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totothewolff · 5 months

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Grand Prix Elite Academy (1/10)

+18 | professor!Toto x reader fem!student!driver, sewis, carlos x reader, collegue au

Summary: Your life turns 180 degrees after receiving your acceptance letter for the Grand Prix Elite Academy, the most exclusive and prestigious Formula One college designed to shape the future drivers of the motorsport world. You will try to navigate your new life among the Monaco elites, survive the campus dynamics and rivalries between the university faculties, and try to win this year's cup to beat an undefeated Mercedes while trying to befriend your eclectic driver classmates, join the wild Red Bull parties, have a couple of make-outs under the racing circuit benches, lose your v-card and get over that stupid crush you have on professor Toto. Will you make it alive to graduation? Drive to Greatness! Genre: Romance, smut, and comedy. Author's note: This is a Formula One college AU fanfiction set in an elite academy in Monaco, where the F1 Teams are Faculties, their Team Principals are professors, the FIA is the college board, and all the grid drivers are your classmates. You are accepted under a scholarship program that supports young, talented girls, having lots to catch on to after years of putting your racing dreams on hold and becoming the new girl in class, which is always challenging, especially when all of you share one campus. Masterlist: All chapters here

Chapter 1: Hi, Society

"Everyone who lives in Monaco is filthy rich."

Well, that's a half-lie that people say; the working class also lives there - and the families of the people who work for the rich - just on the outskirts of town near the border with France.

Yours is one of those: a middle-class family of three (you, dad, and your dog). So, a chunk of your day goes to commuting downtown to attend school and help with the auto parts shop, your family-run business.

You had the misfortune (now you call it that!) to have been raised by a hardcore motorsports madman in what you consider one of the most F1 households of all time in the most F1 city in the world.

That madman is your dad, a middle-aged man who is apparently good-looking (judging by the attention he gets from female customers; okay, he is in shape; you get that part) but has remained single for the longest time.

He is a hard-working mechanic who invested all his inheritance in opening an automobile repair shop and a twin business, an auto parts and components store located on the same street, which seems logical.

You are one of those households that loves everything related to cars and motorsports, a trait you inherited in your cells from birth.

Yes, yes, you are a "daddy's girl." It's embarrassing, but he's your hero.

Thanks to him, you were that "weird" little girl at elementary school who could name all the parts of a car's engine and their exact functions. By high school, you could explain the mechanics and physics behind a motor, and you were able to repair and customize cars and motorbikes by your senior years.

Daydreaming was a fundamental part of your childhood and still is, but nowadays, the therapist calls it MaDD or trauma coping.

Back in the day, you loved sneaking into the driver's seat of any expensive sports car the clients took to the workshop for repair. You imagined it morphing into a racing car as you drove it to high speeds on a race track.

Of course, you always ended up winning the Grand Prix! And that fantasy lasted until either one of the mechanics or your dad got you out of the unit.

By the time you turned eight, your family made an effort to take you karting. It's costly, way more complex than you expected, and also heavy on the body!

You always ended up exhausted after practice or racing, but you didn't care because you were killing the game, impressing people along the way, and winning piles of trophies!

After several years of success, you got sponsored and made it to Formula Renault, where you winning was also a regular thing.

Then, you continued to Formula 4, where you started to succeed, too. By that point, you were utterly invested in your racing career, working hard to make your dream come true and make your parents proud.

But that sad September, your mom got sick.

After her passing, nothing was quite the same, and your racing dreams got buried along with her, leaving you and your dad an emotional and financial wreck, with a lot of debt in the bank due to her treatments.

"Time heals everything,"

That's another half-lie people tell.

You never get over a loss of that kind, but you learn to live your life the best way possible and try to find joy after it.

So, as you go through your teen years, you feel as if your life is starting over, as someone else has lived your past.

You choose to help more with the family business after noticing your father is tired and stressed every day and wanting to be there for him.

You take full responsibility for running the auto parts and components store. After school, you go there, and that's where you practically live.

The shop is in an old part of town; it used to be a cheap neighborhood, but it's not anymore, still not the most luxurious town area, but the location is excellent.

As the business grew, the shop underwent several remodels - more like improvements - made by your uncle Marco (your late mom's brother), your godfather, who works in construction.

The store is now bright, clean, and organized. It has tall white walls with blue accents (the ones you helped paint), a neat grey polished concrete floor where you can almost watch your reflection, and pendant lights in the ceiling over the aisles full of product racks. Several pennants and large posters give the place character.

Most of the time, you are behind the long counter with the cashier and computer by the entrance, where you run the stock, attend customer payments, do your homework, and watch Netflix (on slow days).

Next to you is always your dog - with his bed and bowl - and behind you is an entire wall of shelves with premium products.

The store's most recent and exciting acquisition is a new set of automatic slide doors and a large welcoming rug with the business logo.

God! How boring is your life?!

Still, you are grateful for those; before that, on busy days, you wanted to tear your ears off at the nonstop sound of the bell atop the door.

The store is at the corner of the street, and the large workshop is two buildings away across the road.

