hard by the end as he got a massive points gain over felipe massa his championship competition due to the ferrari pitlane incident).

malaysia 2016. casuals will tell you that this is the race where lewis lost the championship because of his dnf (and if you're a lh hater i recommend watching it because the level of conspiracy that emerges from lewis and sky sports is genuinely quite funny) but i think that's very misleading. in the very first turn seb crashed into nico, spinning him around and leaving him in dead last by the end of the first lap. nico fought through the field, pulled off a rallycross overtake on kimi, got a penalty for it, and was already sitting in fourth when lewis's engine blew up. he then pulled a ten second gap over kimi so that he kept his podium place, got danny ric to make max do a shoey, nearly threw up when he did one himself, told a room full of reporters that he didn't want danny ric to win another race (that year) and filmed one of the funniest ever post-race vlogs where he fidgeted with the neckline of his t-shirt while describing how seb had apologised to him for the crash and that was nice but it didn't get him any points back. truly iconic.

there is definitely a running theme in these choices i think. mostly that i think nico was at his best when he was fighting against the potential capabilities of the car/circuit/circumstances rather than other drivers 🤷🏿‍♀️

[gunsandspaceships]

Did Tony really like to party?

We'll list every party we know Tony has attended in the MCU (including deleted scenes and What If? S2 E4, since that Tony is a copy of the main Tony from the MCU) and see what he was doing there.

MIT

When Tony was 17-18 he went to parties with other MIT students. Here's the main post, but I'll quote the MIT alumni again:

“I remember him at after-parties on Thayer Street. He was up later than anyone else. But you could always get a ride home with him, because he always had a car.”

“No one really knew him, he was just a rich kid. Everyone wanted him around, though, because he'd always bring something fun for the party.”

What he was doing there: entertaining others. Didn't really communicate with them, didn't drink, helped them get home.

Bern (New Year Eve, 1999)

Two questions: 1) Does he look drunk? 2) Does he willingly communicate with people other than Maya and Happy? My answer to both questions is no.

What he was doing there: separately from everyone else quietly communicated with Maya; avoided people except her, to help with this task took Happy with him; if it was not possible to avoid interactions, reduced them to a minimum; despite Yinsen's words from IM1 he didn't seem drunk, while people around were; happily left the party to spend time alone with Maya. Wearing sunglasses in darkened rooms at night.

Jet (on the way to Afghanistan, 2008)

What he was doing there: sprawled on the couch, sipping champagne and looking at his flight attendants, while drunken Rhodey tried to convince him that he's a good person. The party didn't last long - one of the flight attendants blindfolded him and took him to the bedroom.

Dubai (2008, alternative trip to Gulmira)

As you can see it was either a VERY fun party or not at all.

What he was doing there: creating an alibi for himself to fly to Gulmira to save people from the Ten Rings. Wearing sunglasses at night. Avoiding interactions, visibly uncomfortable with those he couldn't avoid. Left immediately with two girls ordered for conspiracy. Having reached the bedroom, left them and flew away on the mission.

P.S. He also asked a third girl to join them on the way to the bedroom, leaving the guy who was with her alone. I imagine that incident potentially could create another Marvel villain.

Charity Ball (IM1, 2008)

What he was doing there: showing the public and the board of directors that he's fine. Avoiding people, had unwanted interactions with Coulson and Christine just because they caught him. Basically ignoring Coulson, staring at Pepper. Drank a little. Enjoyed time only with Pepper: slow dancing with her, joking around, paying attention to her feelings and needs, asking if he makes her uncomfortable, and offering to go outside for some fresh air when she needs it. Together with Pepper, left for a secluded place on the balcony. Quietly talking to her there. Went to get drinks for Pepper without question when she felt the urge. Told Christina that he is feeling uncomfortable there. Actually showed signs of discomfort. Immediately left after talking with Stane.

