#just also-rans which is what most F1 drivers turn out to be | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mcgnussen · 1 year

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why k-mag is a walking green flag and you should stan him:

devoted girl dad who puts his daughter over anything else. he said in an interview that he wanted louise, his wife, and laura, his daughter, to be at every race if possible, but they are also very focused on ensuring that laura is happy and healthy and if they feel like it’s too much travelling for laura or that she’s not thriving then they will change plans last minute. and when he got the offer to come back to f1, kev’s only concern was about the time he would lose out on with his daughter.

is either still vegan or was vegan due to concerns about the environment and as a way to balance his co2 emissions as he admitted that due to his job then he is guilty of higher emission than most people. in the same interview, literally one single interview with a danish newspaper back in 2019, k-mag came up with a few ideas on how f1 could become more green, but also said he was probably not going to talk much about it because he realised that he would be a hypocrite due to his job, so he was very much self-aware which is just another green flag. and he said that people who do not believe in climate change are stupid.

praises his competitors whether he wins or lose. after austin 2022, kevin lost out on 2 points to sebastian vettel after a heroic stint on his tyres in literally the last few seconds of the race. despite this, he was full of praise for seb in multiple interviews. and after jeddah 2023, he praised yuki for his excellence defence, but this time kevin was the one who came out victorious, but he made a point out of acknowledging yuki’s excellent driving. and both times he sought out his competitors right after the race to shake their hands.

defends his teammates if they are treated unjustly. both with jolyon and mick, there were times when the criticism was fair, but also times when it was too much and was more bullying. kevin tore renault to shreds for bullying palmer and talking shit behind his back, he said that while palmer was not the best racing driver, he was underestimated because he was so intelligent (and now palmer is an excellent f1 analyst! so k-mag was very right about that). he defended mick against his bosses several times and treated him well. there are also instances during races where he calls out competitors for dirty driving against his teammates.

got p2 on his debut race for mclaren as a 21-year old rookie. kevin started his f1 career with beating his former world champion teammate with 15 years of experience in f1 and while he lost out to him over the season, he did show great promise especially in qualifying which was considered one of his weaknesses. while qualifying between the two of them were pretty equal, k-mag managed to qualify 0.2 seconds ahead of button on average ― which is the same time hamilton managed to beat button. kevin did all this... and then mclaren fucked him over, forced him to say no to a seat, but then demoted him to reserve driver, refused to give him a seat in another racing series before finally firing him from mclaren ON HIS FUCKING BIRTHDAY. so danny ric is not the first driver to get screwed over by mclaren.

worked as a welder before his big racing break due to lack of funds. as so many before him, kevin ran out of money as the sport got more and more expensive. before he even had the chance to turn professional, it looked like options of getting a seat anywhere would be impossible because no one could help him on his way financially. his dad, while a decorated racing driver, did not earn as much as you’d expect a racing driver to earn and he was super busy with his own career, so kevin got a job as a welder until suddenly a rich man from denmark decided to sponsor him. but this means that kevin knows what “real life” is like and he has continously respected that. his mechanics love him and he hangs out with them more than his fellow racing drivers. during the discussion about the number of races in a season calendar, kevin has refused to complain for himself and has always said that the victims of the long and packed season are the mechanics and engineers who cannot get home to their families as often. while he does admit being away so much is difficult, he also pointed out that he is travelling in business class and can get home between races, something the mechanics cannot.

raised by a single mother, who was also a teen mother, and he has several tattoos in her honour. when he was a teenager, his mum, britt, got ovarian cancer that unfortunately spread and for several years she battled with it to the point where the doctors did not think she would survive. but luckily they did not give up on her and britt ended up being free of cancer after many years of being plagued by it. in her honour, kevin has a guardian angel on his chest, the one who looked over his mum, and he also has ‘mum’ as a tattoo on his wrist below a tattoo of praying hands. kevin’s dad, jan magnussen, was in his life but is also a racing driver and only really settled down in denmark when kevin was already a grown teenager and had his own career, so kevin barely saw him during his childhood and jan himself has admitted their relationship is a relationship between friends than dad-son due to the lack of day-to-day parenting he did for most of k-mag’s life.

is a champion for girls. kevin has said the most important people in his life is his mum, his wife and his daughter. he is also personally mentoring a 14-year old female karting talent, alba larsen, to help her with her dream of becoming a professional racing driver. he has praised her devotion, passion and skill. he has gotten his whole family onboard, so now his dad is also helping mentor her while kevin is away, his uncle is a mechanic and helps her with her kart despite the fact that his younger brother, luca, is her competitor as he’s the same age and also does karting (kevin and jan are also training him, of course!)

managed to get pole last season in a haas. and on paper, it should not have been possible. even in the dry sessions, k-mag had a pace that cannot really be explained. according to f1 own analysis and data, the haas was, at the time, 1.35 second slower than red bull, but even in the dry sessions kevin managed to get within 0.5 second of max verstappen. and not only that, his pole lap was only 0.8 second off the lap max did in q2 despite the track being slippery. while circumstances worked in kevin’s favour, he also managed to beat seemingly impossible odds. the only true explanation for why kevin managed to do what he did is skill. ask yourselves what the time might have been if k-mag had been in the red bull...

is one of only a handful of drivers not to live in a tax haven. he went back to live in denmark for the first time since he was a teenager in 2020 after his wife got pregnant and will not be moving away from denmark again despite the high income tax for the sake of his family’s comfort and well-being. out of all his seasons in formula 1, he only spent 2 seasons living outside either the uk or denmark and he moved to an area where several danish athletes live due to better weather and better location for international travel.

is around the same age as his wife and she’s not a model. the bar is literally on the floor for male racing drivers, people. but at least k-mag isn’t one of them ― and by model then i mean the actual profession, there is no doubt that louise is gorgeous. also i have nothing against models, but it’s just such a cliché that rich racing drivers end up with them.

is a big fan of dinosaurs and space. look, these are the greenest flag interests that i can think of, he really is just a nerd. other drivers have interests like dj’ing, golf, fashion and collector of luxury cars ― and then you just have kevin being like “idk i like space and dinosaurs” 😂

#kevin magnussen #haas f1 team #formula 1 #f1 #am i ashamed for going full stan? no bc this is me spreading k-mag propaganda for the good of the people #the people deserve to know #cancer tw #themagnussencorner

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vinvantae · 1 year

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Unmasked

Part 5/16

<<<previous part

Word count: 3.2k

Google translated French - English translation at the end

The winter break was never much of an event for you - being distanced from your family, most years you ended up alone. But this year, for some reason, Charles had insisted you came to spend Christmas with him and his family. It wasn’t part of the relationship contract, in fact, they had given you both a week break but when he found out you were going to be spending it home alone, he simply couldn’t accept that.

As much as you were nervous, you were more than happy to spend more time with Charles. The time you’d spent with him since the break started was the most fun you’d had in years and you were finally starting to form something real with someone for the first time since you joined F1. But with that, you had also started to notice how flustered he could make you with a simple touch, a simple look. He treated you better than anyone had, and you knew he was just fulfilling his part of the faux-relationship, but sometimes, just for a moment, you’d forget it wasn’t real.

But the line was blurry. When the two of you were alone, it was almost as if the show was still on - that you still had something to prove. You weren’t really sure who started it, but more than once you’d kissed in the privacy of your own flats - whether it had just become instinctual since your kiss at the club or not, you weren’t sure but a kiss goodnight or a kiss before leaving the room just seemed to happen. After you had kissed him that night, Charles found it harder to resist you than before, his boyish crush turning into something more real. He wanted to make you happy, fake relationship or not.

“Nearly ready to go?” He asked, watching you do a lap of your flat - doing a mental checklist in your head of everything you needed to take with you to his family home.

You paused. “I think so. I just feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“I’m sure if you have, it’ll be something you can borrow or we can buy you when we get there.”

“I know you’re right but… I think I’m just a little nervous.” You admitted. “I feel guilty lying to them.”

Charles came up to and wrapped his arms around your middle. “Hey, when the time comes to explain, they’ll understand. Besides, spending time with you makes me happy and that’s what is most important to them. It’ll be okay.”

You nodded and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug - the driver leaning down a little so you could bury your face into his neck. He ran his hand up and down your back to help relax you.

“Let’s go.” You sighed, grabbing your bags - waving away Charles when he tried to help, not wanting him to have to carry extra. “Just a heads up, since we’re sharing a bed, I’m a fidget.”

“If I hold you will you stay still?” He chuckled, pressing the button for the elevator.

“Maybe.” You laughed softly. “My human straight jacket.”

He helped you load your things into the back of the car, insisting you at least let him do this since he wasn’t allowed to carry your bags down before rushing past you to open your car door for you. You playfully rolled your eyes before sliding in, relaxing back into the seat. Charles climbed in beside you, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze before starting the car.

“Ready?”

You took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

The Monaco native gave you a calm smile before pulling out of the parking lot and beginning the small trip to his family home. You propped your elbow up on the open window, and enjoyed the sights as you were driven through the city. It was a surprisingly warm December morning too, with a pleasant breeze running across your skin. The biggest downside, or upside according to your PR team, was Charles’ car was probably the most recognisable in the country.

So practically every time you went out with him, you inevitably got photographed. Which was annoying because it meant you always had to put more effort in than you wanted to - not wanting to look like a slob in comparison to Charles who somehow always looked amazing. You were stopped en route by some fans asking for autographs and photos from Charles. Thankfully he passed on photos but was happy to do some autographs, that didn’t stop a fan filming the whole interaction.

“Do you ever get tired of that?” You asked, as he finally managed to pull away from the small crowd that had formed.

He smiled softly and shook his head. “As long as it’s out in public I don’t mind. They are my biggest supporters, I like being able to repay them… even with something as small as that.”

“You’re a good guy, Charles, I hope you know that.”

He simply smiled to himself and gave your thigh a gentle squeeze before eventually, finally, pulling into the drive of his mother’s home. You could already see that Arthur and Lorenzo had arrived so the two of you were last - great. You hadn’t even realised you’d stalled in getting out of the car until Charles had opened your door for you.

“We’re here, Cherie.” He hummed, offering you his hand to help you out.

Your cheeks flushed a little as you slid your hand in his, letting him guide you to your feet. He gave your hand a squeeze before walking to the trunk to get your bags out.

“Charles!”

You watched as Charles’ face looked up over his car and then broke into a grin before turning to face the direction of the voice. Pascale had heard you pull up and was coming outside to embrace her son, giving him a tight squeeze and kissing him on either cheek before turning to face you. Eyes flickering over you for a moment before giving you a comforting smile.

“Hi, you must be y/n. You’re gorgeous.” She opened her arms for a hug, giving you the chance to step away if you were uncomfortable but you were more than happy to let her wrap you up in her hold - not getting a hug from a parent in years.

“It’s so nice to meet you. Charles talks so much about you.” You smiled.

She chuckled, looking back at her son. “Well, unfortunately he has not told me nearly enough about you. I can’t wait to get to know you, love.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Can’t wait either.”

“Come, come. Let’s get you inside… Arthur, Lorenzo! Viens aider ton frère!*1” She shouted, making you flinch a little, before tugging you towards the house. “Honestly, they’re all grown men but I swear I still have to hold their hand sometimes.”

“Maman, il est assez grand et assez moche pour le faire lui-même!*2” You heard Arthur before you saw him, the youngest Leclerc brother gave you a gentle smile as he walked past. “Hey, nice to meet you.”

He continued to squabble with his older brother in a mix of French and Italian as the two of them unloaded the back of the car. Lorenzo was the last to appear, giving you a friendly nod before scolding his brothers. Pascale rolled her eyes before continuing to lead you inside.

“So, tell me everything.” She sat you both down on the sofa. “How did this all happen?”

You smiled softly. “We bumped into each other at a bar one night, caught up on everything we’d missed over the years… and then one thing led to another… he just makes me feel so content and safe. You’ve raised a wonderful man, Pascale.”

She held her hands over her heart. “That’s so lovely to hear, y/n. I’ve not seen too much of you two together yet but if you’re both happy, that’s what is most important to me.”

“He means a lot to me. Probably more than he knows.”

Charles stood just behind the door frame, listening to what you had to say. You meant a lot to him too but you weren’t sure if, for you, it was in a best friend kind of way or if your feelings were starting to shift to something else. Instead he stepped into the room and greeted you both, before sitting beside you.

“As-tu fini de l'interroger, Maman?*3” He teased, draping his arm across your shoulder - pulling you close enough to kiss your cheek.

“Sorry, sorry. I just want to get to know the girl that makes you happy.” She apologised, holding her hands up defensively. “I’ll let you two get settled in upstairs, dinner will be ready around 8.”

She gave Charles a kiss on the cheek before your teammate led you upstairs. Showing you the bathroom before opening his bedroom door - you weren’t really sure what you expected but it was more grown up than you’d hoped. There was a cabinet full of trophies and medals from his karting days and a couple of posters, but it was definitely the bedroom of a late teen rather than his younger self. “Damn, I was hoping for a race car bed.”

He laughed. “Sorry to disappoint. At least we’ll both fit in this, no?”

“It’ll do… you sure you’re okay with this?” You asked, lowering your voice.

The Monegasque driver stepped closer to you and wrapped his arms around you. “Regardless of what happens, you’re my friend, y/n… and I could leave this any time I like, remember?”

You lowered your head a little and nodded, but before you could disappear into yourself, Charles hooked his finger under your chin and tilted your head back up so you met his gaze. “But that’s not going to happen, I’m in this… for as long as you need me... as long as you want me.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as he slowly lent towards you, his lips grazed yours just for a moment before Arthur called out your names - practically skipping into the room. “Oh god… eugh what have I walked in on.”

A laugh escaped you and you buried your face in Charles’ chest, trying to recapture the breath he’d stolen. Sure, you’d shared kisses since you started fake dating but nothing so intimate… so intense. His hand stayed on the small of your back. “What do you want, Arthur?”

“Well, I wanted to get to know your girl! That’s the whole point of her being here right?” Arthur chuckled. “I’m Arthur, by the way. Since he didn’t introduce me.”

You stepped away from the middle-Leclerc to shake Arthur’s extended hand. “Y/n… I have to say, I saw some of your races this year. You’ve got real promise.”

“Got a girl who knows her racing? Good job, Charl.”

“Well I used to race myself, work for Ferrari now… so yeah, I’d say I know my racing.” You smiled softly.

Charles smiled softly down at you, his arm still wrapped around your middle. He went to speak but Arthur’s phone buzzed so he held his finger up to cut off his brother. “Oooh, Thirty gossip.”

“…you have notifications turned on for that?” You swallowed heavily, feeling Charles’ hold on you tighten a little.

The youngest Leclerc looked at you like you were crazy. “Are you for real? Of course I do. It’s the biggest secret in the sport.”

You fished your phone out of your pocket, the curiosity of what they were saying about you now got the better of you. Charles peered over your shoulder as you opened up the article that immediately appeared at the top of your twitter feed.

Inside source continues to insist Thirty is a woman under 30 and known in the racing world, Ferrari yet to comment.

Our eyes on the inside continue to comment that the two time world champion, only known as Thirty, is a woman under 30. She’s also already known to us, someone with experience - though it wasn’t clear if it was in Formula racing or another motorsport such as Indycar.

We will bring you more as we have it, unfortunately our source cannot share more at this time as they are already breaching a confidentiality contract.

We reached out to Ferrari for comment but have had no response - the team knowing that it’s a lose-lose situation no matter how they answer.

Charles saw your jaw clench, someone on Team Thirty was talking to the press but you had no idea who. You wanted to come out on your own terms but it seemed whoever this was, was trying to force your hand.

“Ugh, that doesn’t narrow it down.” Arthur huffed. “Anyway, I’ll leave you two to unpack and finish… whatever it was I walked in on.”

He winked at you before dipping out and shutting the door behind him. Charles looked down at you and could see how defeated you looked, he decided against speaking right away and just pulled you into a hug. That was all it took for you to start sobbing, your walls completely crumbling down.

It broke his heart.

You hiccuped. “I-I… it’s…”

The driver shushed you softly, sitting you on the edge of the bed so you could catch your breath. He grabbed you some tissues and a glass of water from the bathroom - just sitting quietly beside you whilst you gathered yourself. His hand stayed on your thigh, thumb brushing across your leg.

You placed your hand on top of his and he flipped his over so you could lock fingers with him. The Monaco native gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“…thank you.”

“Anytime… now, talk to me.” His voice was soft, eyes fixed on your face.

After a deep breath you spoke. “I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up. I just… but I want to do it my way. But these articles are pushing me closer and closer to the edge but I don’t know if I’m ready to take the jump.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I thought you wanted to lose the mask soon?”

“I did… I do.” You sighed softly, rubbing your eyes a little. “But I still want to do it on my time. I just think I need to talk to the team… right?”

He smiled softly and nodded, pulling you into his side and pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “No matter what you do, I’ve got your back.”

“Thank you, Charles.”

You looked up at him and smiled, and this time, your teammate didn’t want to take any chances. He slipped his hand under your jaw and lent in, pressing a meaningful kiss to your lips - it was so different to the one you shared at the club or any other. This wasn’t rushed or for anyone else, it was a private intimate moment for you both.

The driver felt your lips curve into a smile as he slowly pulled back, his eyes meeting yours.

“What was that for?” You asked, leaning into his touch as he brushed his thumb across your cheek.

“…I just wanted to kiss you.” He chuckled softly. “I’m not sure how you’ve not noticed but I kind of have a thing for you outside of this whole fake relationship situation, Cherie.”

Your cheeks flushed a dark pink. “Y-you do?”

“I have for a while. I’m sorry if this is a lot to take in I-“

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his. “I like you as well… but, what does this mean for the fake dating thing?”

Charles paused for a moment, taking your hands in his as he thought. He admittedly hadn’t thought the whole thing through, but after you kissed him in the club he just couldn’t get you out of his head. And it definitely didn’t help that you spent all day every day together, the only time you were apart was at night and even then he dreamt of you.

“I don’t know, we should probably talk to the team… so maybe we just enjoy Christmas first?” He sighed softly. “Again, I’m sorry to unload all this on you, I should’ve thought about it better.”

With a soft smile it was your turn to cup his face in your hands. “No you’re right, let’s just enjoy Christmas together… then we can figure things out.”

Both of you lifted your head as Pascale called your names for dinner before sharing one more smile and heading downstairs.

When Christmas Day finally came around, it felt like a foreign experience to you. The holidays surrounded by family was something you hadn’t truly experienced in years, even if the Leclercs weren’t your family, they sure made you feel like they were. They showered you with love and affection that you hadn’t realised you even needed.

“Y/n, dear, are you okay?” Pascale asked, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You zoned out for a bit there.”

You gave her a smile. “I just didn’t realise quite how much I needed a Christmas break… Thank you for all of this.”

She sat beside you. “You’re important to my Charles, so of course… but I feel like that’s not what this is about, love.”

“I… I guess you could say I’m separated from my family?” You sighed, letting your gaze move away from her. “My dad sends me money, which I don’t even need anymore, instead of spending time with me… my mum passed away a long time ago and ever since he remarried Dad just brushed me aside for his new family.”

Pascale took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as you spoke.

“So I’m just really happy to have a family to spend Christmas with, even if it’s not my own.” Your voice broke a little but you held it together - letting Pascale wrap you up in her arms.

“You’ve always got a family here.” She whispered, rubbing your back. “In fact… you’re gonna need one of these.”

She reached behind her and passed you a squishy present - once you opened it you realised it was a classic Christmas jumper with a massive Snoopy emblazoned on the front, making you burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”

“We all wear them whilst eating dinner, so it’s only right you have one too.” Her voice was soft.

“Thank you, Pascale.”

She gave you one final hug before leaving to return to the kitchen, crossing paths with Charles as he came into the room. He raised his brow at her before turning his attention to you, smiling softly when he saw the jumper in your hands.

“She definitely likes you if you’ve got one of them.” He chuckled softly, sitting beside you. “Are you having a good Christmas Day so far?”

You nodded eagerly, resting your head on his shoulder - your teammate wrapping his arm around your middle. “I’m not sure I ever want to leave.”

Charles hummed softly. “Mum would love that… but we have obligations in Bali in the new year.”

“I suppose it could be worse.”

The two of you shared a tight hug before joining the rest of the family in the dining room for dinner, Charles’ arm draped over your shoulder as Arthur helped his mum set the table. You smiled softly at your teammate, and he returned it - even though none of this was real, you sure wished it was.

