#welcome to tag hell

[the-cool-chicken]

[ the sequel ]

[talesofthestorm]

new ref /

[trainwreckgenerator]

top ten polycules most likely to destroy all life on earth

[kai-yan1]

WOAH PANEL REDRAW ALERT!!!!😝😝

This is a repost btw I just realised that I forgot to draw pete fingers bro...💔💔

These are rush bro,,, that's why they're so ahh...😞

Hell yeah👅🗣️🔥🔥🔥

[iknowicanbutwhy]

Legit almost happened at work yesterday, why mouth form word not when want to but do when want not

[orbch]

so, do I look like her?

okay this is either true and understandable, insane, or like “um theres a w2h blog ask already talking about this” so let me tread lightly [full analysis under cut so i don’t scare people with a wall of text.. but like PLEASE READ!]

i feel like jonathan and jojo being the people sock has the closest relationships with (jojo being one of (if not literally) his only friend/s growing up, and jonathan being one of his only connections post death other than, well, his employer LOL) is crazy, especially since they are SO SIMILAR! … IN MY EYES!

like visually? yeah, blond hair, blue eyes, white undershirt in primary design, both kind of a symmetry w/ jonathans middle part and jojo’s pigtails.

their names? both Jo- names, WITH N’s, an account of jojo’s full firstname being joane. [jonathan and joane? that had to be on purpose like come ON!] And their personalities, while definitely different (jonathans described as apathetic, and well, jojo cares very violently about a lot of things) they both are tough to break into, kinda making it hard for anyone to connect positively w/ them on a deeper level

idk, maybe it was very on purpose to give sock a past relationship where he mightve* accidentally had a direct connection to their death, and a new relationship where he has to purposefully have an indirect connection to their death. like DAMN! maybe this is socks eternal punishment, cause id go crazy..

(* emphasis on mightve because im pretty sure sock and jojos full backstory isnt set in stone, but @/welcometohellfilm has talked about possibilities of sock being indirectly linked to jojos death, or setting off a chain of events to cause it unknowingly, in the past. which i thought was interesting!!!)

[radyoaktif-ghostt]

[okerum]

welcome to hell 2 was NOT on my 2024 bingo but i am not complaining

[teratotally]

[the-cool-chicken]

[ i had to ]

[lsunstreakerl]

hi I have an order up for, uh, GP gentle domming the RB21? any takers?

this is part of the car brainfucking verse, if the first sentence didn't give that away. this is part one of two for the suzuka weekend: prequalifying!

GP POV, 1.6k, mature but not quite explicit. GP/RB21, RB21/Max

The RB21 is a fickle creature. Gianpiero tweaks at it frequently, trying to match what Max wants and what the car wants, never quite on the same page.

Their compatibility rating is a 76%.

It's not just a low rating for any driver, it's an especially low rating for Max, who's always managed over 92% on all of his cars. Gianpiero knows Max is stressed, and it's impacting the bond.

There's... errors, in the RB21. Things Red Bull hadn't been able to fix, things Gianpiero has to accommodate for. Max hasn't had an opportunity to really try and bond with the car yet, and it shows.

It's why Max is back at the hotel, after a dismal round of free practice, clearly not optimistic about qualifying, and Gianpiero is here, alone in the garage.

He keeps the lights off. He's not getting in the car— it's not his place. The cockpit belongs to the RB21 and Max. He leaves his phone on top of one of the counters, settling cross legged next to the car.

It's harder for him to feel the hum than it is for Max or any other drivers— most engineers can't hear it at all. Gianpiero has never struggled with it the way his peers do.

He knows how to listen for Max, which means he knows how to listen for Max's car as well. The RB21 has a low frequency, settling somewhere deep in his chest.

He's leaning against the front right tire, stretching one arm up to wrap his fingers around the halo.

Race engineers don't bond with cars. Their job is to bond with drivers, but—

Max and the car are one unit. Gianpiero cannot work with one without working with the other, and this will just join the long list of unconventional things he's done for Max.

The hum is stronger, strong enough that Gianpiero feels it in his bones. He's not entirely sure how this works, beyond the hazy explanations he's gotten from Max, on the occasions where he's come into the garage to find their lead driver passed out in the cockpit, face flushed and messy.