Birthday Party (IM2)

Another super fun alibi party. This time to "pass" the armor to Rhodey and push everyone away from himself so that he can die alone and so that no one will mourn for him.

What he was doing there: acting. Pretending he is dead drunk and enjoying the party. Wearing sunglasses at night inside the house (in the deleted scene with Natasha). Destroyed the ice statue of himself. To Natasha's question "What about those people around?" said "That's why we are doing it. It's for them. It's my party, it's my friends. They like this sort of garbage". What kind of "friends" are these for him, you can find out from Jon Favreau himself here. Kicks everyone out of the house by yelling during the fight with Rhodey. Just lying exhausted in a destroyed house after everyone left.

Age Of Ultron Party

What he was doing there: greeted Rhodey and Sam. Spent some time in the small company of Thor, Maria Hill and Rhodes. Was quiet - listened and smiled more than he spoke. Drank a little, perhaps less than the others. Quietly played cards with the team after most people had left. Became active only at the stage of attempting to lift the hammer. Encouraged others to try.

To summarize: he was quiet and attentive overall. Was just hanging around his house like a stranger while people other than the Avengers were at a party. Seemingly felt more comfortable when most of the people left and he stayed with the team, just playing cards and drinking beer.

Indian wedding (Spider-Man Homecoming)

What he was doing there: Tony attended someone's wedding in India. Apparently he didn't know the language, so he couldn't communicate and kept away from other people. Looked busy with Peter and something else. Showed no interest in the event. Didn't really drink and left quickly.

Grandmaster's Birthday (What If?)

"I've put my party days behind me".

What he was doing there: Grandmaster forced Tony to stay to celebrate his birthday by threatening him with his Melt Stick. Tony settled on the couch away from the others and was not very pleased when the Grandmaster joined him. Showed no signs of enjoyment throughout the event. Just wanted to get home pronto. Chose to save the people first instead.

Victory Celebration with Val and Korg (What If?)

What he was doing there: enjoyed their little company, but thought about Pepper and Earth.

Conclusion:

As you can see, the common characteristics of all or most of his party visits, except those when he was in a small group of close friends, were:

avoidance of people

sunglasses (if available) when they don't make much sense except covering his eyes from others

focusing on quiet calm interactions with people he knows

leaving the parties at the first opportunity/running away from them

focus on entertaining others, not himself

no alcohol consumption or consumption in small quantities

showing signs of discomfort

looking and acting like he is out of place

At the same time, at quiet parties with a small group of close people, he seemed to feel more comfortable.

You can already draw your conclusion. Mine - he didn't like parties at all. He sometimes enjoyed spending time in the company of people he liked, and it had nothing to do with enjoying parties per se.

[blorbocedes]

hi im pretty new to f1 and ive been watching ur reccommended nico races. do u have any nonwinning races that hes good in that u think r worth watching?

yes yes hello!!! this got lost in my drafts my bad, I had some help from my supreme nicologist @keepthedelta for some of the reccs

(here's the aforementioned nico wins recc)

so, some nico races he didn't win but put up a hell of a show:

- debut! his debut williams race, he scored points on debut AND fastest lap. highly recommend bahrain 2006

- australia 2008, first podium!!! that's where the iconic lewis spinning nico around comes from

- CRASHGATE aka what should've been Nico's First Win, Singapore 2008. iconic messy race

- china 2010 and Britain podiums in a Mercedes that was not very good at all

- Bahrain 2014 was one of the silver war battle masterclasses, and Bahrain 2015 was Nico fighting for his life with brake failure and battling seb and still podiuming

- China 2014 the F1 mechanical masterclass of All Time with Nico's telemetry dying multiple times and he crawled to p2.

- malaysia 2016 absolutely insane charge from last place to the podium with no safety car and a penalty

and finally the last, but never the least:

- Abu Dhabi 2016 - the title fight. HIGH STAKES DRAMA. nico being sick with nerves that entire weekend. lewis backing into him cause there's a chance if he's p4 and below lewis wins on points. teenage demon max fucking verstappen. just the most cathartic race

[coimbrabertone]

NASCAR Numerology: How NASCAR's Current Teams Got Their Numbers: Part One.