And with the way Charles was looking at you, just maybe it could be someday.

(Pls click on the 2nd photo to view the whole thing)

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Hope you enjoyed!! Extremely fluffy chapter this one ❤️

Next part >>>

*1) come help your brother!

*2) mum, he's big enough and ugly enough to do it himself

*3) are you done interrogating her, mum?

#unmasked fic #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 #formula one #x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #leclerc x reader

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f1 · 1 year

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Corner tightened at Jeddah circuit in package of changes to improve safety | 2023 F1 season

The Saudi Arabian Grand Prix promoters have confirmed a raft of further changes to the Jeddah Corniche Circuit ahead of Formula 1’s return next year. The high-speed street circuit has been subject to criticism from drivers and paddock figures during its first two events held in 2021 and 2022. The circuit attained FIA Grade One accreditation just weeks before its inaugural grand prix, but drivers including Carlos Sainz Jnr and Lando Norris were critical over what they perceived as unnecessary levels of danger produced by its combination of high speeds, close barriers and blind turns. After the inaugural race weekend was marred by a series of crashes, event organisers made minor adjustments to the circuit for 2022. However, both Mick Schumacher and Formula 2 racer Cem Bolukbasi were taken to hospital after suffering heavy crashes into the wall. Sergio Perez described Jeddah as “definitely the most dangerous place in the calendar.” Jeddah will host the second round of the 2023 F1 season in March. Race promoters have announced more extensive track changes to address drivers’ concerns. Barriers have been moved to improve vision at turn 14… The barriers lining turn 14 – the full-throttle bend after the 180-degree banked hairpin of turn 13 – and turn 20 have been pushed back by seven-and-a-half metres and five metres, respectively. The walls at turn eight and turn ten – where Schumacher and Bolukbasi’s crashes occurred – have also been adjusted to improve driver sightlines into the corner. The fast kink of turns 22 and 23 – where Schumacher crashed during the inaugural 2021 race, prompting a stoppage – will be modified and made tighter with the aim of reducing cornering speeds by around 50kph relative to how cars have previously been taking them. Finally, special adhesive strips will be laid down on the outside of many of the circuit’s corners, which will cause cars to vibrate if driven over. This is intended to deter drivers from running too close to the extremities of the circuit and the barriers in a bid to gain time. Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free The Saudi Motorsport Company’s chief executive Martin Whitaker says the track changes will improve the quality of racing at the venue as well as make it safer for drivers. …and turn 20 “The evolution of the Jeddah Corniche Circuit continues apace and we are excited to add these further tweaks to our magnificent track as a result of positive consultation with the FIA, F1 and the drivers,” Whitaker said. “It is vital for any circuit to listen and learn from those racing on it and use their feedback to grow and improve at all times. We are confident these changes will lead to even faster, more exciting and, crucially, safe racing and we can’t wait to see the world’s greatest drivers battle it out here under the lights again in 2023.” Last weekend, the circuit hosted the FIA’s World Touring Car Cup around a shortened variant of the track which cut from turn four across to turn 20 on the grand prix layout. The 2023 race will be the third in a 15-year deal for Formula 1 to race in Saudi Arabia. The 2022 edition of the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix was marred by a missile attack on an oil plant 10 kilometres from the circuit that took place during the opening practice session, leading to drivers calling for an emergency meeting with Formula 1 and the FIA which ran until the early hours of Saturday morning. The race weekend continued with no further incident. Track data: Jeddah Corniche Circuit Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free 2023 F1 season Browse all 2023 F1 season articles via RaceFans - Independent Motorsport Coverage https://www.racefans.net/

#F1 #Corner tightened at Jeddah circuit in package of changes to improve safety | 2023 F1 season #Formula 1

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vetteldixon · 2 years

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Vettel open to more off-road racing after ice debut

by Scott Mitchell, Feburary 7 2022, The Race

Four-time Formula 1 world champion Sebastian Vettel says he is “happy to look at” doing more off-road competitions in the future following his ice-racing debut in the Race of Champions.

Vettel was beaten by World Rally Championship legend Sebastien Loeb in last Sunday’s final of the first Race of Champions to be held on snow and ice, held on a track built across a beach and the frozen Baltic Sea in northern Sweden.

The Aston Martin F1 driver had struggled initially on Saturday, when he lost three of his four heats as Team Germany was eliminated at the quarter-final stages of the Nations Cup, but was more competitive in the individual Champion of Champions event.

He won match-ups in a Polaris buggy, RX Supercar Lite and electric rallycross car on his way to the final, where he lost 3-1 to Loeb but ran the nine-time WRC champion close in their final heat in the Polaris.

Asked if he would consider more off-road events in the future, Vettel admitted he had “a lot of catching up” to do but was enthusiastic about the discipline.

“Obviously, you saw that I’m still missing a little bit,” Vettel said. “But I think I enjoy it a lot.

“I always enjoyed watching what they are doing. It is a different discipline so you’re still having fun with a car but it’s just there are a lot of differences.

“But it’s fascinating, we have a chat also over lunch to understand a little bit more, it’s not just you’re in the car and you’re driving.

“Very much like Formula 1 or in any category, there’s a lot of work behind the scenes, doing your pace notes and getting all the information you can, the same with us preparing the race and the analysis after.

“The sport progresses and there’s more to it than just driving which is also a challenge. So, for sure it’s not easy to just jump into it and be very good at it.

“You need the time and experience but if somebody is willing to give me a shot and a chance and has a lot of time, I’m happy to look at it.

“I think it’s something that is as a driver very satisfying, to play with the car and to have more margin.

“Normally when the car steps out you correct it immediately and you’ve lost a bit of time. Here I think there’s much more grey. You are sideways, maybe the timing’s a little bit off but you can correct it.

“Of course, you need to get into that really small window to be perfect. And you saw the difference! But it’s definitely something I enjoy.”

Vettel has been an enthusiast of the Race of Champions for a long time and last weekend was no exception as he made the most of its dramatic change of scenery.

Off-track, he turned heads each morning from Thursday to Sunday with solo runs in a T-shirt and shorts at sub-zero temperatures, was a willing volunteer to swim in the sea when organisers cut a hole in the ice, and he begged for a passenger ride with Stig Blomqvist in the WRC legend’s Audi S1 Quattro.

But the competition’s switch of surface was something he clearly embraced from a competitive standpoint too.

“It’s something that I’m definitely not as used to when it comes to my driving style,” Vettel said.

“Normally, when the car goes sideways, I tried to correct it as soon as possible, and put it back straight, which here is not the fastest way.

“It’s very exciting and I think it’s a great place in the world to be. It was a lot of work, the weather really didn’t help this weekend, and didn’t make the situation easier but the people were great.

“After missing out the Race of Champions the last two years and having the pandemic around the world it was great to be back and great to have a sense of normality as well, as much as it was possible.

“It was a very, very great comeback, and I would really like to come back to a place like this on snow and ice.

“Obviously with Fredrik [Johnsson, RoC president] pride and being on home soil it’s something special but I think it definitely was to be out on the open sea racing each other.

“It’s been fantastic for us to enjoy the different cars and also for the spectators even though today they had a bit of wind in their faces!

“But they seemed very happy and up for it, so I think it was very good.”

#full articles are very handy to have/save so here it is #also there's a good amount of interesting little bits in this one too #the driving style stuff! i wish he'd go more in depth #sebastian vettel #race of champions 2022 #f1 #preseason 2022

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wingsofanillyrian · 3 years

Text

Lights Over Monaco: Chapter 1

ITS HERE! I plan on updating this weekly/biweekly, based on how busy I am. Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list!

Special thank you to my new F1 friend for inspiring this fic as well as being my beta reader, @acourtofcouture ! F1 fans out there, her fics are AMAZING

Chapter Masterlist

F1 Glossary

----------------

Nesta Archeron discovered Formula 1 when she was 9 years old. She woke before the sun one Sunday morning, quietly excited to have the television all to herself and watch whatever cartoons she wanted. But she couldn’t remember what channel they were on, instead flipping through the programs. She had almost given up when she stumbled across a race.

The moment she had seen the brightly colored open-wheeled cars flash across the screen, she paused. For whatever reason, the high pitched wasp-like scream of the twelve cylinder engines and the astonishing speed that the drivers were travelling enthralled young Nesta. She didn’t look away once for the rest of the race, or even for the post-race interviews and wrap up that most adults skipped. Something about it had her adrenaline pumping.

Nesta traded her dolls for matchbox cars, and when she grew older, picked up racing magazines instead of teen ones. Ever since that day, Formula 1 consumed her. No matter how the other kids or her two younger sisters teased her for it, her love for the sport never tarnished.

She spent years getting up at 2 am to watch live races that were being held halfway around the world. Instead of going to her senior prom, Nesta stayed home and layed out her predictions for the season’s drivers and constructors championships. She didn’t know how to do anything half-ass. She poured her whole heart into the sport and devoted her life to it.

**********

Nesta spent her 24th birthday working. It wasn’t like she could request the day off, not that it mattered. The racetrack at Monaco was exactly where she would have been anyway, working or not.

A press pass got her through the first security checkpoint. The team tents loomed ahead as she waited for personnel to cross the unstriped asphalt, inching her car carefully through the throngs of people. She rolled her window down, soaking in the sound of air tools and snippets of conversations.

Street tracks like Monaco were her favorite. They required drivers to push themselves with plenty of technical corners and dramatic incidents. There was less room for error, as the tracks themselves were not as wide. Drivers had to know their limits and follow the racing line closely.

Race tracks were Nesta’s comfort zone. She knew each track on the calendar like the back of her hand. Every turn was permanently etched in her mind like words on a tombstone. Race weekends followed a set schedule, something that she could appreciate. Friday: practice laps. Saturday: more practice, followed by qualifying, where each driver got the chance to set the fastest lap and secure a spot in the starting line up for the main event on Sunday.

Before she had graduated college, Nesta had managed to fully entrench herself in the world of Formula 1. Securing an internship at ESPN her sophomore year, she had made herself indispensable to the crusty old man that had been the senior track side reporter for decades. She studied everything he did and the questions he asked each driver, noting what changes she would have made. Somehow, he came to admire her spirit and taught her the tricks of the trade.

When he retired the year after Nesta graduated, he went to the board of directors and personally recommended her to fill his spot. She waited two agonizing days for their decision.

Using whatever means necessary, Nesta had clawed her way to the top and cemented her reputation as the most cutthroat reporter in the industry. Her goal had been for everyone in motorsport to know her name, and in only two years, she had done so. Better yet, she had caught the eye of one of the fastest drivers on the grid.

Her phone rang just as she pulled into the press parking area. She answered, not bothering to check the caller ID. “Hello?”

Tomas’ velvety voice thundered through the speakers of her Civic. “Hey baby. You here yet?”

“Just pulled in,” She replied, touching up her makeup in the rearview.

“Right on time for a quickie. Meet me at my trailer in five.”

Tomas had already hung up before she had the chance to protest. Both their reputations hinged on their relationship staying secret. If the press caught wind that she was fucking a driver, her credibility would go out the window, and Tomas would be the laughing stock of the grid. So sneaking into his trailer wasn’t exactly the type of discreet she was aiming for.

Tomas Mandray had been racing for Red Bull for two years when she had scored her first exclusive interview with him. He had just been awarded pole position at the Spanish Grand Prix in Barcelona, and Nesta had sweet talked her way into the paddock. It had taken minutes for his charming blue eyes to enchant her. He had won that race, and taken her to bed straight after.

The sex was great, but that’s all it ever was. Their relationship was purely based on the physical; nothing emotional on either end. They had agreed on that from the start. Just sex.

Unfortunately for Nesta, somewhere along the way it had become something more.

Sighing, she put on her oversized sunglasses and hid her tawny hair under a gauzy scarf. The fashion wouldn’t stand out at all amongst the celebrities that frequented the Monaco Grand Prix. Going over the top here was expected; Monaco was known for its money. Due to the lack of income tax, Monaco was a haven for white collar delinquents and royalty alike. Lamborghini’s and Ferrari’s were commonplace, and women wore rings that could set a jewel thief up for life.

No one bothered her as she strode towards the pit checkpoint, flashing her press badge to get by. She fell into her usual cadence, exuding an air of importance and invincibility. Seemingly without realizing, people moved out of her way when they saw her coming. The navy, red, and yellow of the Redbull tent came into view, and Nesta inserted herself into the crowd of mechanics and VIPs to get past security. Press wasn’t allowed in the area until after the race.

Nesta broke away once inside, heading down a back corridor. She knew the layout by heart, having walked the path many times. The door at the end of the hall led outside to Tomas’ private trailer. She didn’t bother to knock before entering. Tomas would already be waiting for her.

He set down his phone as she entered. “Finally,” He said with a savage grin. “We only have a few minutes.”

****************

Tomas left as soon as he finished, donning his jumpsuit without so much as a kiss goodbye. Utterly used to the behavior, Nesta straightened her clothes and again touched up her makeup before heading back out.

She was scheduled to conduct a pre-race interview with Cassian Valle in the Mercedes tent in twenty minutes. Redbull and Mercedes were at opposite ends of the pit, giving her plenty of time to think.

Truthfully, Nesta was dreading the interaction. Cassian was an arrogant ass. She couldn’t stand interviewing him; all he did was skirt around questions and try to flirt, which made it incredibly difficult to get any headline-worthy tidbits from him.

Azriel Sainz, Cassian’s teammate at Mercedes, was much more amiable. He was mostly forgettable and quiet, but always gave her something to work with and was sometimes downright pleasant to talk to. She could understand why the public loved him, but not why they were so enamored with Cassian. Sure, he was a three time world champion, and that earned him plenty of fans, but he was just so… dreadful.

She made it to the Mercedes pit just minutes before the scheduled time, immediately spotting her tense cameraman, Jacob. Slim built, he was average looking, nothing special. He was sweet though, if not a bit of a pushover.

“Where the hell have you been?” He hissed, chocolate brown eyes wide. “Valle is waiting.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, handing Jacob her sunglasses and the scarf. “I’m here now, aren’t I? Not my fault if he was early.” Nesta accepted her microphone and rolled her shoulders. “Let’s get this over with then.”

“Happy birthday by the way,” Jacob added. Yes, there was the pushover side shining through.

Nesta threw a grin at him over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

Cassian’s back was to her as she approached, his white Mercedes jumpsuit half on, the arms of it cinched around his waist. The crisp gray shirt he wore left little to the imagination, hugging his sculpted form. Good; at least that would capture the attention of any women that might be watching. As would the deep brown curl that fell in his face when he turned to her.

“If it isn’t my very favorite reporter,” He crooned, a grin plastered on his face. “Took you long enough to get here. I also hear it’s your birthday.” Nesta glared at Jacob. He shrank under her steely look, an apology stumbling from his lips.

“I would give you a birthday kiss, but I think you’d knock me out if I offered.”

Nesta pointedly ignored him, “Let’s just get on with it,” She said, motioning to Jacob to start recording. Once he signaled he was ready, Nesta breathed deep, the sweet scent of high octane fuel assaulting her senses. It steadied her, and she slipped into her professional mask before turning to the camera.

“As we all know, the Monaco Grand Prix offers drivers a unique set of challenges. The two-mile street course has 19 technical corners with little room for error. It is in Monaco that we get to see who has what it takes to be a Formula 1 champion.” She turned to Cassian, gave him a professional smile and continued.

“Last year, you had a puncture at turn seven when you ran over some debris. Coupled with the fumble the pit crew had with not having your tires ready when you came into the pit, you finished a disappointing 12th place, winning you no points in the driver’s championship. Do you expect that this year will be better, or will you stick to your usual aggressive driving style?”

Cassian laughed, running a hand through his unbound curls. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be changing anything. You can expect to see me on the podium, sweetheart. Most likely in first.”

Nesta grit her teeth. She couldn’t air that, and he knew it. “How about you answer the question without trying to piss me off?”

“It’s too easy,” Cassian said, that devilish grin returning. Nesta cut him a glare that simmered with violence. “Alright fine,” He relented, putting his hands up. “Go again.”

She repeated her question, and this time he answered, “I don’t really see any need to change my driving style, what happened last year was a fluke. I went wide on the turn and didn’t notice Vanserra's front wing until the last second and wasn’t able to change course.” Nesta nodded, encouraging him to go on. “I don't see myself making any mistakes like that this year. You can expect to see me on the podium, most likely in first.”

“Thank you for that Cassian. Good luck on the track today.”

“Thank you,” He said, waving at the camera. He paused before adding, “Though I won’t need luck.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and signaled for Jacob to cut the recording. At least that last bit could be edited out. “You are absolutely insufferable, you know that?”

Cassian shrugged, undoing the arms of his fire suit and slipping into them. “I do my best.” He winked at her before zipping up his suit, opening his mouth to say something else when the Mercedes team principal, Rhysand, barked at him to get his ass in gear. He gave Nesta a wordless salute before jogging off.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Jacob said, packing up his camera. “That guy has balls.”

“He’s a Formula 1 driver,” Nesta said simply, putting her sunglasses back on. “Of course he does.”

**********

Nesta watched the 78 lap race from the press box, silently cheering Tomas on. Each time the pack of cars passed, the windows rattled, doing little to muffle the engine noise. She chatted with the others as necessary, keeping one eye on the tarmac below. Tomas had started from pole position, and held onto first place until the final 10 laps. He had attempted to lap an AlphaTauri driver when the driver had failed to yield, violating FIA regulations. The two had bumped tires in what was ruled a racing incident, but Nesta knew better. Tomas had lost his cool and nudged the other driver on purpose, nearly sending him into the wall.

It was a bad call on Tomas’ part, as the comfortable four second lead he had held over second place shattered. Nesta swore under her breath as Cassian overtook Tomas, her heart dropping when the other Mercedes driver, Azriel, did the same. Tomas would not be happy about that.

When the checkered flag waved, Cassian was first, Azriel second, and Tomas third. The winners parked before the podium, anger radiating from Tomas as he tore his helmet off. Tamlin, the Redbull team principal, said something to Tomas that had his cheeks burning red.

Nesta grabbed Jacob and headed for the press room. They had a half hour tops before the post-race interviews started, and Nesta had to make sure she was front row. Though it didn’t matter where she sat; she always made sure her questions were answered.

It was more so for Tomas. She wanted him to see her, to see the understanding on her face and know she supported him even when he didn't win.

They were first to the press room, and Nesta had ample time to prepare questions. She couldn’t question Tomas, or she risked uncapping his rage. Instead, she jotted down a question she knew would shift the focus from Tomas to the Mercedes drivers.

Reporters began filing in, vying for the perfect spot and debating the race results with one another. Nesta remained in her seat, determined to maintain her composure as her stomach churned. Tomas finally entered, jaw set as he took his place on the stage. Nesta tried to subtly catch his eye, but he pointedly avoided looking at her.

Cassian and Azriel entered, laughing and congratulating each other. Nesta noted the slight change in Tomas’ posture, the only hint of the blood boiling beneath his skin. Cameras flashed, reporters shouted, but still Nesta remained seated. Cassian, at least, sought her out in the crowd, and flashed her an ‘I-told-you-so’ grin when he found her. Once the clamor had died down, Nesta stood. The room quieted further, the others having learned not to talk over her if they valued their jobs. Nesta had a knack for digging up dirt on anyone she pleased.

Her eyes were still locked on Cassian as the moderator indicated she could ask her question.

“Azriel,” She started, turning to the dark haired man, “You were lucky you were able to take second in this race, after the incident in turn twelve on lap 27 when you sustained heavy damage to your front wing, thanks to the actions of your teammate. Does it ever get under your skin that Valle’s overly-aggressive driving threatens your own position in the championship?”

The room was silent. Tomas hid his grin behind a well-manicured hand. Cassian’s eyes narrowed, a muscle in his jaw fluttering. Good; she had hit a nerve. Azriel shrugged, crossing his arms.

“It was a racing incident. Could have happened to anyone. I don’t think the blame lays entirely with Cassian; I could have given him more room on the corner.”

And that was that. Nesta didn’t ask any more questions, but she could feel Cassian glaring at her throughout. At the end of the interview, all three drivers thanked everyone before leaving.

As Nesta made her way back to her car, she texted Tomas.

You okay?

Her heart pounded as she waited for the reply. Her phone buzzed minutes later.

I’ll be home late. Party at the Redbull house.

Oh. Okay. See you later then.

“Happy birthday to me,” She muttered, stuffing the phone in her pocket.