"Hello, mate."

He keeps his voice low, running his thumb soothingly across the halo. He's going to treat the car like Max, low tones and soft words, gentle praise that can't be denied.

It's a bit like working with a skittish animal. Gianpiero is deeply proud of how far he and Max have come— from a feral little thing to a proud, content creature, more than happy to laze in Gianpiero's lap until it's time for his claws to come out.

"You've got a Honda engine in you, in case you weren't sure. You're the last one that we've got, and..."

He pauses, leaning the side of his head against the wheel.

"It would mean a lot, to everyone, if we could pull off a miracle here. I know everyone says it's all Max, but between me and you,"

The air is thick around him, and he's feeling slightly lightheaded, fuzzy around the edges.

"I think there's a fair bit in you we haven't figured out yet. I think you want to perform. You're just not sure how, and maybe Max isn't either."

He pauses, running his fingers along the halo. It's right where he normally grabs when he's fitting his head between the halo and the car, getting his last minute checks with his driver, making sure Max is ready.

If there was a spot of the car to be considered his, it's this one.

"That's okay. It's not the two of you against the world."

He's slightly dizzy, twisting his head so that his forehead is leaned against the cool metal, struggling to take in a deep breath. The air is oppressively thick, bearing down on him and pressing at his senses. He's feeling dissociated, stuck somewhere out of his body.

"I'm here for both of you. You and Max tell me what you need, and I'll find it. I promise."

His thoughts are running away from him— flashes of endless hours pouring over data with Max, time spent after hard races calming him down, late night dinners in the backyard at Gianpiero's home.

Memories of his own personal time spent hunting down problems and solutions, staring at the screens until his eyes burned and his fingers were numb, rapid readjustments during rain and red flags, the endless chatter in his ears, all the information that he has to analyze and process in seconds before repackaging it for Max.

He lets out a shaky breath, fingers gripping the halo. That's the RB21, in his head. Learning.

Gianpiero wasn't sure if that was something he and the car could do.

But he's not here to end up a fucked out mess like Max usually is, so he carefully slips control back of his thoughts, deliberately thinks of Honda meetings and lunches, hours of discussion and years worth of inside jokes, the men and women who have become dear friends to the rest of them.

This race is for them.

The RB21 eats it up, poking around for more, and Gianpiero understands how this could get overwhelming very quickly for a driver.

He's no driver. His whole job is taking overwhelming situations and making them manageable, and the RB21 is a curious creature, so Gianpiero thinks fondly of their last few years in Suzuka, of Max's incredible record, of the bone deep pride the team feels for him.

He thinks of the celebrations and the parties, watching their driver get progressively drunker until he's assigned a babysitter to make sure he doesn't fall in the pool— their driver, so full of love for everyone around him, liquor loose tongue telling the truth to anyone who will listen, that he loves his team, that he couldn't do it with anyone else.

He thinks of the sharp satisfaction he feels on the pitwall when they get the setup just right, when he watches Max pull off the impossible, over and over again.

The RB21 is interested in the pitwall, in the setups that have worked before, and Gianpiero knows he's caught it, hook line and sinker.

"No, those are for other cars."

He keeps his voice gentle, even if it's low, raspier than he'd expected. He's tangentially aware that he's hard.

"We need to find what works for you."

There's a tinge of frustration in his periphery. The RB21 wants a perfect fix, an easy answer.

Gianpiero doesn't have one. They need to work together.

He thinks of the time he's spent on the pitwall this season, the different errors he's noticed already— he wants to see what annoys the RB21 the most, what the car latches onto.

Communication like this is difficult. It'd be easier to have Max in the cockpit, relaying them the information the RB21 can provide him, but he's got enough weight on his shoulders already.

It's not like Gianpiero is particularly opposed to difficult communication anyways— Max is a master at it on a good day.

He has a few more passing thoughts about Max before he realizes it's the RB21 again, drinking in everything it can about its driver.

He has to wonder— is there a disconnect, between Max and the car? Max has never struggled to click before, but maybe the RB21 needs a different perspective.