So this blog has been a bit NASCAR heavy these past few weeks, but my request, I'm going to do one more: NASCAR Numerology: How the Current Teams Got Their Numbers.

To start with, a brief introduction: in European motorsports like Formula One and MotoGP, the norm has become that drivers chose their numbers. Lewis Hamilton, for instance, has chosen the #44 and will take that number from Mercedes to Ferrari when he moves after this season. The exception to this is the #1, which is typically reserved for champions. Max Verstappen (normally #33) and Pecco Bagnaia (normally #63) currently run the #1 plate in F1 and MotoGP, respectively.

Neither of these rules exist in NASCAR. In American racing (NASCAR and Indycar in particular) numbers are associated with the teams, with some teams having run the same number for decades. How these numbers came about various - some were chosen as they were the lowest available number, some to go along with sponsor, others to go along with a numbering convention at a given team. We'll get into these stories here.

We're going to start at the beginning...and the end, with Trackhouse Racing, who run the #1 and #99. Ironically enough, their story begins with the #99, as Trackhouse first entered the sport in 2021 with Daniel Suárez. Trackhouse was, at this point, a one car operation leasing a charter from Spire Motorsports, getting engines from Richard Childress Racing, and running out of a space in the RCR shop. They chose the #99 as a tribute to Carl Edwards, who ran the number from mid-2004 to 2014 as part of Roush Racing.

In a happy coincidence, Daniel Suárez had run the #99 in his very first race in Monterrey, Mexico at the age of seven.

As for the #1, well...for 2022, Trackhouse wanted a more permanent arrangement, so they bought out Chip Ganassi Racing and took control of their two charters. Ganassi had been running the #42 team for Ross Chastain, and the #1 team for Kurt Busch. Busch was off to 23XI anyway, thus the #1 charter was given to the #99 team.

The #42 team meanwhile, with Ross Chastain as driver and the CGR crew behind him, was switched to the #1. Why? Well, for starts #1 and #99 is a good number combo - the first and last numbers available and they add up to 100 - and furthermore, it has history.

Justin Marks and Pitbull are the owners of Trackhouse, but the team is run by Ty Norris. Now, in 1996, Norris was handpicked by Dale Earnhardt to help create the Dale Earnhardt Inc. (DEI) team, with support from Dale's current team, Richard Childress Racing. DEI would go full time in NASCAR in 1998, with driver Steve Park driving the Pennzoil #1 Chevy. Yeah.

Furthermore, the #1, the #8, and the #15 would be DEI's numbers throughout the 2000s. In 2008, DEI would merge with Ginn Racing (formerly MB2 Motorsports) who ran the #01 Army Chevy with Regan Smith and Mark Martin as drivers. As the recession continued, this team would merge again, this time with Chip Ganassi Racing, in time for 2009.

Chip Ganassi at this point ran the #41 Target Dodge for Reed Sorenson and the #42 Texaco/Havoline Dodge for Juan Pablo Montoya.

DEI, meanwhile, had the #01 Principal Finance Chevrolet for Regan Smith, the #1 Bass Pro Shops Chevrolet for Martin Truex Jr., the #8 US Army Chevrolet for Mark Martin and Aric Almirola (the #01 had the Army sponsorship originally but the #8 was DEI's flagship car so the sponsorship moved over), and the #15 Menards Chevrolet for Paul Menard.

The 2009 season would essentially be a bloodletting for the team, and come 2010, the merged Earnhardt-Ganassi Racing would run the #1 Bass Pro Shops/McDonalds Chevrolet for Jamie McMurray, and the #42 Target Chevrolet for Juan Pablo Montoya. These are the same numbers that CGR would run when Trackhouse bought them, and the #1, with its lineage going back to 1998, would be reunited with Ty Norris at the Trackhouse team.