Nesta wasn’t sure why his reply stung, but it cut deep. She had hoped that he would want to see her instead of going to another party and spend time with her on her birthday. Instead, he would probably stick his tongue down another woman’s throat like usual. She couldn’t really blame him. Their relationship had to remain secret and to do so, Tomas had to maintain his playboy aura. It wasn’t really cheating if she had agreed to it.

But if that were true, why did it hurt so fucking bad when he did?

Some of her tension eased when she finally spied her car in the lot. The Blue Bullet, she had nicknamed it, due to the strikingly bright paint. It was the first purchase she had made upon being promoted, and it had since become her pride and joy. She had chosen it because it set lap records left and right when it had hit the market a few years back, and she had craved speed her whole life. On city streets, this car was the closest she could get to experiencing Formula 1 without completely breaking the bank.

“How about you don’t ask stupid fucking questions next time your prettyboy loses?”

Nesta’s breath hitched. Your prettyboy. The accusation was clear. Her hand slipped from the door handle, turning towards the voice. If he knew… If he knew about her and Tomas, they were done for. She willed her voice into solid steel.

“Cassian. I would advise you to choose your next words wisely.”

He placed a hand on her Civic, getting in her face. “Racing means you have racing incidents. I don’t expect you to understand, seeing as you’ve never been behind the wheel of a real race car.” He sneered at her car, the insult striking home.

Fear faded, replaced by a rising wave of scarlett rage. Nesta’s gaze stuck to where his hand lay on the bright blue paint, utterly vexed by the infringement. She bared her teeth at him, rising to the challenge in Cassian’s flaming hazel eyes.

“Get. Off.”

Cassian started at the command in her tone and obeyed. He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Understanding the nuances of Formula 1 is my job description. I asked about that incident because I knew it would piss you off. Looks like I was right huh?” Her temper was getting the better of her. “And by the way, would it kill you to give me a decent quote once in a while, instead of always trying to get in my pants?”

“I do not-”

“Oh go fuck yourself,” Nesta scoffed, yanking the door open.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward as she slammed the car door. “I was already planning on it.”

Those parting words haunted her drive home, even as she took the long way in hopes of blowing off steam. She shifted through the gears, throwing the Civic around corners much faster than was probably safe. Nesta didn’t care; her head was a mess. At least he hadn’t mentioned anything more about Tomas. Maybe Cassian had just thought she had a crush, based on the way she had been looking at him during the conference. Gods, she couldn’t get Cassian out of her head.

His grin followed her up the stairs to her apartment, where she snapped the curtains shut. She couldn’t bear to look out over the track any longer today.

Those words echoed in her head as she brushed her teeth and crawled into bed alone. Swam through her thoughts of Tomas, as she struggled to keep her eyes open when the clock showed 1 am. As she finally gave in, they were her last thought.

I was already planning on it.

@aphoeni @planet-faerie @nina-zcnik @linsimin @that-little-red-head @teagoddess99 @enpointe10 @electronicstrawberrystrawberry @awesomelena555 @iptneus @weesablackbeak @wonderland--memories @nessian-trash-heap @magicalwaterfall @perfectlyimpxrfect @cassians-wings @valkyrie-archeron @acourtofcouture @nesemryn @chloepereyra @illyrianshadowhunter

#Lights over monaco #nessian #nessian au #nessian fanfiction #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of war and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acotar fanfiction #my writing #nesta archeron #cassian #lucien vanserra

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siriushxney · 3 years

Text

* . PAPER RINGS !

pairing — lando norris x reader

rating — fluff

wordcount — 2.3k

warnings — cursing (it's me who are we kidding)

song — taylor swift | paper rings

note ! — before y'all jump down my throat about "what the hell is a toque” — it's a hat. us canadians call it a toque. also this is long overdue, but I hope you like it!

when the light of day melted into the dark of night, and long, tiring shifts slowly came to an end, it wasn't an odd sight to see large groups of people piling into bars for a drink or several. with an extra hour and a half added onto your normal shift time due to your bosses inability to do what he was supposed to do — leaving stacks of paperwork you had to go through, along with a few of your other colleagues.

now walking into the packed bar — bags long forgotten in your cars, you couldn't find it in yourself to cringe at the strong smell of alcohol that burned your nose as you walked through the door, nor did you care for the way the heels of your feet stuck to the ground with every step you took.

after a day like today, you weren't sure if you'd mind anything.

sheila — one of your colleagues raised a stiff hand and slammed it down on the counter, gaining the attention of the bartender. “we need like, fifteen shots stat!” the bartender immediately got to work, pouring glass after glass — sliding them in front of the five of you, before turning to serve another guest.

“that asshole gonna get my foot down his throat if he dumps that much paperwork on us again,” she downed her first shot and reached for another one, “all of that should have been sorted out in the morning, not thrown onto us as we were packing up,” the rest of you agreed, downing a shot quickly as you tried to keep up with the loud mouthed girl.

you turned your head away from the conversation that had started between the others, choosing to stare curiously at the screen in the corner displaying reruns of a race that took place today.

feeling a body skim yours as a group of men slid into the barspace to the left of you — a majority of them sporting an orange and blue item of clothing, something you had connected quickly to the orange and blue car that had been on screen moments earlier.

looking back to the tv hanging from the ceiling, you tried to wrap your head around what all the numbers meant — a small bump caused you to look down, a younger man of the bunch staring at the tv proudly, “do you watch f1?” he turned his head to look at you as he finished asking his question.

f1... Is that what this was called?

“no, but I'd rather watch that then the football game that's on,” the boy looked at you with wide eyes, slightly in awe of how blunt you were. he nodded slightly before turning his attention back to the tv. “ I assume you do. you're wearing the colours of one of the cars,” you felt bad as you watched the boy curl into himself slightly.

ha looked over to you once again — “you can say that,” his eyes glinted a little bit as he spoke, a proud smirk coming across his face as he leaned in closer, not close enough to make you uncomfortable, but close enough that he could speak without the bar hearing. “I race for them — see that orange and blue mclaren? thats me.”

that was definitely more interesting than the news.

“so what might that mclaren driver's name be?” his head turned back to you, a slight red tint covering his cheeks, and climbing to the tips of his ears.

with a single hand outstretched to you, he introduced himself, “I’m lando norris — and who might you be?”

“Y/N.”

—

that day had happened a few months ago — and in that time, your friendship with the young driver had only progressed.

days you used to spend simply reading in the comfort of your own home, was now spent bouncing from bookshop from book shop — lando recommending you all the books that he had been in love with at the moment.

you had to refrain from telling him you had already read them, having looked him up on instagram a day or two after the initial meet — the photo of him cozy and comfortable in his bed with the stack of books perfectly visible to his side.

the types of books a person read could tell you a lot about their character — and with lando, it was all good things.

“okay, and then this one is semi based on a true story — like half true but has a lot of action and drama sprinkled in there-” he rambled on about the book he held in his hands, his eyes darting between you and it as his hands ran over the spine and pages of the book.

even knowing the writer, plot, and ending — you couldn't bring yourself to put an end to his ramblings. instead, you stood to his side and nodded eagerly as he spoke words with such excitement.

for any other person, you would have cut them off and told them that you had read it — but for some reason, cutting lando off was the last thing you wanted to do. he wasn't the famous young driver for mclaren who was always eager for a challenge on the track. he was just lando.

the boy who had a mini library growing in his room, filled with books from every genre. he was the boy with the odd affinity for milk. he was just normal.

and for the first time in your life — normal felt nice.

—

“lando, you're insane.”

“maybe a little bit, but insane is fun sometimes.”

when lando said he had something fun in mind for the two of you to do, the last place you expected to end up was on the shore of an ice cold lake — the wind blowing harshly against your body, making it sway slightly with the force.

lando had already taken off his jacket, now standing in just his shirt and bottoms.

“I’m not going in that,” you backed away from the boy as he stripped more and more of his clothes off, dropping them in a neat pile on the ground.

he shrugged, pausing in his action of removing his jeans, “are you not going in because its cold, or are you not going in because you don't have a swim suit?” while the lake technically was still warm enough for swimming, the thought of the water 's temperature that was lowering daily paired with the strong winds, didn’t exactly spark excitement in you.

“both.”

“it’s either your coming in by your own will, or I’m dragging you in.”

“you touch me and I’ll hurt you — that’s a promise.”

a mischievous glint appears in lando’s eyes — he knew what he was about to do was going to get him in trouble, and most likely hurt in the end, but the thought of doing it overpowered his thoughts about what would happen after.

there was no going back.

in a split second lando had his arms wrapped around your waist as he dragged you closer to the lake — despite the heels of your feet digging into the ground, he had still succeeded in getting you close enough that if he threw his body weight towards the water, you would soon follow.

and that’s exactly what he did.

a laugh from lando, a squeal from you, and the whooshing of the air rushing past your ears was all you could hear before you found yourself submerged under the cold water.

you clawed your way back to the surface with the help of lando’s arms, which were still wrapped around your waist — as soon as you felt the coldness of the air reach your face, you were turning in his arms and swinging.

“I’m fully clothed you asshole!” you brought a fist down lightly on the top of his head — the water squishing out at the action.

“stop- don’t- stop hitting me!” lando laughed as he let you go, swimming backwards slightly as a way to get away from your violent swings. “I know that you're fully clothed- that's what makes it so funny,” the curly haired boy couldn't contain his laughter at the end — his voice railing into the squeaky laugher that you had come to love.

without the support of lando, paired with the additional weight of your heavy winter coat and soaked wool toque and mittens, you began to struggle slightly to stay afloat. “lando-” the water climbed its way up your face before washing back down as you kicked harder.

his laugher stopped as he kicked his way over to you — grabbing around your waist once more and holding you to his body.

with the distance closed between the two of you, the feeling of his warm breath against your face was unavoidable — as well as the feeling of the heat radiating from his body, even through the layers you had on. neither of you spoke, both trying not to move — for every movement brought a wave of discomfort with your muscles tensed up from the cold. but as time started to tick slower, and all you could feel was the other — the last thing on both of your minds was the temperature of the water.

“you’re turning blue, lando,” as much as you wished you would've stayed in that position forever, the sight of lando’s cheeks and lips draining of its naturally pink colour concerned you. even with layers upon layers of clothes on, you found yourself shivering — and with lando in nothing but his boxers, you doubted he was doing much better than you. “I think right now is a good time to get out,” lando didnt reply, only bringing the two of you closer to the shore.

with chattering teeth, bodies curled in, and fast feet, lando and you made your way to his car — both jumping in the minute you could get your hands on the door handle. neither of you cared for the seats wetting as you sat down.

“I think I have some towels in the back from my training — can you grab them? I’ll get the heat and everything going,” you leaned into the back of the car to the best of your ability, pulling two towels out of an orange gym bag, and bringing them to the front where lando and you sat.

lando wrapped the towel around his shoulders — the shaking constant and harsh, rocking his body violently.

“I would say I told you so, but I feel too bad to even insult you,” with your jacket, toque, and mittens stippped off and thrown onto the floor, you wrapped your towel around your shoulders much like lando had.

“awe, youre so considerate — I didn’t think it through.”

“trust me — I can tell.”

the sound of the heaters on blast and the clattering of teeth was all that filled the car. lando had seemed aggravated at your comment — the way his body turned slightly away from your own, his eyes never meeting yours, and the fact that there was no laugh following or during his words.

what had you said or done that pissed him off?

“are you mad at me?”

lando turned slowly, his eyes still not fully meeting yours — but he looked like he was less angry and more conflicted. “I’m not mad, I’m just- just,” the words were on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to say them. “forget it.”

“no, I wanna know what's wrong — please tell me?”

he angled his body to face yours after a few moments of no response, making it so him and you looked at eachother with ease. “back out there on the lake- did you… did you feel anything?” your body tensed at his question — it was the last thing that you thought would come out of his mouth, so it took you by surprise. “because I know I did — and that scares me.”

you struggled to find a string of words that made sense to you, “I mean, yeah I guess I did — what did you feel? just so I can make sure that I felt the same thing.”

“I felt like I wanted to stay in that position forever — like I wanted to kiss you,” the words he spoke were soft and genuine. “all I felt was you.”

it had taken months for you to put a name to the feelings you had when you were around the british boy, but now, more than ever, did you finally know what they were.

they were love.

“I felt the same thing — all that I could feel was you and your stupidly perfect body against mine,” both of you giggled slightly at that. “and all that was running through my head was that if you had asked me to do anything with you, I would have done it — hell you could have asked me to marry you with paper rings and I would’ve said yes.”

lando stared at you with a calm look on his face — his eyes drinking you and all of your features in. “I’m glad — because I was thinking the same thing,” his hand fell on top of yours, bringing a warmth to the back of it. “and no need for paper rings when I can promise you the real deal when the time comes.”

“like I said before, I would marry you with paper rings lando,” you leaned in slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. “now kiss me you goof.”

he didn’t have to be asked twice.

#formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #::lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine

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vanityeols · 3 years

Text

Dangerous Ride 》 Jungkook F1 Pilot AU

PART 1.

After your boss gave you the hard task to interview the most famous, hot and womanizer F1 pilot Jeon Jungkook, you considered yourself the luckiest columnist in Celebrity Magazine. C'mon, have you seen him? And he is single, for God sake...

"Bring me a good article. I need juicy news about him. Write a front page deserving article or don't even bother coming back young lady." Your boss's voice echoed in your head the whole flight.

You settled down in the hotel in Monaco after your flight from New York, and you are now near the bar area, preparing for the interview. When you turn around, you drop your notebook on the ground and when you are about to catch it...

Oh, god! It's Jeon Jungkook. Just the man I was looking for.

He beats you to it, and hands you your book.

"I think you dropped this."

He looks amazing. White shirt, black suit, messed black hair. What a man...

"Thank you."

Jungkook stares at you with a seductive smirk on his lips and takes a seat next to you. Please greek God, if you come any closer I won't be able to keep my hands to myself.

"A water please". He orders and turns to face you. "Do you want something?".

"I'm already served..." you smile politely.

"I'm too late as it appears." He smiles back.

You can't help but notice his perfect features, his magnetic aura. He is incredibly good-looking. Jungkook catches your gaze and smiles.

You are about to introduce yourself, but he and his husky voice beat you to it.

"I'm Jeon Jungkook".

"Yeah, I know. I'm Y/N."

You stare over the crowd of reporters with a few racing drivers giving press conferences. "Aren't you supposed to be there?"

He nodded, looking back at them. "Yeah I should, but I'm not a big fan of the media."

Which makes my task so hard to complete.

"Oh let me guess. You are a fan of privacy."

He smirks and leans closer to you. "How did you know?" Ok, too close loverboy.

You shrugged and looked down to your water cup. "Gossip flies around."

He nodded and licked his juicy lips. "So will you be watching the race tomorrow? I suppose you're here for that?".

"Indeed I will. In fact I came here just to see you.." you told him, tucking your hair behind your ear, in a innocent but at the same time flirty way.

He eyed you from head to toe with an arrogant smile playing on his face. "Then, I better take the pole position".

"Oh, someone is being confident."

"I'm being realistic."

You're impressed by how easy it is to have a conversation with him. Rumors say he is not nice to interviewers. But they also say he loves to play around women so you must be one more easy target to him.

He leans toward you, his woody scent galvanizing your senses. Keep your cool Y/N, keep your cool. A ghost of a smile spreads on his face when he notices your breath fastening by the sudden proximity.

"I better go, I don't do social appearences too long." He whispered in your ear, before pulling away subtly.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Jungkook."

"Likewise, beautiful. Will I see you tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow night?" I asked, confused.

"At the after race party. I would love to see you there."

OK Y/N AM I DREAMING?

"Maybe, who knows."

He smiles before brushing his hand behind your back. "I don't accept no's or maybe's lady Y/N. I will be waiting for you tomorrow night."

And with this, he leaves. And there you are trying to hide your blush. Damn is he hitting on me?

You go back to your room and text your bestfriend and colleague, Hanna, who's a huge fan of Jeon Jungkook.

"I just ran into Jeon Jungkook in the hotel bar."

"LUCKY BITCH!!!! I'm so jealous right now. What happened?"

"Well...he wants to meet me tomorrow after de race."

"Is it a date?"

"Of course not! I still need to interview him."

"But you know he is single, right? But as your bestfriend and a huge fan of him, I need to warn you. He is never serious about relationships. He never goes out with the same woman twice. In fact we never heard of him having a girlfriend officially, but he is a playboy. Believe me, I know a looot about him."

"Interesting. A man like him doesn't scream engagement, I know. But it's not like I want to have something with him. I just need a few answers to my juicy questions, that's all."

"But Jungkook wasn't like that two years ago. Something must have happened. My theory is that a woman screwed him over. That's why he is single for so long. You should try your luck. The bad boy falling for the cute and petite interviewer."

"Hanna, that's ridiculous."

"You two are very alike, trust me. But at least he enjoys the pleasures of life."

"Ok, I got it Hanna. I'm not here for this. Anyway, I got to go."

"Good luck babe, you got this."

The next day you are getting ready to watch the qualification race, and even though you brought the best of your clothes with you, seems like you got nothing fancy enought to wear. I'm meeting Jungkook tonight, I should dress up well, it's an exclusive party invitation only.

You pick a tight black dress a little above the knees with long sleeves and a heart shape cleavage. To finish the look you added a beautiful gold necklace, black high heels and a black purse. Your hair was perfectly straight, falling down your back. To finish the look, you added a red lipstick to your lips and voi la.

A few minutes later, you are watching the qualification race of the Monaco Grand Prix in the VIP area. You spot Jungkook's red car as the crowd cheers for him with thunderous roars.

"And Jeon Jungkook is leading the qualification race! He's bending the track to his own will." You hear the voice of the commentator on the speakers.

In a flash, the drivers pass in front of the crowd, leaving the screaming, brutal sounds of their engines behind them.

"Jeon Jungkook is driving a blistering speed, and Kim Jongin is on his tail. Unbelievable! It's only the qualification race but neither of the two want to slow down. This opening lap will tell us which one of the- OH MY GOD!" The commentator gasps.

Jeon Jungkook tries a dangerous maneuver. He is in a skirmish with Kim Jongin. With all eyes on him, he loses control of the car. Tire squealing. Air hissing and....CRASH.

"AND JUNGKOOK CRASHED".

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest. "Oh my god!"

He slams brutally into the barriers. The audience starts to worry and falls quiet. A minute later, Jungkook gets out of his cockpit and waves at the crowd assuring he's fine.

"Oh no, the judge gave him a black flag...." you mumbled, biting your nails.

"Our favorite, Jeon Jungkook has been disqualified. He won't participate in the Grand Prix. This time his reckless maneuver was penalized!"

You see Jungkook getting out of his car. He smashes his helmet on the ground and strides toward his pit. Man that was intense. It must have been terrible for him.

As much as you wanted to talk to him and see how he was feeling, you didn't get the chance to. Journalists were fast to run to him and all you could see was cameras flashing, and he doesn't really like that, like he told you before.

A few hours later you were at de VIP party. All the elites are there: models, celebrities, racing pilots. E everything was peefectly designed. The decoration was spot on. The atmosphere was magical, glamorous, like a Gatsby's party.

And like all great parties, there is drama...and troublemakers.

This can't be true. What is he doing here?

You spotted Park Jimin, aka your ex boyfriend, dancing with some random supermodel, grinding against her hips. Just the sight of him turns your stomach instantly. And to make the mood even better, he spots you right away, smirking when he caught your eye. I know he is from a very healthy family, but why is he in this after party, in Monaco?

"Well, well, well, Y/N, what are you doing here?" He looks at you from head to toe. "And....so elegant...". He walks towards you and you freeze. That good looking bastard, cheated on me with my at the time best friend. He was the man who broke my heart, made me feel worthless, destroyed my vision of true love. Now thanks to him I never believe anyone who tries to get close to me.

"You can stop right there. I appreciate the compliment. Now if you excuse me..." you gave him your best fake smile and rush towards the bar area, as far from him as possible. You call out a bartender, determined to drown your misery and the terrible memories you have of Jimin. "Give me something strong...".

"Coming right up lady." The bartender winked at you and disappeared to get your drink.

You looked around. Your ex having the time of his live. Couples kissing, others flirting...

And here I am, feeling miserable. Not being brave enough to talk to men. Too much of a good girl to be risky and flirty with someone. You shake your head, biting your bottom lip.