Gianpiero gives in a bit, bringing to the surface more personal memories of Max— late nights getting him back from the bar, early morning breakfast runs before long days in the factory, meeting for lunch in the offseason.

Max falling into the team's arms after a win, trusting them to take care of him, bringing his grievances to Gianpiero and trusting him to fix them, Max at his worst moments, desperate and upset and angry—

A brief flash in his memory of a particularly rough race, getting Max into an empty room and letting him rant, letting him get it all out of his system and holding him when it was gone, his memory of a teenager falling to pieces between his arms, a moment that solidified how he felt for years to come.

Max on his first win, Max on his first championship, Max looking sheepish when he gets caught making out with kickboxers in a club bathroom.

Gianpiero has a Max memory for every emotion he's capable of feeling, and he lets the RB21 see glimpses of them, brief flashes throughout his life of them both— but never enough to really digest.

The RB21 needs to want to make its own memories with Max.

His head is spinning, vision showcasing kaleidoscope colors when he tries to open his eyes.

The RB21 is pulling at more memories of Max, looking at them in a way that Gianpiero doesn't— it's doing his head in, the way the car lingers on his memories of Max on the podium, post race flush, Max coming in after a track run, the way his face looked in 2018 when he stepped out of a hallway he wasn't supposed to be in—

Gianpiero doesn't think of Max that way, but the RB21 does, and it's applying that lens to his memories.

He groans, trying to wrestle the car back into the allotted space in his mind that he's given it.

"Behave."

He's not sure if he's saying it for himself or the car, fingers gripping the halo, forcing himself back on track.

The RB21 recedes slightly, lingering heavy at the edges of his senses. Gianpiero ignores the low flicker of arousal he's feeling— it's a side effect of the RB21.

He staggers to his feet, leaning his forehead against the anchor point of the halo, right in the center.

"I'm changing things, for quali tomorrow— but you and Max have to be able to tell me what's wrong. I can't fix it if I don't know, and if you don't know, you won't win."

He thinks again of the championships, the Red Bull exclusive parties afterwards, the way Max—

The RB21 swarms over his thoughts eagerly, drinking in the memory. Internalizing it. Wanting it.

"And I think you want to win."

[mishmash-webster]

YOURE TELLING ME IT WAS FUCKING FORESHADOWING????????

[orbch]

w2h art dump because im drawing fanart at a worrying rate. anyways. sockathan mini comic, sock and jojo as the cover for Friends Forever by Emma Aibara (pls listen its so good), and jonathan as… jerma burger image.. yeh..

[princyvish]

walter dearly or whatever his name was /silly

[welcome-to-headcanons]

the more i think about it, the more sock being liked in his town makes.. less sense?

like, i get it. he's friendly and he's kind, people like him for that. in the show, that kind of takes a backseat. he's more hyperactive, more ADHD traits are shown (for lack of a better term) and people don't really like that. was he masking his entire life?

also, how did he have 0 real friends? if he's so well-liked, wouldn't some friend group have formed with him in it? or at least tried to? what would even be stopping it? not a whole lot, I know sock isn't stopping it.

but the nail in the coffin (hehe) is the fact that he's killed things before. it's a fact. and it's well known, too. he showed a dead squirrel to jojo, do you think she just.. didn't tell anyone? and if she did tell everyone, then how is he still so liked? is that why he has no friends? but why does anyone still like him or talk to him in the first place, even if he has no true friends? did she tell and nobody believed her? then how does he have 0 friends??

so im personally retconning that fact for my headcanon as of right now. sock was not very liked in his town, actually. he's good at making friends with strangers, yes, but he's too hyperactive (and too murdery) for a long term friendship. Jonathan is his first real, guaranteed chance that someone will get to know him, or at least he gets to know someone else.

-sock anon 🔪

Wait hold on did Erica say he was well liked in his town? Or is that another head canon?

I've always thought Sock was bullied and hated. He kills things, he's weird, he's too friendly and creepy. But worst of all he dresses weird. He probably gets hate crimes for being gay because he wears a skirt. I mean the amount of people who couldn't handle it in the real world was ridiculous.

[thinkingabout-girls]

you’re where you belong now!