And in another move in relation to the Earnhardts, Trackhouse will add the #88 Chevy for Shane van Gisbergen for 2025. The #88 was last run by Hendrick Motorsports, first for Dale Earnhardt Jr. from 2008 to 2017, and then by Alex Bowman from 2018 to 2020. More on that in a bit.

All of that for the #1...now onto #2!

Team Penske has run the #2 since 1991, when they acquired the services of Rusty Wallace and his long-term sponsorship deal with Miller Brewing Company. Rusty had driven for the Blue Max Racing team (and won a championship for them in 1989) but that relationship collapsed in 1990. With a new program and a driver as decorated as Rusty, Roger let him choose the number - Rusty chose the #2, which he had last used in 1985.

That car, with Rusty Wallace from 1990-2005, Kurt Busch from 2006-2010, Brad Keselowski from 2011-2021, and Austin Cindric since 2022, has been the Penske flagship car.

In 2012 with Brad Keselowski behind the wheel, it won its first championship.

Penske's other cars have, typically, mimicked the #2. When Penske took over the Kranefuss car of Jeremy Mayfield for 1998, they renumbered it from #37 to #12, with Mobil 1 sponsorship. Mayfield was fired late in 2001, and Rusty's brother Mike filled out the season, before Ryan Newman and Alltel took over the #12 car for 2002. Newman would leave for Stewart-Haas Racing for 2009, and David Stremme would take over that car.

As mentioned a few weeks ago in my Viceroy rule blogpost, Alltel was bought out by Verizon in 2008, and that caused a problem as NASCAR's title sponsor was Sprint. Alltel was grandfathered in, Verizon was not. Thus, for 2009 and 2010, the #12 would run as a black and red Penske Truck Rentals car that totally wasn't mimicking the Verizon logo.

Anyway, David Stremme would be replaced by Brad Keselowski at the end of the 2009 season, and he'd remain in the #12 for 2010.

In 2011 however, Penske secured a new major sponsor in the form of Shell/Pennzoil, and Shell wanted a flagship entry with a flagship driver. Thus, Kurt Busch was moved from the #2 to the new #22, while Brad's #12 team became the new #2 Miller Lite team. Kurt Busch would essentially have a meltdown in the 2011 season - screaming at his team in multiple races - and would be fired at the end of the season. AJ Allmendinger and Sam Hornish would fill in for 2012, and for 2013, current driver Joey Logano was hired for the #22.

Meanwhile, the #12 would return to full time competition in 2018 with Ryan Blaney as driver and Menards as the main sponsor.

Logano's #22 would win the championship in 2018 and 2022, while Ryan Blaney would win in 2023. The #2 is Penske's original number, but now, all three have won championships. Furthermore, all three - plus now the Wood Brothers car they prop up - are now locked into the 2024 NASCAR playoffs.

Speaking of, this blog is running long and I'm gonna have to make this into a bit of a series over the next week or so, but while we're on the topic of the Wood Brothers, lets finish off that car real quick.

The Wood Brothers is NASCAR's oldest team and has run the #21 from the beginning. On rare occasions when the Wood Brothers ran multiple cars, back in like the 60s and 70s, it would usually be something that pays homage to the #21 - examples include the #12, the #121, and the #41.

NASCAR's modern era is considered to have started in 1972, and since then, the Wood Brothers has always run the #21 except for a controversial two-year exception in 1985 and 1986 when the team, then fielding Kyle Petty, had a 7Eleven sponsorship and thus ran the #7. They would return to the #21 in 1987, and at the 2024 Coke Zero 400 at Daytona International Speedway, they won their 100th race with driver Harrison Burton.

So yeah, the story of some of NASCAR's current teams' numbers. I'll pick up with RCR tomorrow (spoiler alert: all they have going for them is Earnhardt nostalgia) as this numerology project turns out to be bigger than I expected.