Shot after shot, you forgot why you were here in the first place. Anger is getting the best of you. You were about to ask for another shot, when a strong hand grabbed the cup from your hand and pushed it aside.

"Apparently misery does love company?" Jungkook smiled, genuinely, before taking a seat next to you.

Finally someone to make my night, a better night. Hi eye candy.

"Do you need some help? I mean, seems like you have a lot going on in here." He points to his head.

You rolled your eyes at him. "You crashed your car earlier. It seems like you have your own problems to solve."

"Ouch" he placed a hand on top his chest with a hurt (playful) expression. "Ok I probably deserved that one. But what happened to you today?".

You took a deep breath and looked right at him, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. "I ran into my ex boyfriend. Yeah, bad luck. I found that douchebag in Monaco. What a coincidence. Of all the places he could go, he is here. In this party. Almost having sex on the dance floor with some supemodel. You grabbed your drink and took it down with one gulp.

Jungkook blinked and looked around. "Where is he?"

"You see the guy with the white shirt wearing black pants? The one next to the blonde supermodel? That's him."

Jungkook nodded. "What a bad haircut. And to be honest he looks like a robot trying to dance. If you ask me, you are way out of his league." And when he said that, his hand rested on your thigh. "Way too attractive miss Y/N..."

You looked down at his hand and then back at him. A playful grin on your face. "Mr.Jeon Jungkook, are you flirting with me?"

You both laughed. Jungkook bites his bottom lip, something he seems to do a lot to his own good, and pulled you closer.

"Why don't we make this night better for both of us?" His breath mixed with mint and alcohol is sending shivers down your spine. His hand is now down your back. You drank way too much already and it's not helping.

You remember what your bestfriend Hanna told you about him being a womanizer and only doing one night stands kind of things. But you were tired of being the good girl. Tired of not having adventurous memories because you were too good for your own good and ttonight.Damn tonight, a hell of a man was in front of you. Wanting you as much as you want him and even if it's one night only, the present is what counts.

I wanna live this moment.

You look at his perfect lips, wondering how it would feel like to kiss Jeon Jungkook.

And just like you, Jungkook is staring back at your lips, waiting for you to do the first move.

"Like what you see?" You asked, feeling daring.

He smirked. "Oh, I'm definitively enjoying the view."

You licked your lips, tracing your fingers down his arm. "You must know I'm here for business."

Jungkook nodded "is that so?"

"I'm a columnist."

He shrugged. "And?"

You remember your boss's words. "Interview Jeon Jungkook, give me juicy news, write a front page deserving article or don't even bother coming back young lady."

"...and I'm here to interview you. I've been trying to do it all day..."

His expression changes. As if he was...mad.

I know he hates the media, but I would hate to be fired.

"It's for a women's magazine. You sure know you have a huge feminine fanbase who would love to know more about you...."

Jungkook gives a deep breath and nods. "I see..but what about you? Not the Y/N columnist, but the real Y/N...."

You raised an eyebrow, obviously confused.

"What about me?"

He wrapped an hand around your wrist and pulled you close to him, his grip gentle, his lips brushing your earlobe.

"Would you like to know me?"

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formula365 · 3 years

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A thing of the past - Bahrain GP review

In 1973, the Formula 1 season closed with the US Grand Prix at Watkins Glen. The title had already been decided in favour of Jackie Stewart, who had secretly decided to retire at the end of the season, and leave the mantle of leading driver of Tyrrell to his teammate, François Cevert. Stewart would leave at the peak of his powers, with 100 GPs to his name, tired of seeing friends die on track. It had been a dark era for the sport, and there had been an impact on his and his wife’s mental health. It had taken too much of a toll for them to bear it any longer.

As fate would have it, they were in for another sad ending. On the Saturday practice session, Cevert lost control of his car in the Esses, hit the barrier on one side and was sent careening towards the barrier on the other side at an 90 degree angle. The second impact ripped the barrier from the ground; Cevert was killed instantly, from injuries caused by the barrier that was meant to save his life.

A lot has changed since those days, and Stewart was one of the men who most contributed to that. After retirement, he lead a campaign for improved safety in both tracks and cars. It took time for safety to arrive at today’s standards, but F1 can now boast an incredibly positive record. Despite some big shunts, only one driver lost his life in the past 25 years. People like Stewart, Charlie Whiting and Dr. Sid Watkins were instrumental in achieving this remarkable record, and the changes they campaigned for have saved many drivers.

Romain Grosjean added his name to that list yesterday. As the replays of his accident hit our screens, and the carcass of his survival cell became visible in the wreckage, it was clear that the barrier had given in. His head would have gone straight into the upper section of the barrier, at a speed of over 200km/h; just like his countryman 47 years ago, the car headed to the barrier at close to an 90 degree angle. Had it not been for the halo, the last great measure championed by Whiting before his untimely death, Grosjean would surely not have survived.

But for all that was impressive in how the car, the marshals and the medical car protected and ultimately rescued the driver, there are questions to be asked, particularly about the barrier. Improvements in barrier technology were one of the most important steps towards driver safety; accidents like the one that killed Cevert showed the importance of improving the design and build of the barriers to ensure that they could sustain heavy impacts without breaking apart. Barriers that were supposed to save lives were taking them instead.

Which is why we have to question what happened to Grosjean’s car. The similarities between Grosjean’s and Cevert’s crashes are inescapable, and in both cases the barriers failed to do their job. Yes, the halo saved Grosjean’s life, but the main point should be the fact that the halo should not have been necessary at all. If the barrier had fulfilled its purpose of absorbing the impact and throwing the car back out, the halo would have played no part in this crash at all.

To make matters worse, the way the fail structures of the car are meant to work, once the survival cell was stuck in the guard-rail, the back of the car had nowhere to go and, as it’s meant to do, it split from the monocoque. The violence of the impact and the fact the chassis was wedged between sections of the barrier probably led to the break happening further back in the car structure than it should. (I am in no means an expert in this, so take this sentence with several grains of salt) This, in turn, led to a fuel line rupturing, which led to the fire. The barrier failure not only caused the accident to be more serious than it should have been, it also caused a fire that made the driver escape harder and more dangerous than it should have been.

Don’t get me wrong: I don’t want to diss on the FIA, when their relentless pursuit of safety has significantly contributed to saving many drivers’ lives. Grosjean’s survival was not a matter of luck, or a miracle, as many have said; it was the product of decades of work and science by those in charge of the sport. If news of tragedy are now rare in motorsports, we owe it to them. There is also no way to entirely remove the danger factor off these sports: every time a driver straps themselves to a cockpit, there is always a possibility that it will be their last time.

But certain elements of danger should be a thing of the past, and what happened to Grosjean is definitely one of them. There will certainly be a thorough investigation into the crash and the causes of this failure will come to light. If the past is any indication, the FIA will learn new lessons and will implement new measures to ensure that barriers will be improved and will continue to do their job. Most importantly, I am certain they will ensure that barriers will not endanger drivers’ lives rather than save them.

The comments made by Ross Brawn after the race were very encouraging. Instead of the usual platitudes about what a great job they have done to protect drivers, he talked about the things that did go wrong. It shows that the willingness to admit problems and study solutions has not gone away and that there will be a continued resolve towards protecting the stars of the show.

We should rejoice that Grosjean survived with only minor injuries what was quite possibly the scariest accident of the past 25 years. Witnessing a car burst into flames was something that we thought belonged to the distant past and brought home the stark reality of the risks these super humans take for our entertainment. But we should also not allow such an incredible escape to blind us to glaring problems that led to this big scare in the first place. There were other times in the past in which we were lulled into a sense of false security by miraculous escapes. Let’s not repeat that mistake.

Talking points

• When the race eventually got underway, it significantly helped to clear the fight for third in the constructors’ championship. What little hopes Renault and Ferrari still had were ended, and Racing Point lost a bag full of points when the chequered flag was in the horizon. Perez had another masterful race, taking third place early on and controlling Albon from a distance. His engine giving up the ghost was a cruel moment for the team, with the despair etched on Otmar Szafnauer’s face and body language in the pit wall.

• The major beneficiaries of Perez’ misfortune were McLaren, who leapfrogged Racing Point and are now 17 points clear in third. Even without that retirement, they would have still outscored the pink panthers, but this has made them overwhelming favourites in this particular battle. As mentioned in an earlier review, they continue to maximise their results even when they don’t have the fastest car. That ability to get the job done even when the odds are against them is an excellent sign for the team’s future.

• And Sainz’s race was enormous. P5, coming from P15 on the grid? Bwoah.

• Daniel Ricciardo, who will replace him at McLaren, left his teammate in the dust once again. The first time he was stuck behind Ocon he asked to be let by on the radio, as he was clearly faster; the team obliged and he quickly left his teammate behind. Later on, after a round of pit stops, he found himself behind Ocon again but this time passed without the assistance of the pit wall. The Frenchman is not a bad driver, but the Aussie’s superb form is making him look vulgar.

• Albon inherited a spot on the podium, and, after his big crash on FP2, the champagne must have tasted sweet indeed, but it was not lost on anyone how he lost the battle to Perez, the one driver vying for his seat, while driving superior machinery. Nevertheless, it is a moment that can give him a boost of confidence for the final two races and allow him to relieve some of the pressure.

• When asked after the race about the potential for drivers refusing to drive after witnessing such a terrible accident, Verstappen said that if he was a team boss he would fire them on the spot. The Dutchman’s alpha male attitude is beginning to grate a lot of people the wrong way, especially when his words have such a negative connotation in terms of mental health. It was heartening, though, to see a few of the drivers of the 2019 F2 grid were quick to denounce his words, having lived through something even worse than Grosjean’s crash. There is a different mentality in the new generation of drivers coming through, making Verstappen’s attitude look more and more out of place in today’s motorsports.

• Pierre Gasly drove another masterclass, this time in terms of tyre management. He was struggling by the end and was saved by the late safety car, but would have nevertheless (quite probably) finished P8 on a one-stop strategy in one of the most tyre abrasive tracks on the calendar. It was risky, but with Perez’ failure at the end, it proved to be a good roll of the dice by AlphaTauri.

• At the front, nothing new. Hamilton controlled the pace from start to finish, keeping Verstappen at bay and always responding when the Red Bull driver pushed that little bit harder. In the end, the Dutchman had nine of the ten fastest laps of the race, but it was still no match for Hamilton’s consistency over a grand prix distance. Try as he might, his car is no match for the W11 and that is robbing us of a mighty fight between arguably the two best drivers on the grid.

• Dr. Ian Roberts deserves all the plaudits he is getting, and then some, for the way he ran towards the flames to help Grosjean escape the wreckage. With protective equipment that is far less safe than the drivers’, he still dared to run towards the fire. Enormous bravery.

• A different type of bravery was shown by the Haas team members, who still had a car running in the race and carried on with their jobs. Even knowing that Grosjean was ok, it must have been difficult to continue their work after that enormous scare. But carry on they did; a special bow to them for that as well.

• To cap off another miserable weekend in terms of safety, a marshal crossed the track with a fire extinguisher in his hands right in front of Lando Norris’ car. He was trying to reach Perez’ stricken Racing Point, and the safety car had been deployed, so the speed of the cars had been significantly reduced, but this is a risk that simply should not be taken. An eerily similar situation killed Tom Pryce in 1977. And once again, Michael Masi shrugged it off by saying that, while not ideal, we should not castrate (his words, not mine) anyone for trying to help put out a fire. Non-chalant, flippant, callous. I miss Charlie Whiting.

#F1 #bahraingp #bahrain gp crash #romain grosjean #mclaren #Racing Point #sergio perez #lewis hamilton #daniel ricciardo #Max Verstappen #pierre gasly #Carlos Sainz Jr #alex albon

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hecohansen31 · 4 years

Text

It Was Fun Till It Lasted

Duncan Shepherd x F1 Pilot Female! Reader

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I have been a bit silent the latest weeks, but I just got hit by the inspiration train as of lately (even more after all the F1 glory we have been getting) and I just thought about a small drabble, about Duncan in the race car universe.

Not as a driver, but more like a sponsor.

This is very PWP, even for my sentimental ass, so I do hope that you’ll like it, even though it isn’t the most perfect thing ever (just to warn you).

Also I just wanted to give @guiltyfiend a big shoutout because she has been a constant source of inspiration for me with various fics (‘Quid Pro Quo’ has been the main reason why for the existence of this drabble) so do check out her lovely fics!

I am also personally, maybe (since I don’t feel apprecciated in the other fandoms I am in) of making a few comebacks in this fandom, if any of you would like iit obviously!

So, please, if you want more, don’t forget to leave some kind of feedback I truly apprecciate it from the bottom of my heart and it’ll truly make my heart beat stronger and my fingers write faster!

Don’t ever ever forget to support your beloved writers with feedback, if you liked what they wrote!

Have a nice reading!

SUMMARY: Galas can be annoying things, but when an handsome fellow accidentally drenches you in champagne there are many ways your night might change.

WORDS: 5,4 K

WARNINGS: Mention of Sexism, Misogyny, Harassment On The Workplace, Inaccurate Portrayal of The F1 World, Inaccurate Way Of Cleaning Champagne From Clothes, Sex, Slight Dirty Talk, Mirror Sex, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Sex Between Strangers.

You sipped slowly from the flute of champagne you had managed to steal, meanwhile your boss wasn’t looking, since you had been instructed to avoid getting yourself drunk till you got the trophy in your hand, to avoid replacing the ‘drunk Kimi meme’ in the F1 world.

But it was difficult for you, an introvert, to feel at ease in a room full of different people.

A few of them were gladly ignoring you, but more were looking at you like you were some kind of freak in a costume, which was probably the best description for being one pilot of the only all-female team existing in F1.

You had grown up with the myths of Ayrton Senna and Niki Lauda, thanks to your grandfather and his the passion for fast cars and elegant ones, raising you as some kind of substitute to him, who had never been able to race, having had various problematics with his own health.

An heartattack at seventy had taken him away, just as you signed your first contract with the F2.

You had been partnered with a male pilot, and although the car wasn’t the fastest, you had managed to become much better than your partner, eventually getting yourself fired because females, in a place like F1, couldn’t raise to fame, throwing you in a depression that had brought you almost on the verge…

… but then your newest F1 stable had brought you back, giving you a car that wasn’t definitely one of the best you could have gotten but it had gotten you through a nice first season, and you had actually arrived at the sixth position in the constructors’ championship, alongside your partner…

… who, right now, didn’t look less bothered than you, at this fancy party.

But Abigail could definitely hold the curious gazes better than you.

You might have needed something more than champagne to get through a night like this.

You had begged your stable director to just bring Abigail, the social butterfly out of the two of you, but he had just insisted that ‘having two beauties on his arm would have done him and the stable more good than just one’.

And aside from the blatantly sexist part of the comment, you knew he was right.

Sponsors had been rushing to you this season because the media had focused much attention on the importance of new female figures in races, but now that the novelty was rushing off a few had decided to let you go, so you had to grab a few new ones, convincing them through either the use of your talk and your feminine charm.

‘… I had almost thought that he’d ask us to sleep with the sponsors to get them to stay’ had commented Abigail, as you both set yourself up for the night, the elegant rented dresses waiting for you on the comfortable bed of the expensive suite of the hotel ‘… it was this close to becoming an episode of ‘Law & Order: SVU’.

And now Abigail was being her usual chatty with a few sponsors fawning around her, as you tried to down the flute of champagne almost as if it was a full bottle of vodka, something that you honestly missed and stared at the expensive drink in the glass.

If only your glare could turn it in something that would give you more liquid courage.

A few of the rookies had been tried to talk with you and you had been extremely happy to have someone approach you, but soon the chat had diffused itself and all the drivers had been called back by their own director, and you had found yourself alone, again, and with annoying stares upon you.

Many of the pilots from the other stables had tried to get you in bed with them, and you knew that there were various bets going on about getting you or Abigail to finally relent your ‘haughty pretenses’, not to talk about the fact that the entire media platform and magazines had been set up on you and Abigail, waiting for any false step of yours.

You had been dubbed ‘the sole chance for feminism to raise’ and everyone was waiting for you to fall.

To prove that F1 wasn’t female territory.

So, you had been rigorously swearing off any coupling with the other drivers.

The fact that you found it already quite difficult to combine your training and the various galas you had to attend with an healthy social life, certainly did help with the whole ‘chastity promise’ thing.

And you never regretted such a choice during the race season.

The ‘no sex’ rule helped you during the competition, keeping your mind in the game, but now that the driving season was ended and you were finally enjoying your well-deserved holiday, you couldn’t help but hate thoroughly the situation you had landed yourself in, only able to rely on your hand and a few interesting toys.

But otherwise, utterly frustrated.

And yet unable to come up with a solution on such a short notice.

Dicks didn’t grow up on trees, these days.

You just bumped in them, apparently.

Because, as you were halfway through having your second drink of the night, counting on the fact that the director of your stable was halfway through a successful talk with some well-dressed older gentlemen, hence making him quite busy already and unable to check up on you, you clashed against a wall.

A wall of muscles, at a second glance.

A breathing wall of muscles, at third glance.

But you were far more interested by the fact that the bump-in had just made you spill your entire drink on your Givenchy rented dress, the one that costed more than your apartment rent, something that made a loud ‘shit’ leave your mouth and making the ‘wall of muscles’ raise his head towards you, as he noticed the stain.

And then, when you noticed that ‘wall of musclea’ had a pretty face and an even prettier body, a softer ‘shit’ left your mouth.

What a way to make an impression.

“Oh Gosh, I am sorry!” American accent, no British accent.

That was probably where Mother Nature had drawn in blessing him with all the ‘fucking handsome man’ gifts.

His handsome face was elegantly touched up by high cheekbones and feature that had something of roguish matched with elegant traits and darker colors, making him stand out as someone who wasn’t definitely a pilot or a journalist.

Which was ideal for you.

Such an refined face was matched with an elegant tailored body, the suit definitely made for him and him solely, knowing perfectly how to highlight each and every trait of a body that was obtained through attentive work, a careful one that was meant to impose itself or pump his muscles with no aim, but to give him a lean appearance of power.

That definitely worked with you.

“… oh” brain to Earth, brain to Earth, (Y/N), say something intelligent ‘… it was an accident’.

Tell that to the lady that will want the dress back.

But for now, that wasn’t your main concern.

Which was the handsome man in front of you.

But you couldn’t just hump him right there, not only because you were pretty sure that it would have been described as ‘sexual harassment’, but all the spotlight was set up on you, hence all the cameras were focused on every little small mistake you could have done, intensifying them in a way that didn’t happen with men.

You had to be perfect, but even more than that.

You had to be the male everyone thought you were, although you lacked of the attributes.

So, flirting was considered a hellish sin.

“Gosh, I am… extremely sorry” he repeated again, as his eyes shared a quick glance with yours, and you just nodded your head as if you had to confirm to him that you had heard him clearly the first time, before ducking to the restroom, hoping to be able to scrub away the stain, at least to avoid its yellowish color on the stark white of your dress.

But before you could start raising the dress off your legs, where the stain was more evident, you were followed inside by the man, and before you could utter any protest, he caught the ones in your eyes.

“I swear I am not a creeper” he raised his hands as if to reinforce this “… I just… you shouldn’t scrub on silk, it’ll just ruin the fabric, just ran the water and then wait for it to dry, some alcohol and a bit of bleach might also help, the stain will come out, with a single wash… I swear”.

You had a million questions for the stranger, unsure if you shouldn’t have already screamed at him for having entered the ladies restroom, but you just assumed that he was the first handsome guy ever to come with a cute personality.

And good domestic knowledge.

That was meant to always do something to a lady.

“… thank you” you settled on uttering, comforted by the fact that the guy turned around to leave you some privacy, but you couldn’t just let go such an opportunity, even more when you were in some kind of secluded area, and he didn’t look like the type that had a secret go-pro camera under his clothes.

Some girl that you had once met in a bathroom at one of the races had turned out to have one, as she egged on commenting some shit over Abigail.

Unluckily for her, Abigail was in the other stall and she had flushed in the noisiest way the water, before appearing with some kind of triumphant aura around her.

“… can you please stay?” ‘people will probably doubt you on your “abilities” if you come out after five minutes’ you almost wanted to utter, as a test to know if he looked just like a sex god or he fucking was, although with the way his cheeks blushed of a light red, you simply bit down on your tongue “… just to help me get the stain off, properly… you seem to know much more than me about it”.

“Things happen in college” he commented, as if it was an explanation.

What kind of parties had he been in college?

You just remembered the rush to grabbing the cheapest and most efficient alcohol.

He reached out as kindly as he could to start on the farthest part of your dress, where it wasn’t straight up skin tight, gently dabbing it with a piece of paper you had handed him, the fabric destroying itself on the dress, but the stain became a bit less prominent.

Enough to pass as some kind of enrichment the stylist had done on the dress at the last minute.

You hoped you could make the lady that had rented it to you buy this shit off too.

Because you either managed to get the stain out or get yourself a sponsor for the new year, or you’d have had to probably start living on the road, with only a few shining trophies for losers, such as the one you were supposed to grab tonight, for ‘best promising team’.

As if there was some kind of competition, between your small team and various established ones…

“… what are you doing at such a party?” you knew that conversation during this kind of thing would have gotten it to seem less sexual than it truly was, and although you were as good at small talk as you were at handling a crowd, you did your best to sound as relaxed as you could be.

But your question still sounded like one out of a police interrogation.

“Friend of a friend” it was more like meaning ‘none of your business’ but kinder, and you couldn’t deny his own right to privacy “… by the way, I do think that I should give you my name… in case you want someone to curse for the dress, I am Duncan”.

“I am (Y/N)” you were glad when no light of recognition shone in his eyes, just as his hand lightly grabbed the back of your upper thigh, to make the dress adhere perfectly to your skin and dab the stain more properly, a light shiver at the touch made you understand how truly touch-starved you had been “… and you look as out of place as me in this fucking gown”.

“Don’t tell anybody, but…” and he lightly leaned in closer to you, enough that you could feel the strong but comforting perfume of his cologne, something that smelt extremely male and yet, you couldn’t detect a trace of toxic masculinity in it “… I have never seen a single race of F1 in my life”.

Just what you needed.

“… oh tell me about it” you played coy, as his hands raised up from your legs skillfully avoided your ass, instead choosing to grip on the outer part of your hip, handling you with care but a sureness that made you want to relent the whole ‘male image’ you had created around you.

What would you have given for a night in which you didn’t have to be the one in control, constantly checking every detail!

“… neither a fan of the whole race panorama?” he asked, as his eyes trained themselves on your stomach, barely covered by the white of the dress, showing him a bit of skin behind it, exactly as the absence of your panties, a crazed decision of Abigail, who had thrown away your seamless granny pants.

‘They might be protective when we race, but these are shit’.

You knew you shouldn’t have lied to him about not belonging in the racing setting, but you just wanted to have one night in which you weren’t the prodigy, the promise, ‘the sole chance for freedom to raise’.

You just wanted to be (Y/N).

“Definitely not”.

“Brought here by a boyfriend?” now he was scanning his own ground, and he had a small break from his cleaning duties, as you caught a glimpse of that damned profile, the kind of thing you saw on expensive old coins.

He was definitely some kind of emperor in his own right.

“Nope” you mumbled, before you gave him back his own same coin “… just brought here by a friend of a friend”.

He smirked at his words being spit back at him and you smiled almost foolishly.

You even let out a soft giggle.

How fucking long had it been since you had giggled?

And done it because you honestly wanted.

And not because you were forced in front of journalists or potential sponsors.

His hands were now on the side of your chest, against the slight hill of your bra (you could have forsaken panties, but you needed that support), his hands lightly tracing the ridge of the silicone part where the bra stood attached to your skin, sweaty due to the fact that you had been wearing the whole thing for five hours, before of the event.

“… and you had an idiot spill a drink over it, in the span of an hour” the words were meant for self-deprecation, but the smile that accompanied him was utterly confident.

Had you had panties, they would have definitely hit the ground soundly in that moment.

“… it could have been worse” you mumbled, just as your eyes twinkled with secret meaning.

‘You could have been a complete twat or old enough to be my grandpa’

“… you couldn’t have known how to get out champagne stains” you joked, settling up on a more PG-13 comment, unsure of what to do, since it had been quite some time since you had last flirted, and although his hand told you a story, you weren’t exactly sure if he had gotten all the clues of the game.

He laughed so brilliantly that also a light blush joined your soft giggle.

“Gosh, that would have been awful” his tone was joking, but his eyes were onto you, as they searched some kind of confirm in yours, and you just had to lean in to sign the deal, leaning down to kiss him.

You had never been one for one-night-stands and neither for quick fucks in a restroom, but with the way he lightly gripped you, making sure to position you on top of the elegant porcelain sink, careful to avoid the water: it wouldn’t have been neither.

And you were completely swept away.

He definitely passed the ‘kiss’ test.

His hand went through your hair perfectly, but careful of the small updo you had done, his fingertips lightly scraping the baby hair on your upper neck, in a way that kept you grounded, just as his lips lightly bit onto your upper lips, leaving you wanting for more, just as he backed away with a cunning smirk.

One that spoke of that technique never failing.

And before he could perform again that cocky enchantment, you kissed him.

Releasing on him entire months of sexual frustration.

And you had to say that you surprised him, enough that you were worried that your suddenness would have scared him, but he just needed to regain the control, before his hand without any care went to mess up your updo, in a way that instead of grounding and relaxing you, made you tense up, just as his hand splayed your knees wide onto the sink to have him come up between them.

And after the passionate kiss you had been sharing, you found yourself quickly locked, with one that gripped you by the hair against the cold mirror and another one splayed on your knee

The fabric of your silk dress lightly caressed the skin of your inner thigh, right as his elegant and expensive pants did the same with your core, making you feel that you shouldn’t have seriously worried about the ‘five minutes thing’, or at least you hoped.

But the package seemed fucking good.

“… so, would you like to have a bit more of help?” the way he pronounced the word ‘help’ sounded downright sinful and how could a girl deny him, as your own hands moved to gently tap on his sharp cheeks, the scratchiness of a cleanly shaved beard making you feel like this was all real.

“Just don’t get my dress dirty” it was a whisper, but your eyes played with the dominance you wanted to relent to him, and he just looked intrigued.

“Then spread your legs properly, little one” and as if under a spell they opened properly and let him adjust himself against them as his hands lightly raised up to collect the dress away from your legs, stopping right up on your hips and leaving a bit of dress to cover you, as if he had to leave you some modesty “… good girl”.

You purred at that, leaning in the light petting of his grip having become less pronounced as a grip and more a caress.

“… I saw you out there in the crowd and I wanted to buy you a drink, because you looked at unease as me, I thought that you could use that” he commented as his face lightly moved down to the crook of your neck, his nose making a teasing trail down your profile, just as his beard lightly scratched your skin, making it redden simply for his lips, before he covered it of purplish bruises “… I thought I had done the worst thing ever since with pouring a drink over you”.

“… couldn’t stay mad when you fucking looked like a sex god” you muttered unable to deny the truth, your body arching right against his as his hands, gently dragged he strap of your dress down your shoulders, revealing the awful skin-like bra, but he just seemed focused on your collarbones, his hand working slowly to ease the bra away from you, eventually dropping it onto the small tissues box over both of your heads, so it wouldn’t get on the ground.

An attentive gesture, exactly as the way he gripped tightly your breast, making sure that your nipples were lightly caressed by his thumb, right as he bit down on the softer flesh of your neck.

“I am glad that my good looks were of some use” he joked, and gently looked up at you “… and let me tell you, I have a tongue that will make you forget all about my clumsiness”.

“I do think that I deserve an apology” you muttered, as your eyes met again, your lashes cornering perfectly your hazy eyes, breathy and soft “… a vocal apology”.

And he simply smirked down at you, falling on his knees with a sound thud, as you pushed yourself further down the sink you were on, till you felt the painful dig of the faucet in your back, enough to make you moan in protest, but soon the look of wonder on his face as he unveiled the secret underneath your dress was definitely a relief against the uncomfortable position.

“… didn’t know that you were one of those girls that go without panties” he pushed a knee up on you to spread you further to him, as he took in the proper masterpiece that had been revealed to him down there, and his kisses moved up on your inner thigh “… look like the pretty girl turned out to be a bad bad girl, no wonder I am about to fuck you like a fucking bitch in heat in a restroom”.

And you blushed at the profane words.

But it was just more endearing for you as he pushed himself to properly settle against the nest between your legs, already oozing soft milk and sweet honey, his lips lightly pushing against your own, as he dragged the same beard you had felt on your cheeks against your cunt, the sensation making you hiss, right as again your lips came to soothe your ache.

The plumpness of his lips made you unable to stop yourself from moaning out loud, your eyes closing just as he delivered a slap to your thigh, a silent warning to keep your eyes trained on him and you did, as his lips sucked your softest piece in his mouth.

His tongue was instead a blessing inside of you and this time you were the one delving a bit of pain to him, as you grabbed strongly his hair, some kind of relief to keep you grounded as your body became like a cloud, weighted down just by the tension in your whole muscles.

“Fuck, you do know how to have fun” he mumbled tightly, as he released your cunt, something that made you protest loudly “… when was the last time somebody fucked you this good, (Y/N)”.

And before you could properly reply, his finger slipped inside you, making you hiss out at the feeling of being full, so unlike the stretch of your own fingers, so slight that now you needed a minute to calm yourself from everything, as you waited to answer his reply.

And he gave you a moment to breath, before his finger lightly probed further, reaching inside with a wayward gesture that made you choke up on your own words, as your back arched against the mirror and the hand that wasn’t in his hair gripped so tightly the sink that you were sure you had left an acrylic nail there.

“… a long time for sure” he smirked so devilishly that it broke you thoroughly.

And then his tongue matched his finger and before you knew it your floating was interrupted by your skyrocketing to the ground in a pleasurable trail that brought you back to all the earthly pleasure you could ask for, leaving you numb and tensed, your eyes rolling back as you lost sight of what was going on with you.

And then as you regained, your legs were slack over Duncan’s sides, his lips teasing again the skin of your neck, but no intention to punish you with any pain or tease you, instead there was a desperate soothing in his gestures, as you slowly came back to reality.

Fuck, you honestly should do this more.

Sadly, half of the guys that wanted a hook-up wouldn’t have ever done anything like what Duncan just did with you.

And would probably last five minutes, indeed.

“… was that enough of an apology?” he asked as soon as he saw that you had regained some semblance of calmness.

“Definitely yes” not that you could reply with much more.

Your fingers spoke louder as they went to his belt, undoing it with a bit of problem since you were slightly trembling, but he tried his best to let you do it, but before you could lower the pants, he gently grabbed your hands, something soft in his eyes, as he made you look up at him.

“We don’t have to do this…”.

“Oh, c’mon…” you mumbled, but his question was sincere and you couldn’t help but blush lightly “… I am pretty sure I want to do this”.

He mumbled softly, as he grabbed something from his back pocket, as you lightly lowered pants and boxers in one move,

And you weren’t disappointed,

He was definitely a big guy.

Larger than longer, with a light curve that made you painfully ache for having him inside of you, already half-hard, and your hand gently moved up and down on him, in a gentle foreplay that was completely uninterested about the knocking on the door, eventually dissipating in curses.

“… gotta be quiet baby” he commented, as he pushed his wallet on the side of the sink, getting a condom out of it, something for which you were thankful, because although you were on birth control, he was a complete stranger to you, and although the thrill of it just made it all just more daring, you would have preferred avoiding anything that might have given you an awful month “… I don’t know if you will, since I’ll make you feel fucking good”.

You just smirked at him, with a smile that told him ‘I can take it, sweetheart’.

And he just silenced it with pushing himself inside of you.

The penetration gave you an unpleasant stretch, and you needed a minute, as your whole body shifted against him, completely pushing himself in your arms, and to his credit he didn’t do much more than steady you, as he gave you the time to adjust yourself on him, till your whole body relaxed but your own insides.

Gripping him tighter.

Goading him closer and deeper.

And he gently set up a slow rhythm, making you feel each inch of him, till you were hypnotized with the way his hips moved against you, his upper body lightly stroking your clit, as wetness oozed down him, lubing him up, as he took up more speed and you found your back pushed against the mirror with such intensity that you were sure it would have been broken soon.

But you couldn’t give a fuck.

He gently pushed you in another position turning you around, so that you could face the mirror, meanwhile he took you from behind, the angle being deeper and the slight curve of his cock hitting the perfect spot.

And the fact that you could see yourself being fucked by him was only a bonus.

The way his face became so deformed by pleasure gave it all some kind of dreamish state, as the pleasure intensified desperately and you were there just on the right spot, but not enough stimulation was there for you, till he brought a finger in your mouth, and you sucked him inside, looking at the wanton expression on your face, before you closed your eyes.

And pleasure overtook you.

It didn’t take him too much time for him to finish alongside you, as his hand lightly went in your hair again, pushing as a way to grip on reality for a last time and your muscles spasmed around you, desperately and tightly in a way that almost made you wonder how it would have felt to have his seed on you.

And not in a plastic wrapper.

But for now that was all you could do.

Your legs trembled but he steadied you, something that definitely gave him more credit than you thought, expecting him to simply tug himself back in and disappear, maybe stand a bit next to you, to wash himself, but to his credit he gently handled you better, till you were again seated against the sink, the facet now digging painfully in you.

But you were definitely sore in more pleasurable places.

He gently got you back in your dress, adjusting your bra on your sweaty skin, too sensitive for the powerful orgasms you had felt, his silken touch making goosebumps appear on your skin, as your nipples lightly peaked and he couldn’t stop himself from gently sucking one after the other in his mouth, as you moaned almost as a protest.

“Don’t start something you won’t finish” you warned him, as his eyes twinkled with teasing happiness.

“… I would… but I do think that people need this restroom” and he was right, since you felt somebody halfway through calling the security and you shouted out calmly a soft ‘sorry, I just stained my dress and I am trying to get the stain away’ “… but if you want, I can… leave you my number, for more fun…”.

Which you were tempted to take, honestly.

He was handsome, he had a good dick game and he was definitely respectful of boundaries.

But you knew these things always got too complex for you.

First of all because had you given him your number, you would have to admit the truth and secondly as much as you were free right now a partner that was repeated a few more times was dangerous, because feelings might be developed.

“… I…” but how could you let down a guy like this.

“… you aren’t the type” a sad smile appeared on the man’s face, no hard feelings for sure, but definitely uncomfortable at your rejection and you couldn’t help but simply nod “… got it, well it was fun till it lasted”.

And to his merit he didn’t do anything that might have been rough against you, choosing to instead smile politely as he cleaned himself a bit, before he exited with one last look at you, as if to check if you had changed your mind, but you simply stood painfully uncomfortable off the sink as you dabbed a bit more the stain.

“… thank you for the suggestion and…” ‘…the fucking amazing sex’.

“You are welcome”.

And with that he disappeared from the restroom, as you thought he’d disappear from your life.

The only trace of him was the faint stain on your dress and the slight blush on your cheeks as you joined Abigail again.

‘… somebody got lucky’ she simply muttered, as she twirled her glass, another one in your hands, as your eyes searched for Duncan, he joined a few of the investors, but your eyes diverted immediately from that sight, worried the connection might be seen and questioned ‘… at least one of us got laid tonight’.

You simply elbowed her, as you smiled lovingly at the sponsors.

But you definitely felt rebirthed after the restroom session.

Maybe you were wrong about not seeing him again.

Not that you hadn’t to wait much to meet him again.

That morning you had been asked to take part at a reunion of the stable, alongside a few sponsors that you had found at the latest event, it was a way to get them to know the ‘talents’ they’d fund, and as you expected old and older people to approach you, you were surprised to find Duncan standing there.

Hadn’t he been a complete stranger to the F1 platform?

And as your grew nervous and more nervous, your stable director came up to you and Abigail, slinging an arm over you both as he moved to get you and present you to him, making you blush as much as he did, but he was extremely professional.

You couldn’t, when you discovered he was your newest sponsor.

‘Girls let me introduce to you both our latest sponsor’ your boss commented softly ‘Duncan Shepherd’.

And he was Duncan fucking Shepherd.

The heir to the Shepherd foundation.

What the fuck had you done?

---

Duncan Shepherd (I don’t really have a taglist anymore, so if you are interested on being there for Michael do let me know, and I’ll add you, if I ever think about writing something for him again!):

@blakewaterxx, @melodylangdon, @avocodys, @ahsbitch, @littlegirlsdontplaynice, @accio-rogers

#Duncan Shepherd #Duncan Shepherd Reader #Duncan Shepherd x Reader #Duncan Shepherd x Female Reader #Duncan Shepherd Fic #Duncan Shepherd One Shot #Duncan Shepherd Smut #Duncan Shepherd Moodboard #Duncan Shepherd Writing #Duncan Shepherd Imagine #House Of Cards #House of Cards Imagine #HOC #HOC Imagine

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blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years

Text

penman47 asked: Your pages on Stirling Moss and Graham Hill have brought back fond memories of my passion for Formula 1 racing and the Grand Prix races from 1963 through1972. Mechanical failures often plagued Stirling Moss, Graham Hill and Jimmy Clark as man put machine to test. My question would be who of the three would come out on top driving the same mechanically perfect car at say the British Grand Prix Silverstone.

Thank you for your question @penman47

I received this question just before the sad news about the recent untimely death of the legendary Sir Stirling Moss. It feels prescient to respond now after a bit time to pass to reflect with a more sober perspective rather than let sentiment and emotion cloud any judgement.

In my family we are, it is fair to say, racing nuts. My grandfather had the racing bug and drove classic cars at amateur meets like Goodwood through his friendship with Freddie Richmond and was involved heavily in the RAC Club. He was fortunate to see all three of these racings icons race. He saw all of Jim Clark’s five victories at the British Grand Prix and regularly went to Monaco to see Graham Hill win there five times. He saw Stirling Moss race too and he was there for the Glover Trophy at Goodwood in 1962 when Stirling Moss had his career ending accident. Without taking anything away from the modern era drivers like Alain Prost, Ayrton Senna, Michael Schumacher, and Lewis Hamilton - all of whom he thinks are a credit to motor racing - he is very much of his era. As a proud Scots, he thinks Jim Clark was the best he ever saw.

My father got the racing bug too but was more of a Le Mans fan when he was growing up because spectators were closer to the action than F1. He had inherited and also built up his own classic car collection that he sometimes races at Goodwood. He was a wee laddie when he saw Clark and Hill race but he doesn’t fully recall because he was too young to fully remember. He loved watching James Hunt, Ayrton Senna and Alain Prost but had a grudging respect for Nikki Lauda. He never saw Stirling Moss race but knew him quite well through Goodwood and at the RAC Club in London. I know his head says Jim Clark but his heart says Stirling Moss was the best British driver.

For one of my older brothers, who has a thing for speed as I do, he was always a big Ayrton Senna fan. Again as a small boy he saw Ayrton Senna race and was part of the converted to consider him as the greatest driver of all time. Senna’s bravery was his own inspiration to take part in the Dakar Rally and other endurance races.

It’s indeed one of my unmet ambitions to ride in the Dakar Rally but it’s always been on the back burner. I would like to ride with my brother because he has the experience but he and I are too competitive and we would fight over who was the better driver - for the record, I know I am.

My mother - being Norwegian - is left to make dry sarcastic remarks about boys and toys whenever my grandfather, father and us siblings talked about racing. But she’s not immune to the glamour of F1 racing either. I’ve been told by my aunts that when my mother was at her Swiss boarding school, and later learning to be a ski instructor in the Alps, she would descend upon Monaco during the Grand Prix with her friends and enjoy the social side of racing i.e. the partying side of Formula One racing. But she’s quite buttoned up about her partying past. Meanwhile she and my other siblings continue roll their eyes when the subject of racing comes up.

But speaking for myself, speed has been my drug of choice and flying combat helicopters in the army for a time helped satiate that need. When I left I felt empty and bereft. But if flying single craft planes and gliders gives me weird sense of peace these days (when I can make the time to do so), I get a decent rush from riding motorbikes hard and fast on the open country roads (forget about the urban traffic congested cityscape). Racing the odd fast car I managed to get my hands on through pliant boyfriend or good friend has given me a brief thrill too but it’s been spoiled often with my driving companion screaming in my ear or pissing their pants as I take the turn hard. With my penchant for crashing - tsk, more like a graze - I’m not allowed any where near my father’s classic cars.

I have been to Grand Prix races, including ones at Silverstone, Spa-Francochamps, Singapore, Shanghai, Suzuka, Yas Marina, Monza, and Monaco, from the time I was at boarding school. I would either go as a guest of my grandfather or father or even with some school friends who lived in Monaco and had links to get entry into the drivers’ paddock. But these days it’s more likely because of wrangling a corporate hospitality invitation that I would have the chance to go - sometimes if I plan my calendar fortuitously and Lady Luck smiles upon me I can catch two birds with one stone e.g. do a business trip to Shanghai and stay on to see the Shanghai Grand Prix. So I follow racing avidly if I can. For me of course the amazing Lewis Hamilton is the driver of our generation along with Michael Schumacher’s imperious reign at the top. And I do like the cut of Max Verstappen’s gib too.

Of course it’s hard for me to credibly assess who was the better driver between Stirling Moss, Graham Hill, and Jim Clark because I wasn’t a direct witness but not many today were either. But I consider myself a racing fan and I have seen old footage. I have also read about the history of Grand Prix racing and listened to others whose expert views I respect. So I hope what I offer is just an educated opinion at the end of the day but I recognise the heart will come into it because racing - at least in the vintage years - was quite romantic even as it morphed into something more glamorous in later decades.

Anyway, your question just added more fuel to the fire in our family discussions over our recent Zoom calls.

I have to say upfront that I consider Jim Clark as the greatest British driver of all time. I’m with my grandfather on this one and I always enjoy playing contrarian to my father(!). But all things considered Jim Clark was on a different level to both Stirling Moss and Graham Hill. And why I think so I hope I can lay that case out below.

It’s important to put all three drivers in their racing context.

Firstly, they all didn’t race at their peak at the same time and in the case of Moss in a different era. But there was some overlap between Moss and Clark and Hill. Stirling Moss had active career from 1951-1961. Graham Hill had his active years between 1958 to 1975. And Jim Clark was only active for eight years from 196O to 1968.

Secondly, unless you’re a racing fan or have seen old film footage, it really is hard to convey to our present times just how dangerous driving was in that era. It was known as the Killer Years in Formula One history. Back in the days when the British government leached up to 97 per cent from a race driver’s income, a racer had at least a 40% chance of dying at the wheel, so tragedies were commonplace. Some prodded the tiger once too often and ran out of luck. It really is hard for us to fathom the extreme danger Grand Prix drivers put themselves under when they hared around the track as one mistake might well cost them their life or a body of broken bones.

And thirdly, it may sound simple to say this, but they drove extremely fast at very high speeds. The temptation again is to look at vintage racing cars in the light of modern super engineered racing cars and think they were easy to drive.

Few drivers in the history of motor sport can prove they’ve won the elusive Triple Crown. Only Graham Hill can. Formula One world champion in 1962 and 1968; winner of the 1966 Indianapolis 500; winner of the 1972 24 hours of Le Mans and five time Monaco GP winner. An incredible achievement that underlines the fact that Hill was one of the most complete drivers of his time. He was fast, but not the fastest. Talented, but not the most talented. The best, but not always and everywhere. Explosive, but predictable. Professional, but with enough self-mockery to pull his pants down at dinner parties, running up and down the tables. Hill drove his cars throughout the most dangerous years of the sport. Calmly and reserved, while he tried to fight off virtuoso's like Jim Clark, Jochen Rindt and Jackie Stewart.

When Stirling Moss drove on the track, he was there to race, not to eke out championship points. And to do it fast, faster than anyone else. For a driver whose competitive peak coincided with one of motor racing’s most dangerous periods when death regularly stalked all drivers, a time when average lap speeds escalated while safety precautions stood still, Moss’ courage and achievements were even more astonishing. Moss knew all about that: witness the serious leg injuries he suffered during practice for the 1960 Belgian Grand Prix, a race in which compatriots Chris Bristow and Alan Stacey both died, or the career-ending aftermath of his accident during the 1962 Glover Trophy at Goodwood.

But for his own unswerving sense of fair play, he could have pipped Mike Hawthorn to become Britain’s first world champion in 1958. Moss won four races to his rival’s one, but the latter benefited from greater reliability and consistency. The pivotal moment came in the Portuguese Grand Prix, from which Hawthorn was initially stripped of second place for receiving a push-start after slithering off the track. Moss was among those who came to his defence.

To this day Moss has won more world championship grands prix than any other driver never to have secured the championship, despite the ever-escalating number of such races. He has always maintained that he’d like to remembered as “a driver who preferred to lose while driving quickly than to win by driving slowly enough to get beaten”. For a few years, after the retirement of the great Juan Manuel Fangio in 1958, he was the finest and most famous racing driver in the world. He was so good that Ferrari not only wanted him to drive for them but were prepared to have the car painted blue, the team colour of his friend Rob Walker. And it is worth remembering that Enzo Ferrari rated Moss ahead of Fangio and placed him alongside Tazio Nuvolari. He is, perhaps then, the ultimate proof that raw racing statistics sometimes mean very little when you are natural racer.

Jim Clark’s raw racing statistics spoke volumes for his achievement and the astonishing records he set, a few of which still remain unsurpassed. More than that he has been hailed as one of the top three drivers of all time in any reputable survey. His achievements were a reflection of the awe and admiration many of his driving peers and others since his untimely tragic death have held about the man and the racer.

Clark began matching Stirling Moss’s speed in the second half of the 1961 season, and took over the Englishman’s mantle in 1962 when Moss was injured in a crash at Goodwood on Easter Monday. Clark narrowly lost the World Championship that year to BRM rival Graham Hill, after his Lotus developed an oil leak while dominating the finale in South Africa. Two years later he lost another championship to an oil leak, literally on the last lap of the season-closing Mexican GP. The honours fell instead to John Surtees. But in 1963 and 1965 Clark was unstoppable in Colin Chapman’s green and yellow Lotuses, and their driver/engineer relationship was symbiotic.

Jim Clark not only won his second title in 1965 but he did so by leading every single lap of every race he finished in the 1965 season. Therefore, he won every race he finished with what we now call lights to flag victories. It was an incredible feat which has been unmatched by the other truly greats of the sport, Fangio, Senna, or Schumacher.

In 1963 only some obfuscation by the establishment at Indianapolis Motor Speedway in favour of the traditional front-engined roadsters prevented him from beating Parnelli Jones to victory on his Indy 500 debut in Chapman’s rear-engined Lotus ‘funny car’. He led the 1964 Indy 500 race before his rear suspension broke, and in 1965 dominated the event and became the first Briton to win this iconic race since Dario Resta in 1916.

Clark remains the only man in history to have won the Formula One World Championship and the famed Indianapolis 500 in the same year (1965).

His tally of 25 victories was a record at the time. It has since been surpassed by several other drivers, but none in so few races. Clark's came in just 72 starts, a win ratio surpassed only by Alberto Ascari and Juan Manuel Fangio.

Likewise, his tally of 33 total pole positions was first passed by Sebsatian Vettel, with only Ayrton Senna, Michael Schumacher and Lewis Hamilton ahead of Clark. But in percentage terms, Clark is ahead of them all. He was on pole for 45.2% of his races - only Fangio, on 55.8%, did better.

Those numbers give a sense of how Clark towered over his era, a period when he made many grands prix mind-numbingly boring, so completely did he and his Lotus dominate them. Yes, the Lotus was often the best car, but Clark's supremacy was not in doubt. His two titles in 1963 and 1965 were exercises in crushing superiority, and he would have won in 1964 and 1967 as well had it not been for the notoriously poor reliability of Lotus's cars.

But does any of this tell us which of the three would have won between the three of them at the British Grand Prix as you suggest?

Graham Hill may have been the monarch of Monaco - his nickname was after all ‘Mr Monaco’ with his magisterial six wins between 1963 and 1969, a record only bettered by the great Ayrton Senna - but much to his regret he never won a British Grand Prix race.

Stirling Moss won two British Grand Prix races in 1955 driving a Mercedes car and in 1957 where he shared a drive in a Vanwall car with Tony Brooks.

Jim Clark won the British Grand Prix an astonishing five times. In 1962, 1963, 1964, 1965 he won driving the same Lotus-Climax car and in 1967 he won with a Lotus-Ford car. His five victories were a record that stood through the subsequent decades until Alain Prost equalled Clark’s tally in 1993 (Prost won on and off between 1983 and 1993). Clark’s record was only surpassed in 2019 when Lewis Hamilton won his amazing sixth victory at the British Grand Prix (with perhaps more to come). Even more remarkable was how peerless Clark’s domination was as he won four British Grand Prix races consecutively. It was yet another amazing record that belonged to Jim Clark until Lewis Hamilton joined him in the record books with four straight wins (2014-2017).

It might be churlish to point out that Stirling Moss, like Graham Hill, never won at Silverstone even when he raced there. Clark won three times.

In those days the British Grand Prix was not always held at Silverstone. Between 1926 and 1986 the venue track chosen rotated between Brooklands and Silverstone, then Aintree and Silverstone, and later Brands Hatch and Silverstone. Only from 1987 onwards to the present day did Silverstone become the established venue race track of the British Grand Prix.

Moss’ two British Grand Prix victories were both achieved at Aintree (1955 and 1957). The British Grand Prix races that Moss did compete at Silverstone he retired due to engine or axle trouble.

In contrast Clark won his first British Grand Prix victory at Aintree in 1962, and another one at Brands Hatch in 1964 but the other three victories were at Silverstone.

So one would have to give the win to Jim Clark on paper.

But some may argue yes, that’s all well and good but who was the fastest driver and who really was the better driver?

Here again the stats speak for themselves. The all time list of fastest laps set during their respective careers gives us some clue because the tracks they drove on were the same during their eras. Graham Hill is 34th on the all time fastest laps set with 10 fastest laps in the Grand Prix races he drove in a 17 year career (1958-1975). Stirling Moss is 15th on the all time fastest - one position above Ayrton Senna - where he set the fastest laps in 19 Grand Prix races in his 10 year career (1951-1961). Jim Clark is 7th on the all time fastest laps set by a Grand Prix driver. He recorded 28 fastest laps in Grand Prix races in his 8 year short racing career (1960-1968). Only Mansell, Vettel, Prost, Raikkonen, Hamilton and Schumacher as 1st stand ahead of him. What makes Clark’s achievement staggering is that he was competing in an era where technology was in the Bronze Age compared to the modern marvels of technology, aerodynamics, and speed. It’s also worth noting all the other drivers had much longer racing careers than Clark did before his untimely death. At the 1968 South African Grand Prix - his last before his death in Hockenheim ring in Germany 3 months later - Clark won way ahead of the pack led by Graham Hill who came in second. He was comfortably on his way to another world championship with more records to be smashed.

Clark still holds the record of eight Grand Slam race wins - that is winning pole position, putting in the fastest lap, and leading every lap of a race to the win. Only Lewis Hamilton comes close with six and Schumacher and Ascari with five. He achieved this twice at the British Grand Prix in 1962 (Aintree) and 1964 (Brands Hatch). Again it needs to be emphasised that Clark did all this while driving in the most dangerous era of Formula One - The Killer Years - where death of drivers and lack of driver and track safety was all too common. This is simply astonishing.

Of the three, Jim Clark was the fastest. I think this isn’t just about stats it’s also the they way they drove that made all three such great racers. All three certainly had limitless courage that even now demands total respect and awe. In particular it’s breath taking watching old film footage of Moss driving his most famous and greatest victory of all was the 1955 Mille Miglia in which he covered 1,000 miles of open Italian roads at an average speed of 97.96mph in 10 hours, seven minutes and 48 seconds.

But the fastest doesn’t make you best of course. When it comes to judging who was the best I think what their peers and contemporaries thought of them counts a lot in coming to some conclusions as to who was the best driver.

Sir Jackie Stewart, three times world champion and a team mate of Jim Clark as well as friends with all three drivers, is worth listening to.

Many think that Graham Hill wasn’t the most natural driver. This isn’t said to slight him or doubt his abilities but to acknowledge his approach to driving. As Jackie Stewart said, “Whereas Jimmy [Clark], Stirling, to a certain extent myself, would drive around a car’s handling problem, Graham would fiddle with the car until it was right. Graham would take very different lines around a corner to others, and I know because sometimes I was following him.”

Sir Stirling Moss has echoed Stewart’s comments. “I’d go along with Jackie and say that Graham didn’t have a natural ability to drive a car extremely quickly. But having said that, when I was to choose a partner for a sports car race at say, the Nürburgring, I would always choose Graham because he was so reliable. Quick, but unlikely to do anything stupid.”

Jackie Stewart’s comment unearth one of secrets of why not only was Jim Clark the fastest but also the best of the three. Simply put Clark knew how to take corners and know when to brake.

It must be stressed that both Moss and Clark knew how to take corners and mastered the art of breaking to a level very few drivers reached whatever car they were driving.

Moss was certainly a pioneer in taking corners and knowing when and when not to brake. Moss - especially at his peak in the Lotus - would cut into the corner early and with the brakes on.

Most drivers run deep into a corner before turning the wheel. In this way a driver could complete his braking in a straight line, as is the standard practice and one everyone did and still do, before setting the car up for the corner. But natural drivers like Moss (and Clark) preferred to cut into the corner early and even with their brakes still on to set up the car earlier. In this way such drivers almost make a false apex because they get the power on early and try to drift the car through the true apex and continue with this sliding until they are set up for the next bit of straight. In other words, the result is a smooth line as you come out of the turn and race on at faster and more seamless speed.

Clark would take this to the next evolutionary step from Moss - also in a Lotus - as cars became more mechanically challenging to handle. Clark placed a big premium on braking. In his book At the Wheel (1964) he expounded on this belief, "The most important thing you can learn in racing: how to brake. Often, if I want to go through a given corner quicker I don’t necessarily put the brakes on any later than usual, but I might not put them on very hard, and take them off earlier. Where you are led into the trap is leaving your braking too late and having to run deep into the corner and brake at the last moment, you might certainly arrive at the corner quicker, but there is a psychological tendency to brake much harder than you need to and therefore over-brake."

A good example of this is looking at footage of the 1965 French Grand Prix in Clermont-Ferrand where Jim Clark won from pole position and set the fastest lap around this new track that no one had driven on before (see below)

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Fast forward to the 9 minute mark you will see all the top drivers of that era tackling a fast downhill left - unfortunately you don’t see Graham Hill, who had an off day and ended up 13th I think - but the point remains valid.

Jim Clark drives a Lotus in this 1965 French Grand Prix race and is bombing away from the rest of the pack as was his usual MO. The interesting thing to notice is the turn. Clark’s Lotus is 2-3 feet inside the painted white line as he turns into the corner. It’s really more of a smooth elegant sweep into the corner. Clark clearly turns in much more earlier with the brakes - as we now know - are lightly caressed. Clark smoothly glides through out of the turn as he disappears from view carrying crucial extra speed. Then the rest come and the difference is soon clear. Jackie Stewart’s BRM P261 car grazes the line and grappling with more understeer than he might have liked finds himself to the right of the dotted line when he comes out of the turn. The V8 Ferrari of the great John Surtees also grazes the line with a similar result. Dan Gurney’s Brabham BT11 car crosses the painted line and he pays for his aggressive stance by sitting cross the road’s dotted centre line. On this track at Clermont-Ferrand there were forty-eight corners in its five sinuous miles to perilously navigate and Clark using this MO had the nonchalant confidence and consistency as well as the driving artistry to increasingly pull ahead of the chasing pack to victory.

Analysing the Clark technique, Peter Collins (a former team manager at Team Lotus and Williams, and an avid Clark fan), who knows more about what makes great drivers than most, made a key observation, “His driving was incredibly fluid even in dramatic moments. Watching the first laps of various races you got a very strong impression that he was mentally more ahead of the car than was the opposition. Watching him leading at the ’Ring in 1967, for instance, the impressive thing was that there were no dead moments in transition from braking to turn-in, to throttle on. He was able to drive an understeering car in a four-wheel drift and judge the exits to perfection.”

Graham Hill, who was a good friend of Jim Clark’s as well as being a fiercely competitive rival on the track, knew better than most and so I shall let him have the final say on this. Hill in his penned eulogy to Jim Clark noted his mastery of taking the corner, “For a driver, the excitement of racing is controlling the car within very fine limits. It's a great big balancing act, motor racing. It's having the car broken away and drifting and doing exactly as you want it to do and getting around the corner as quickly as you can, and knowing that you've done it, and hoping that it is better than anyone else has done. You are aiming at perfection and never actually getting it. Now and then you say, "That's it. That's how I want to do that corner. Now beat that, you bastards." This is the essence of racing, and at this, Jimmy, in his era, was unsurpassed.”

A word must be said about the cars these drivers drove. Racing cars in that era were extremely fast but also extremely unreliable. One can only lament how many world championships Moss, Hill, and Clark would have won if not for some mechanical car failure that did cost them dearly. In the case of Clark, he agonisingly lost the world championships in 1962 and 1964 due to oil leaks in the final race both times.

Of the three Hill was the most technical, not surprising given that he started life with the Royal Navy as a technician specialist. When he was racing Hill took notes of every test, every practice, every race and how his car handled specific track conditions and setups. He was constantly on top of his mechanics with these early versions of telemetry and his expertise on engineering meant that the difference between mechanic and driver was nothing more than a grey area. According to some of the mechanics who worked with Hill, it was sometimes impossible to please him. Both Moss and Clark by contrast didn’t really bother with that side but rather they just jumped into the car and worked around the problems on the track relying on their natural flair and genius. That’s how brilliant they both were.

So how would Moss and Clark fare if they both had the same car and barring any technical issues. There are no certainties but they did both briefly overlap in their careers, as Moss was coming to the end of his and Clark was about to start his ascension. The race that most would point to is the 1961 South African Grand Prix. Stirling Moss was the undisputed world's best in 1961, pulling off some famous victories in inferior equipment, but Clark's performances at the end of the season showed that things were changing. Clark's Lotus Climax 21 car had beaten the slightly older Lotus Climax 18/21 model of Moss in the Natal Grand Prix earlier in the month, but the East London race stepped things up a notch. Clark was fastest in qualifying and started on pole position with Moss +0.2 seconds behind.

Both Clark and his Team Lotus team mate Trevor Taylor led the way at the start but but Moss was soon into second and took the lead when Clark spun avoiding another car. Now Clark charged, despite sustaining gearbox damage, lapping faster than his pole time, and Moss was powerless to stop him coming through to win."Moss pulled in behind Clark and tried to stay in his slipstream but could not keep up with Clark's fast and furious driving and fell slowly, but surely, behind," read Autosport's report. "Clark demonstrated that the world championship is no pipe-dream for him." Clark was a little more circumspect, though beating Moss was clearly a watershed: "I had the satisfaction of beating Stirling twice in two weeks, although, in all fairness, my car was newer than his," he wrote in his 1964 book, Jim Clark - At the wheel.

That Clark was being characteristically modest and magnanimous isn’t the main point to take away. The point is made by Colin Chapman the iconic genius behind Lotus who said of Clark, “when there was no mechanical trouble, Clark absolutely blew away the opposition. One prime example of that was the 1967 German Grand Prix when the Lotus was not an easy car to drive but still Clark got pole in it by a staggering 9 seconds. This also brought out another of Clark’s skills – to drive around problems. He was capable of driving a car with any given setup – he never asked to change the setup to make it to his liking, he went out on track and tried to make the car go faster by adjusting accordingly at corners, which was very easy for him as he had a very smooth driving style and it never looked like he was trying to muscle the car across the corners.”

Once Clark was in front he was almost unbeatable. No matter who you were or how good you were, Clark was quicker and relentless. It was almost game over once Clark took the lead and slowly pulled away from the rest. Graham Hill said in his eulogy to Jim Clark, “He was also particularly competitive, particularly aggressive, but he combined this with an extremely good sense of what not to do. One can be overthrusting—aggressive to the point of being dangerous. Well, this Jimmy was not. But he was a fighter, a fighter that you could never shake off. He invariably shot into the lead and killed off the others, building up a lead that sapped their will to win.”

This is one main reason with all things being equal, Clark would beat Moss and Moss would beat Hill. The really scary thing about Clark’s complete mastery of driving was what Colin Chapman said years later, "I think Jim never drove really 100% - he was so good, he didn’t need it to beat the others. Perhaps only in Monza 1967 he had the knife between his teeth...."

Moss is rightly celebrated as an icon of motor racing. Moss had a fantastic 15 year career on the track and just as importantly he had an even longer one off the track as the fantastic ambassador of Grand Prix racing. Moss lived to be 90 years old and he used that time to deservedly cement his legendary status as a Formula One great. He was a very charismatic and convivial personality. He is revered by contemporary drivers and racing fans because his presence was anywhere and everywhere. No racing event would be complete without the vintage stardust of the great Sir Stirling Moss. At Goodwood and at the RAC Club racing enthusiasts would mill around him and listen to his endless yarns. At race circuits during the Grand Prix season his presence in paddock would stop everything as racers and technical crew were in awe of him.

In contrast Jim Clark’s racing career was tragically cut short to a mere 8 years and yet he had achieved so much at the age of 32 years old. Arguably his death had the greater impact because it was more keenly felt by his peers and those within the racing world. So when he was killed by a puncture during the wet Formula 2 Deutschland Trophy race at Hockenheim on 7 April 1968, after his Lotus crashed into unforgiving trees by the side of the track, race drivers around the world felt death’s hand on their shoulder, and asked themselves, “If it can happen to Jim Clark, what chance do we have?”

The consequence of Clark’s death cannot be stressed enough. Clark’s death was the sacrificial blood price for the more modern era drivers to race with greater driver safety measures in place and safer tracks for spectators that these days we today take for granted. A lot of credit is due to Clark’s close friend and team mate, the great Sir Jackie Stewart, who at the risk of his own personal reputation, pushed hard for the racing world to take driver safety seriously. A lot of danger - and perhaps even the excitement - has been taken out as Moss used to say. But there is no question racing - whilst still relatively dangerous because of the higher speeds they are pushing for those micro margin of victories - is much safer than the dangerous era of Moss, Hill, and Clark.

So why isn’t he more well known or revered by the general public (as opposed to hard core racing fans and those within the racing world)? I suspect it was due to his shyness and aversion to publicity. Clark grew up on a Scottish farm and he was clear to many that this was his roots that he always returned to. While he couldn’t entirely avoid the glamour of the racing world with its hedonistic side effects of women, sex and fast cars - as personified by Graham Hill or James Hunt - Clark eschewed all that in favour of simple living on his Scottish farm. His only indulgence was an airplane that he used to piloted into race circuits in Europe - Hill could fly too and it cost him his life in 1975 in a tragic plane accident. Clark simply loved racing. The proud Scot was a gentleman with self-deprecating charm and modesty to match. He was simply a good and decent man revered by his own peers in his own time.

At Clark’s funeral, Jim Clark Snr, beloved father, confessed to Dan Gurney, a racing rival, that he was the only man his son had feared. Gurney, who died in January 2018, spoke of Clark thus: “It is certainly an honour to have had the opportunity to know him as a team-mate, a friend, and to have competed with him on so many memorable occasions. Jim whipped us so many times that we all sort of got used to it. Naturally, we didn’t like being whipped, but, it is probably a testimony to Jim’s integrity and stature among us, his peers, that we couldn’t help loving the lad in spite of it.”

Elizabeth ‘Widdy’ Cameron, whom Clark nearly married in 1960, and with whom he stayed close despite rising fame, said: “He was very shy. And he was a terrific gentleman. I didn't hear him say bad things about anybody. He was a good, good man and I hope everybody remembers that. He was very special.” Sir Jackie Stewart, the three time world champion and another great British driver, still sheds a tear when he’s asked about Jim Clark. The two Scots were close friends, and three years earlier when Stewart had arrived in F1, he played the Robin role to Clark’s undisputed Batman. “Jim Clark,” he says still, “was everything I aspired to be, as a racing driver and as a man.” When Jim Clark this humble man as a product of his upbringing on a Scottish farm in the Scottish Borders insisted that inscribed on his tomb stone would be, ‘farmer and world champion’.

Of course I never saw Moss, Hill and Clark race but I’m definitely in the camp that considers Jim Clark as not only the greatest British driver of all time but also arguably the best driver in the world of all time alongside that other most naturally gifted racer, Ayrton Senna. There’s not much to differentiate their greatness and genius.

It’s fitting that the final judgement of who was the best driver of the three should rest with their peers and contemporaries. Juan Manuel Fangio, the Argentine great is one of my favourite racers and one who is also considered one of the greatest of all time, said this about Clark in 1995: "He was better than I was - the greatest driver ever." Even the great Ayrton Senna when he went to Clark’s old Scottish boarding school, Loretto, confessed to the schoolboys, "After all - Jim Clark was the greatest driver ever."

The wonderful thing about arguing about who is the best with British icons like Moss, Hill, and Clark as examples is how the past can inspire the present generation of drivers to aspire to greater heights than the peers of the past. Who knows perhaps one day we will be talking about Lewis Hamilton or Max Verstappen in the same hushed tones of reverence and awe. Then as racing fans we should count our blessings that we can witness their special racing artistry on the track first hand while we can in the same way past generations were in awe of such special talents as Moss, Hill, and Clark.

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #grand prix #racing #driving #stirling moss #jim clark #graham hill #formula one #britain #british #sports

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starlightseb · 5 years

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life in the fast lane • dele

Word count: 1616

A/N: I wrote this piece a while ago and never really thought to publish it but I have reread it and actually enjoyed it so I thought I would share. fyi Flora is a completly fictional character who is a Formula One Racing Driver because we all want to live in a world where there is a female f1 racing driver 🤷🏽‍♀️

—

Dele nervously rubbed his hands together as his girlfriend, Flora, approached him wearing her brightest smile. She was ecstatic at the fact that her boyfriend was finally able to make it to a race weekend and watch her do what she loves most: racing.

Dele, on the other hand, was nervous about the whole situation. He had never been to a grand prix before, he had never even watched a full race until he met Flora. On TV, the cars were not as loud, as quick or as dangerous as they looked in real life.

Flora had just completed her first practice session of the weekend where she ran a few race and qualifying simulations before the real competition starts the next day. Dele watched on from his little area in the garage, joined by two or three other people who he presumed were the family of Flora's teammate. Every so often, he would hear the cars wizzing past the main straight. He winced every time he heard that noise, thinking of the speed that the cars were going at. His eardrums were beginning to ring with the noise of it all, especially when Flora's teammate came in to change tyres and the engine started again.

A middle aged man wearing the familiar blue uniform, approached him with a wry smile.

"You should probably put these on, otherwise your ear drums will be ruined by the end of the day." He offered Dele a pair of headphones, decorated with the brand of the racing team on them.

"Oh, thanks." Dele gratefully accepted them and noticed just how much more pleasant it was with the headphones on.

"You wanna come see the cars?" The man asked, noticing that Dele was trying to get a peek of the cars going down the main straight through the garage,

"Okay?" Dele nodded unsure if he really wanted to witness the 300mph cars hurtling towards a corner but he just had to see.

He followed the man across the pitlane and onto the pitwall where Simon- Flora's race engineer who he met earlier- smiled at him. Dele nervously returned the smile before turning to the gap in the pitwall. The man gave him an encouraging smile, which drove Dele on to take a peek through the gap.

A pink car, which was more to be described as a pink smudge as it wizzed past Dele, make the ground shake slightly as it passed. He looked at the man, horrified.

"Flora is just coming around the final corner." The man leant close and shouted in Dele's ear.

Dele whipped his head around quick enough to see Flora flawlessly take the final corner and start to accelerate towards the end of the lap. His heart hammered in his chest as all he could picture was her car carrying that speed into the corner following the straight and heading straight towards the barriers and tyres.

However, it didn't. Instead it slowed down significantly and turned into the corner and out of Dele's sight. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the timing screens above him. Flora's name stood proud at the top.

"Looks like you were her lucky charm." The man giggled next to him.

Dele laughed awkwardly but he felt sick. Sick with nerves. He didn't realise just how dangerous this sport was. Sure, he had seen all the crashes on TV and it did make his heart beat a little bit faster whenever Flora attempted to overtake someone on track but witnessing these cars today, made it real to him. This wasn't just something that was made for TV, this was real and it could seriously injure someone if they just kept going at that speed.

So when Flora stepped out the car at the end of the session, all in one piece and still top of the timing sheets, Dele sighed a sigh of relief.

She took some time to talk to her engineers and her teammate before approaching her nervous looking boyfriend.

"Hey." she smiled at him, placing her helmet under her arm.

"Hi." Dele replied, forcing a fake smile.

Flora narrowed her eyes at him, noticing how uncomfortable he was. Instead of questioning in front of everyone, she gently placed her gloved hand on his arm.

"You want to come with me to my driver's room? I need to change out of this stupid race suit." Flora offered. Dele simply replied with a nod and followed Flora behind the garage and into her small driver's, which was still a little messy.

"Fancy catching some lunch before my next practice session?" Flora asked after she closed the door and placed her helmet on the little desk in her room.

"Sure." Dele sighed as he sat on the sofa and hugged the pillow to his chest. He hated the fact that she had to go back into that death machine again. He didn't know if he could cope with another two hours of worrying if she was going to hit the wall or not.

"You sound distant. What's up? The engineers weren’t bothering you with car stuff were they?” Flora removed her racing gloves and began to undo the top of her racing suit.

"No, I don't think most of them even noticed me. I just didn't realise what it was like." Dele sunk further into the sofa, feeling vulnerable and stupid for being this sensitive over Flora driving a race car.

Flora turned around and wrapped the sleeves of her race suit around her waist and placed her hand on her hip. "Realised what?" she frowned at him.

Dele put his head in his hands. "I hated seeing you drive that thing."

Flora looked taken a back and hurt by his words. She opened her mouth to speak but Dele cut her off, noticing her expression and feeling guilty.

"No, not like that," he persisted, sitting up straight and clamping his hands together for emphasis. "The cars are so quick and I- I'm scared you are going to get hurt." he mumbled the last part, staring at the floor.

Flora's face immediately softened as she picked up her helmet and sat down next to her boyfriend.

"Del?"

"Yeah?" Dele hesitantly looked up and stared at her.

"Try and punch this." She placed the helmet on his lap.

Dele looked at it strangely, then at Flora and back to the helmet before lightly hitting it with his fist.

"Oh come on. I know you're weak but you can punch harder than that." Flora teased before slamming her own fist against it.

Dele copied her actions and winced in pain as the helmet caused him more pain than he did to it. There was no scratch, no dent, nothing on the helmet to suggest that he just punched it. However, his knuckles were already red.

"Did you just want me to hurt myself?" Dele asked with a smirk, rubbing his knuckles slightly.

"Well yes," Flora laughed and took Dele's now 'injured' hand and lightly ran over the red knuckles with her hand. "but also because I wanted to show you how strong my helmet is. I'm safe as long as I have my helmet on. And you see these?"

With her free hand, Flora pulled out her balaclava from her helmet and gestured to the dark blue fabric covering the upper part of her body.

"There are fireproof so even if my car goes up in flames I will be fine."

Dele's face dropped at the mention of her car going up in flames. "It can go on fire?"

"Only if something goes horribly wrong with the engine but I can get out the car in seconds and the marshals will get the fire out as quick as possible." Flora reassured him, bringing his knuckles up to her lips and lightly pecking them.

"But what if you do get hurt?" Dele frowned as he asked the question, bringing their intertwined hands closer to him.

"If I get hurt, the medical car is always on standby and ready to come out. They will be there as soon as they know I am hurt and they are highly trained professionals so I will be in good hands." Flora explained. Dele nodded in understanding, feeling slightly better than before.

"I'm sorry." he mumbled, hugging the pillow close to his chest again.

"No, I'm sorry. I should have talked you through all this stuff before you came here. My parents had the same reaction when they saw me drive in a F1 car for the first time, and they watched me drive in the lower formulas for years. I should have known it would have been a massive shock for you." Flora gently runs her hand down Dele's arm.

"I just don't like you being in danger. I want to pull you out of that car when you are in it and hug you so that you won't end up in the wall." Dele pounted as he crawled closer to Flora and wrapped his arms around her.

“Del, I wouldn't. I'm a bit sweaty." Flora laughed as she tried to pry his arms off of her.

"You hug me all the time when I'm sweaty after games." Dele mumbled into her hair.

"Only briefly, plus I need to get changed right now so I can relieve my hungry stomach." Flora chuckled, hitting Dele's arm so he would move.

"Fine." Dele sang, finally letting her go. Just as Flora goes to stand up, Dele manages to grab ahold of her arm again. "Only if I get to watch you get changed."

Flora turned and looked at him, unimpressed. "Can I have sad and worried Dele back please?"

#football imagine #footballer imagine #dele imagine #dele alli imagine #spurs imagine

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ilovejevsjeans · 5 years

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Interview: Why Ricciardo left Red Bull

On Friday August 3, Daniel Ricciardo surprised pretty much everyone associated with Formula 1 by announcing his decision to move to Renault in 2019.

The idea that Ricciardo could leave Red Bull had been a very real possibility for a while, but it was one that appeared to be shrinking after confirmation Mercedes would stick with Lewis Hamilton and Valtteri Bottas. And yet, just a few days before dropping the bombshell, Ricciardo did not know what he was going to decide.

Reflecting on the biggest decision of his F1 career to date, Ricciardo admits there were a number of options on the table that were appealing, two of which he hadn’t been expecting.

“I knew obviously the options had been squeezed down,” he tells RACER, recalling the last time he got in a Red Bull car at the Hungaroring before settling on the move “At that stage I knew Mercedes wasn’t happening and Ferrari as well, I knew that wasn’t happening. So I knew it was really between Red Bull, McLaren and Renault. I just wasn’t sure, really.”

When the decision was made, it caught many people out – none more so than Red Bull team principal Christian Horner, who had been expecting Ricciardo to sign a new deal that week. Inevitably, questions were asked and reasons were sought within the Milton Keynes factory, with the emergence of Max Verstappen and his subsequent contract extension – despite already having one that ran longer than Ricciardo’s – cited as a potential factor.

The Australian sees similarities to his arriving at Red Bull in 2014 and getting the better of four-time world champion Sebastian Vettel: the more established driver was faced with a younger teammate coming to the fore as a future team leader.

“I didn’t really ever see it as I broke whatever they had ,” he says. “I think the biggest thing for me that year was I achieved what I believed I was capable of, and that was the most gratifying thing for me.

“I’d never gone head-to-head with Seb, but I’d watch onboards and things like this, and I knew he was quick and I knew he was talented, but I was like, ‘I think I can do that, I really believe I can do what he’s doing’. So I wasn’t surprised when I was able to do it, but it was cool for me to prove to myself what I believed I could do.

“But I thought Seb handled it really well that year. I’m sure maybe behind closed doors he was showing frustration, but always with me, whether I won, or in races like Bahrain where I passed him, or Monza where we had a good battle and I passed him, he always came up and showed me the respect. He was like,: ‘Good battle, you fought hard and you were clean’ and he respected that. I’m sure it’s not the way that he wanted it to go, but…

“So I don’t feel like I broke the team up, so to speak, I think he just respected that I was bringing some heat. I think that was also a bit of a sign for him that it was his time to move on, and maybe I was the next guy to run with the team.”

Just as it had hoped to keep Vettel in 2015, Red Bull wanted Ricciardo to stay beyond last year. Negotiations had dragged on, and the team felt it had made all the concessions necessary to keep the 29-year-old happy. So had Red Bull really offered him everything he asked for?

“I don’t know, I guess it got close to what I wanted,” he admits. “There were a few things. What I was going back and forth with was, originally they wanted to do a two-year deal, and because I’d already questioned if I wanted to do another year there, doing two years… I was a bit concerned with me personally; with my motivation to still be there.

“I was just thinking if Honda doesn’t work, next year’s a year of frustration, then am I really going to want to do another year on top of that, or am I just going to get a bit over it? So initially the two-year thing was something that concerned me, so then it was like, ‘OK, let’s try and push for a one year’ and if the Honda works, great, we’ll extend it and whatever. Easy.

“But then one year felt risky. It felt like I wasn’t really achieving anything by signing a one-year. I don’t know, it just didn’t really add up. So what I thought I wanted, I didn’t really want in the end. So there wasn’t really anything for me. The two-year, for me, I didn’t really feel I wanted, and a one-year was like it puts me in this position again in 12 months time, and I don’t really want to be back in this position to be honest, because it’s starting to become a bit wearing.”

Turning his attentions to the remaining options, McLaren looked like a good fit to Ricciardo. By this stage, he knew he wasn’t going to get as competitive a car as he had been in for the past few years, but even so, recent form was hard to ignore.

“McLaren, as a group – I had a couple of meetings with them – and I thought they were really cool people,” he says. “Definitely as personnel I like them a lot. Not that I don’t like Red Bull or anyone else, but I had a really positive vibe with them. But obviously, they’ll admit it, they’re just not there yet, and it just seemed probably a bit too optimistic to go there at that point. So that kind of eliminated them.

“Then Renault we were kind of talking to a bit, and eventually it just kind of clicked for me and I was like ‘Alright, so it’s a works team, progress they’ve made is good, it’s two years and a solid deal’.

“I won’t lie, having Nico as a teammate is by no means a bad thing. I liked that idea. I’ve always rated him because I raced him as a junior and he was winning everything, basically, and I think his work with the team and experience in racing generally could help the team.

“I know he’s super-motivated because he has one statistic that not many people want, and that’s the podium-less one. Everyone knows he’s good enough for it. So he’s going to be motivated, me coming to the team is going to add motivation for him, but I think it can boost us and fast-track the progress.

“It just seemed like the right fit, and I was like ‘You know what? That’s it’. It got to that point as well where what I really felt I just need a change, and just to break the routine, really.

“It sounds weird, and people are like ‘How can F1 become boring or a routine?’, but I think it’s like everything. I’ve always been a kid who at school was jumping around and I was never really satisfied with what I was doing, I always wanted to do something else. I guess it got to a point now, being with the same team and the same people, I was like ‘Alright, I need something else now’. I get a bit antsy, I guess!”

Even now, the common view is that Ricciardo faces a major challenge to return to winning ways over the coming two seasons, based on Renault’s performance deficit to the top three teams in 2018. But drivers are human beings, and the seven-time grand prix winner admits his new workplace was chosen with 50% of his focus on performance, and 50% on a personal lifestyle decision.

“I think if it was completely personal then McLaren would have been as attractive as anyone,” Ricciardo says. “But there was still obviously a big chunk of performance there.

“The presentation and everything that Renault put forward, it seemed… We all know they’ve still got work to do with chassis and engine, but what they showed me, what they’ve done the last two years, when they put it on paper it all added up, and their trajectory seems realistic if that makes sense.

“It just seemed like it could work.”

(X)

#daniel ricciardo #dan

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thisdaynews · 5 years

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Hamilton wins sixth Formula 1 world championship at United States Grand Prix

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/hamilton-wins-sixth-formula-1-world-championship-at-united-states-grand-prix/

Hamilton wins sixth Formula 1 world championship at United States Grand Prix

Lewis Hamilton sealed his sixth world drivers’ title with second place in the United States Grand Prix.

The result means Hamilton becomes the second most successful F1 driver of all time – moving him to within one championship of all-time record-holder Michael Schumacher, whose tally of seven is now within his reach.

Hamilton failed in a valiant attempt to win the race by trying a different strategy to Mercedes team-mate Valtteri Bottas but that did not matter such was his points advantage.

Hamilton held off Max Verstappen for second as Bottas stroked to victory.

Hamilton had said before the race that he was not thinking of sealing the championship in Austin, Texas, only of winning the race, and he drove with the fierce competitive instinct that has defined his season and career.

US Grand Prix race results

Is Hamilton already the greatest ever?

How well do you know the six-time world champion?

Reaction to Hamilton’s sixth world title

His decision to run long, do a single pit stop and try to hold off his rivals at the end did not quite work out – Bottas passed him with three laps to go – but it was a drive befitting the towering achievement he was to secure at the end of the race.

Hamilton’s sixth title has also moved him clear of the legendary Argentine Juan Manuel Fangio.

“It’s just overwhelming,” he said. “It was such a tough race. Yesterday was a tough day. I really just wanted recover and deliver the one-two. I didn’t think the one-stop was going to be possible. I am filled with so much emotion. It is an honour to be up there with those greats.

“My dad told me when I was six or seven years old to never give up. I was hopeful I might be able to win but I didn’t have it in the tyres.”

Asked what he could go on to achieve in his career, Hamilton said: “I don’t know about championships but as an athlete I feel fresh as can be. We won’t let up, we’ll keep pushing.”

Hamilton has secured the championship with 10 victories out of the 19 races held so far this season, with two remaining in Brazil and Abu Dhabi.

A determined drive to seal the dream

Starting fifth on the grid after a poor qualifying session, Hamilton passed Ferrari’s Charles Leclerc for fourth at the first corner, and then made a brilliant overtaking move on the other Ferrari of Sebastian Vettel around the outside of Turn Eight, to run third behind Bottas and Verstappen at the end of the first lap.

Victory seemed at least a possibility for Hamilton, even given Mercedes’ usual approach of favouring the lead driver to ensure a race victory.

And Hamilton decided to give it a go by staying out when Red Bull pitted Verstappen on lap 13, and Mercedes followed suit with Bottas a lap later to retain the lead, their stops locking both into a two-stop strategy.

Hamilton’s task was now to run as long as possible on his tyres before his single stop and hope to have enough life left in his tyres when he rejoined to be able to defend.

Hamilton stopped finally on lap 24, giving him 32 laps to make it to the end on a set of hard tyres on a day when the rubber was wearing at a much higher rate than expected.

Bottas made his second stop on lap 25, one after Verstappen, and rejoined six seconds behind Hamilton, a gap he had 20 laps to recover.

It looked as if it would be easy, but Hamilton drove with control and skill to limit his losses, and it was not until the last five laps that Bottas was with his team-mate.

One passing attempt at Turn 12 failed on lap 51, when Hamilton ran Bottas wide on his outside.

Media playback is not supported on this device

Lewis Hamilton could surpass Schumacher record – Jenson Button

But a lap later, after Hamilton had been delayed by lapping Pierre Gasly’s Toro Rosso, Bottas used the DRS overtaking aid to ease past on the long back straight.

Hamilton’s hopes of victory were gone, but the title was still secure, and he had four laps left to defend against Verstappen, which he managed to do with help from a yellow flag that forced Verstappen to slow down, as the Red Bull finished on his tail.

Ferrari’s Charles Leclerc took a lonely fourth, the Italian car a long way off the pace, while Vettel retired from seventh place, after a sticky opening to the race, with a suspension failure after just eight laps.

Red Bull’s Alex Albon recovered from a first-lap pit stop following a clash with McLaren’s Carlos Sainz at the first corner to take fifth, ahead of Renault’s Daniel Ricciardo, McLaren’s Lando Norris and Sainz.

Driver of the day

Who else? Hamilton came so close to pulling off an unlikely victory but it was a champion’s race from the driver of the season – indeed, of his generation

What they said

Bottas, who went into the race with the faintest hopes of keeping the championship alive for another race, said: “Obviously big congrats to him. I personally failed with my target this year but he deserved it this year. He had some season.”

Verstappen added: “Very impressive. what else to say? He is doing phenomenally. He has a great team behind him. I just hope we can challenge them next year.”

What happens next?

Brazil in two weeks’ time. A historic race track in a fervent atmosphere and an edgy city. Nothing at stake, just a battle for honour.

A 14-year-old Lewis Hamilton was ushered into life in the fast lane as part of the McLaren driver support programme

Hamilton celebrated his first championship, won with McLaren in 2008, along with his brother Nick

Success on the track was quickly followed by adulation off it – never more so than at the British Grand Prix each year. Which Hamilton usually wins

Following a switch to Mercedes, Hamilton won his second drivers’ title in 2014

Five years later and Hamilton is celebrating his sixth title with a hug from Hollywood actor Matthew McConaughey

#states #United

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dotshiiki · 7 years

Text

CoL, chpt 8

I am so sorry I wanted to post this morning but my supervisor asked to change tomorrow’s morning meeting to today and I was instead scrambling to get everything in order for that and yeah, back to doing this while I’m having lunch, oh wells.

VIII: WILL

As their borrowed Ford Mondeo wound its way south, Will wondered what he'd gotten himself into.

It wasn't his first road trip. He'd taken many as a kid with his mom, back when she still did music tours. Most recently, he'd gone cross-country in Leo Valdez's camper-dragon from New York to New Rome. In terms of size and reliability, the car Annabeth had borrowed off her dad fell somewhere in between Naomi Solace's tiny Chevy (old and beat up, but incredibly dependable) and Leo's spacious but insane contraption (prone to—literally—flaming temper tantrums). It was one of those solid suburban models, great for a college professor and his family of five. Maybe a bit on the squeezy side with three grown boys in the back seat. It was just as well the Roman demigods had stayed behind. If Frank Zhang had been in the group, Will didn't think they would have fit.

Anyway, the car wasn't the problem.

It hadn't been so bad when Annabeth had been at the wheel, but then she'd traded with Thalia—who drove like a maniac, weaving in and out of traffic like an F1 driver negotiating a race track. Sure, they were in a hurry, but a little caution probably wouldn't be amiss.

On Will's left, Nico grumbled, 'I don't see why Jules Albert couldn't have driven us. At least he used to be an actual race car driver.'

'I heard that,' Thalia said.

Will considered Nico's zombie driver. He'd only encountered the dude once, but he remembered two things about him. One, the guy was really steady at the wheel. Two, you could smell his rotting corpse all the way from Olympus.

That might not have been such a great idea on a six-hour car ride.

'Well, I guess it would've been a bit of a squeeze with five of us as passengers instead of four,' he pointed out instead. 'You wouldn't wanna be squashed up all the way to L.A.'

'I don't want to die on the way to L.A., either,' Nico muttered. 'I could have shadow travelled.'

Will rolled his eyes. 'With all five of us? We've talked about this, Death Boy. Unless you've learned how to transport large groups on your own without dissolving into shadow, we're doing this the long way.'

Nico glared at him, though Will wasn't sure if it was targeted at his use of the hated nickname or the aspersions he'd cast on Nico's abilities.

Probably both. Not that Will cared. Nico was cute when he got mad.

On Will's other side, Percy had been staring out of the window with his chin propped on his hand, gazing at the sunset over the Californian mountains. Now he turned to watch them, his eyes darting between Will and Nico as he followed their exchange.

'Who's Jules Albert?' he asked.

'Long story,' Nico said.

'It's a long trip,' Thalia called back. 'You may as well spill.'

Will zoned out as Nico told them the story of his undead ex-F1 champion chauffeur. It was one of those tales that always made Will curious about the different parenting styles of the gods. You wouldn't imagine the Lord of the Underworld to be a concerned—albeit behind-the-times—parent, but there you had it.

Will's dad, on the other hand, was pretty much the opposite. Apollo was nothing if not current. You probably didn't get to be the god of music and poetry and that sort of stuff if you couldn't keep up on what was trending. On the parenting front, though, his record was more flaky: fickle with bestowing gifts (unlike Nico and his inheritance of a full spectrum of Underworldly powers, being an Apollo kid was like a lottery for godly skill) and attention (Apollo wasn't always great about remembering who his children were, let alone communicating with them). Though he'd been better since his enforced stint as a mortal. He'd even sent Will a birthday card when he turned eighteen, which might have been a first for any godly parent. The quest Apollo had recently undertaken must have given him a new appreciation for the trials his children went through.

Was about to go through, in Will's case.

In Tartarus.

What had he been thinking, volunteering for this quest? It wasn't like he had a ton of experience with this sort of thing. Sure, he'd played his part in two wars, but he wasn't one of the front runners for the dangerous quests. He wasn't Annabeth, leading a team of demigods on a heroic air/sea voyage. He wasn't Thalia, who'd basically signed her life away to hunt monsters for Artemis.

He wasn't Percy, hero of the Battle of Manhattan, saviour of Olympus twice over, a demigod with credentials longer than most minor gods, whom even Will's own father respected (and Apollo didn't hold that many people in high regard).

Percy, who couldn't remember why everyone admired him.

Thanks to a potion Will had administered—yeah, okay, it was to save his life—and maybe screwed up so that he was now dying slowly from an empousa's curse.

Annabeth blamed herself, but Will knew some of it had to fall on him, too. He was the healer, after all.

That was why he was here.

If Will were the jealous sort, he might have been concerned that Nico was with them, too. Will was fully aware of the crush Nico had once had on Percy. (Not that Will could blame him. He'd be lying if he said he'd never had at least one dream about those brilliant green eyes and roguish smile.) But jealousy wasn't really Will's style. He preferred to think of it as Nico accompanying him, helping him atone for his mistake.

Besides, Will was the one who had volunteered them both. It wasn't entirely selfish. There had been something in Nico's face that morning, a flicker of the shadow that never quite left his boyfriend's soul. Nico never spoke much about his time in Tartarus—not to Will, not to anybody. All Will knew was that Nico had been there at some point during the war, and judging from certain hints he'd picked up from Hazel and Reyna over the years, it hadn't been a walk in the park. But everyone seemed to think Nico had just shrugged it off and moved on by now.

Except recovery from a traumatic experience wasn't quite so straightforward. People often thought healing was always about getting better, but Will knew that there was always a part before, where you had to get worse. The same way a fever raged through the body to expel the germs inside, you often needed a psychological unravelling to dislodge a trauma. Will had seen it happen to Percy and Annabeth in the fall after the Giant War. He'd watched them go through the painful process of falling apart and coming back together.

Nico, on the other hand, seemed to have buried his time in Tartarus deep inside himself. Maybe his friends couldn't see it. But Will wasn't Camp Half-Blood's best healer in a century for nothing.

And that morning, Will had sensed Nico's need to tackle his demons, to face whatever he had encountered head on and beat it this time. He needed to return to Tartarus, whether he knew it or not. And Will would be damned if he let Nico do it without him.

Although he'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared shitless about what they might face down there.

To calm his nerves, he ran over the provisions he'd packed for their journey: nectar and ambrosia, naturally, but also all the specialised healing supplies he could get his hands on. A jar of Lemnian mud. A tincture of Moly. And of course, Gatorade, because Nico was bound to try something stupid at some point with his Death Boy powers.

It was nearly midnight by the time they pulled into West Hollywood, a time that seemed eerily apt for approaching the Underworld. The dark didn't seem to faze Annabeth, who navigated Thalia expertly through the winding streets.

'It was dark, too, the last time we were here,' she said, shrugging.

'That was what, ten years ago?' Thalia said. 'Your memory's insane!' Then she abruptly clamped her mouth shut. In the rear-view mirror, Will saw her biting her lip in consternation.

Annabeth frowned out the window as they passed the only shopfront still lit up, a crooked neon sign flashing 'CRUSTY'S WATERBED PALACE' over its door. 'Some things don't change much.'

Thalia pulled up by the kerbside of a black marble building with tall glass doors. Golden letters above them screamed 'DOA RECORDING STUDIOS.'

'We're here,' Annabeth said. She opened her door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The others hopped out as well. There was a sign on the building door that said:

VALET PARKING AVAILABLE CARS NOW ACCEPTED AS COLLATERAL

'What does it mean, collateral?' Percy asked.

'Payment for passage, probably,' Annabeth said. 'Though I'd like to get the car back to my dad eventually if possible.'

'We already blew up his car once,' Thalia said. 'What's another?'

Annabeth sighed. 'Let's just go.'

Inside the building, the hallways were lit with lava lamps shaped like ancient torches. Rows of plastic fold-up chairs lined the walls, all filled with dismal-faced people who looked like they might not be entirely solid. Bluegrass music belted out from a speaker box in the corner of the ceiling.

At the end of the hallway was the most ostentatious desk Will had ever seen. Made of polished mahogany and embedded with blood-red jewels, it stretched in front of a plain silver elevator with a single button: down. In an ornate armchair behind the desk lounged a man in an expensive Italian suit. He was kind of handsome, a bit like Nico, with his olive skin and finely chiselled features.

'Group of five?' he said. His accent was vaguely European. 'What was it, a car accident?' He pulled out an iPhone and brought up an app. 'No alerts from Thanatos. How many times do I have to tell Death to update me when he makes a delivery?' He swiped across the screen to a time display. 'Never mind—you'll have to wait. I have a crossing scheduled now.'

He shoved the phone back in his suit pocket. 'Tickets for crossing thirteen-oh-eight-one!' he announced to the room at large. Then he turned back to the five of them. 'Have your fare ready when I get back. Prices are on the chart.'

He indicated a sign on the wall, where a list of fare prices and timings were printed:

Standard passage—1 drachma; wait time: 10 years Expedited passage—10 drachma; wait time: 5 years

Shorter wait times by negotiation only. All bribes accepted.

Check PlutoXE for latest exchange rates.

Children over 12 pay full fare.

A bunch of ghostly people shuffled forward, tickets in hand. Most of them were pretty old, but Will thought he spotted at least one young face that looked vaguely familiar. Before the group could get to the lift, Nico stepped between them and the Italian-suit man.

'Hello, Charon,' he said, crossing his arms.

Charon did a double-take. 'Oh, it's you. Don't you have better ways of visiting your father than clogging up my ferry?' He looked suspiciously at Will, Annabeth, Percy, and Thalia. 'And which part of the no-living-allowed rule don't you understand, kid?'

When Nico still didn't answer, Charon said, 'Fine. They better pay up, though.'

Nico tapped his finger on the expensive mahogany desk and gave Charon a pointed look. 'Who helped you argue for your last pay raise with my dad?'

Charon sighed and shook his head. 'Okay, okay. This lot isn't going to be happy to be bumped, though. Celebrities,' he grumbled. 'Always so demanding.'

With a jolt, Will recognised the familiar-looking kid as an actor who'd OD'ed last summer. And some of the older faces in the group had that vague, seen-them-on-TV-but-can't-name-them feel of TV personalities from his mom's generation.

Charon sent the actor kid and four other spirits back to the waiting line, silencing their complaints with a threat to bump them further down the list if they gave him any more lip.

'And don't even think of changing the music channel when I'm gone,' he warned.

They filed into the lift with Charon and the rest of the celebrity group. As soon as the doors closed, they found themselves descending in the darkness, landing with a splash on the surface of a black river. When his eyes adjusted, Will saw that they were in a cavern lit by gemstones studded in the volcanic rock. The lift had expanded into a barge, which Charon poled towards a shore of black sand. He let them off on the beach at the bottom of a rising path that led up towards a foggy grey meadow.

'My next annual review is in a month,' he said to Nico.

'I'll keep it in mind.'

They hiked up the path with the other souls. At the top, they entered an enormous screening area like the kind you saw at airport security: a long winding line marked out by post-and-rope barriers, except the posts looked like they were made from femurs and the ropes from sinew. The end of the line split into ten security checkpoints, all manned by ghouls in pale green uniforms. They were frisking the spirits that passed through the metal detectors, except at a smaller, separate line on the end marked 'EZ DEATH', where the spirits passed unmolested.

'They've…upgraded,' Annabeth noted.

'Luckily for us,' Nico said. 'Come on.'

He led them to the other side of the rope-barrier line, where a roped-off channel had been marked out 'SECURITY PERSONNEL ONLY'. Nico lifted the barrier and they all ducked under it. The nearest security ghoul turned to them, but when he saw Nico, he gave a sharp salute and returned to his duties.

As they got closer to the entrance marked WELCOME TO EREBUS, Percy yelped and stepped back, treading painfully on Will's toes. A moment later, Will saw what had startled him and nearly jumped out of his skin himself. An enormous three-headed Rottweiler had appeared out of nowhere, so big that it spanned the entire row of checkpoints.

'Cerberus,' Annabeth said.

Three heads leaned towards her, their tongues lolling out. Will ducked to avoid being splattered by monster dog drool.

Cerberus's tail wagged. One of the heads barked. It was deafening, but it sounded…joyous. Another dog head made a low, pleading sort of whine.

'He…does he remember me?' Annabeth said in amazement.

Nico shrugged. 'Possibly.' He raised his hand to scratch Cerberus's left head. The dog was so big, it was unlikely that Nico's small hand could have made any difference, but Cerberus seemed to be pleased by the attention nonetheless. Annabeth copied him on Cerberus's right head. The middle one whined and gave Will a hopeful sort of look.

Will hesitated. Pat the monster guardian of the Underworld? Well, sure, why not. In some weird way, it was kind of like visiting his boyfriend's home and meeting his pet dog.

After passing Cerberus, they followed Nico through a gigantic field filled with glassy-eyed spirits. These parted naturally before Nico, leaving them an open path to walk through, but closed the gap behind them once they passed.

'Is anyone else as freaked out as me?' Percy whispered.

Will nodded. It was like being in a crowded room at an insane asylum: every spirit chattering away to itself with no apparent awareness of anyone else.

'Well, it's not the first time we've been here,' Thalia said.

'Don't tell me.' Percy sounded resigned. 'I've been through this before and I just don't remember.' He turned to Will. 'I would've thought this wouldn't be your first time, though.'

'What makes you think that?'

'You're dating Death Boy here, aren't you?'

'Don't call me that,' Nico said sharply, shooting Will a look that said plainly, This is all your fault.

'We haven't actually done the meet-the-parents thing,' Will said.

'Sure we have,' Nico said. 'I've met yours.'

Just as he said this, they reached the gates of a magnificent palace built of glittering obsidian. It was silhouetted against a backdrop of craggy volcanic mountains. Its grounds stretched across the Fields of Asphodel to reach the edge of the only bright spot in the gloom: a gated community surrounding a tropical island. A low parapet made a ring around the palace grounds, marking out the sector of the Underworld that was Hades's personal territory.

Standing at the edge of it, Will was reminded of the first time he had brought Nico home to Schoharie and they'd stood in front of his mom's tiny house. Nico had given him a terrified look, like a caged animal about to be led to slaughter. 'Are you sure about this?' he'd asked.

'Relax—it's just my mom,' Will had reassured him. 'She'll like you.'

Looking at the black obsidian palace, he imagined the situation in reverse. It didn't match, though. You could fit ten of Will's houses into the courtyard of this palace. And Hades wasn't just Nico's dad. What demigod wouldn't have a healthy amount of respect, if not fear, for the Lord of the Dead?

Then again, that kind of applied ot all the gods. And Nico had met Apollo, though the fact that the god had been a mortal kid barely a year older than Will himself at the time probably reduced the intimidation factor.

Nico seemed to sense what Will was thinking. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. 'Maybe I should invite you over to stay. See how you like meeting my parents. Fair's fair, right?'

'Ha ha.'

'Seriously, I do have a room there.'

'Let me guess, decorated with skulls and stuff?' Will said dryly.

'How did you guess?' Nico shrugged. 'My dad thought it was funny. I think. Hard to be sure, with him.'

'Guys,' Thalia said, 'back to the quest? You can get past the meet-the-parents hurdle when we make it back. If we make it back.'

Annabeth pointed to a path leading off to the right of the palace gates. 'That way, isn't it?'

'That would be the shortcut, yet,' Nico said, his face sober again. The shadow of Tartarus flickered across him again. He looked like he had more to say about the route, but he just pressed his lips together and started down the path.

It led into a dim tunnel that smelt of earth and minerals and something else that Will couldn't quite put his finger on. It reminded him of the smell of ancient magic, the way the soil of Lemnos, with its healing properties, gave off a different scent from commonplace mud. The tunnel narrowed and sloped downwards. The air took on a chilly, metallic quality. Will could smell iron in the walls now, like they were made from the blood-soaked earth of a battlefield or the stones of a sacrificial altar.

They emerged into a dark cavern. The path beneath them sloped steeply towards a sharp drop-off: a cliff overlooking a pitch-black chasm. The whole cavern churned with a deep, coercive magic. It snaked out of the chasm and wound itself around Will, a compelling force drawing him to the edge like it was a magnet and Will a hapless steel nail.

'Do you guys feel that?' he whispered.

Annabeth shivered. 'It's Tartarus. The pull—once it latches on, you can't break free of it.'

'Like running from a black hole.' Nico's voice was hollow and echoey in the cavern. He stared down into the chasm and then turned to Will. The dim glow of the stalactites cast eerie shadows across his pale face. A thousand nightmares played in his eyes.

Will reached for his hand, although he wasn't sure if it was to offer Nico some comfort or take some for himself. Nico's fingers were trembling and even colder than usual.

'Well,' Thalia said, 'we do want to go in now, so…'

As if an unspoken signal had passed among all of them, they reached for each other's hands at the same time. And then, linked in a tight circle, they jumped.

A/N: I realise the layout of DOA recording studios is not quite in keeping with the canon description in Lightning Thief, but where’s the fun in repeating the books? Let’s just say Charon redecorated a little. All those pay raises must have gone somewhere, right?

Continue to chapter 9 | Back to content page

#pjohoobigbang2017 #pjohoobigbang #curse of lethe #percy jackson #annabeth chase #thalia grace #will solace #nico di angelo #charon #solangelo #percy jackson fanfic #pjo fanfiction #hoo fanfiction

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