Both are different from your usual mechanic's spots; yes, there is still oil in some parts, but this is Monaco, after all! If you want to attract clients in this city, you must look nice.

Your dad lives and breathes at the workshop.

Your household is one of those that leaves the family home very early in the morning and returns at night to sleep.

As things get financially healthier again, your dad and godfather work hard to renovate the shop's attic slash old storage space into a tiny apartment for you.

It's a simple but cozy open-floor concept: a one-bedroom with a kitchenette and counter bar for two stools, a sitting area with a bulky love seat and a TV.

Your desk is next to the bay window facing the street, which offers a sky view, making this your favorite spot to study.

A queen-size bed with a nightstand completes the space, along with the door leading to the world's tiniest bathroom.

You love this rabbit hole so much.

Your dad and godfather allowed you to choose the style of decor and furniture (you went for minimal and boho), and now you love this place more than your actual home (a more spacious two-and-a-half-bedroom apartment with a small balcony nearer the mountains).

As you grow older and reach legal age, you start doing everything at the shop by yourself, saving the money spent on extra hands.

From cleaning to stock control, acting like a sales lady and the store influencer, posting social media content, updating the website once you convinced your dad to sell online, and taking care of your dog, now the business mascot.

People love him! He always gets pats on the head from customers, and some return just for him. He is a lazy old basset hound named "Diesel."

You must ensure that Diesel wears his bandana with the shop's logo daily, as it is his official employee uniform. He is your childhood dog, and the idea of losing him makes you anxious.

By this point in your life, you speak fluent "mechanic" which should be considered an entire language, thanks to growing up surrounded by them.

Depending on the photo, you may smile or laugh when you open your childhood photo albums.

There are many pictures from your birthday parties held at the workshop. In them, you appear surrounded by alpha males with tattoos, beards, and muscles wearing girly birthday props as you blow the candles off a Barbie-inspired cake or whatever was trendy with girls back then, with the entire place usually decorated in glittery pink party decor.

That's your life in a nutshell.

Nowadays, since you are a full-grown woman in their eyes, they act overprotective of you, especially when a boy your age tries to flirt with you while buying something with their parent's credit card.

But they get it so wrong! You don't recall when or how, but you started to get attracted to men, not boys, older men.

That middle-aged group of guys that make you beg, "Please run me over with your sports car," as you stare at them driving as they pass across the store's big windows facing the street.

You love the roaring sound of the engine, but you love the view of the handsome man driving it even more.

Still, it's just a fantasy; those guys are completely out of your league, and well, you haven't had a social life, not even a suitor in all these years, and you have never had a boyfriend. Maybe it's your shy nature or your looks that you feel so insecure about.

In the last couple of days before graduation, many universities show up to promote their college programs in a sort of Open Day.

You avoid the Grand Prix Elite Academy people like they have the plague, knowing that's a dream you can't afford.

And they know it, too!

You can tell by the look the extremely hot model-looking Student Affairs ladies give you when you succumb to the temptation to get closer to their stand.

You nervously step in front of them without saying a word and leave after they rudely and unwantedly hand you a brochure with all the information about the program, tuition, and more.

They both look annoyed at their employers for making them attend a school without potential clients.

You remove your shoes and drop your backpack on the floor when you arrive at your loft. As you get cozy on the bulky, puffy couch, you muster the courage to read the brochure.

"Grand Prix Elite Academy is the ultimate path to success in the world of motorsports.

Our program is an exclusive Formula One college degree designed for aspiring drivers who dream of pursuing a career in professional racing.

This program offers unparalleled training and mentorship from seasoned professionals, personalized coaching from world-class racing experts, access to state-of-the-art facilities and cutting-edge simulators, and networking opportunities with industry leaders.

This degree aims to cultivate the skills and mindsets of future champions. It's the ultimate platform for developing the aptitudes, knowledge, and connections necessary to reach the pinnacle of motorsports.

Drive to Greatness. Race with us."

After reading the entire brochure a hundred times and eyeing all the pictures, subjects, and prices attached, you can't help but cry until you fall asleep.

After several texts to your number, getting no reply, and two missed phone calls, your dad goes up to the shop's loft to look for you, now worried.

The day is over, and you two should head home soon to avoid traffic. He always texts you when it's time to leave, and you rush down to the shop's exit to get in the car.

As he approaches the sofa to wake you up, he notices the GPEA brochure on the floor next to you and places it inside his leather satchel.

He doesn't mention anything to you about it at dinner or later.

The summer break begins, and soon, you will become a college freshman.

You applied for several engineering college programs within your budget, in town, or nearby.

You still want to work at Formula One, and if you can't get a driver's seat, you aim for a team's chair.

You have been nervous the entire week, knowing the acceptance letters will soon arrive. You are crossing your fingers they aren't rejection ones.

You get accepted in three out of four!

A part of you expected a positive outcome since you have always been a nerd with good grades; plus, you felt you scored the admission tests and nailed the interviews.

However, when the postman appears at the store again, you look at him perplexed as he hands you a fancy and unexpected additional envelope.

It's good your dad is having lunch with you at the counter at that exact moment to clarify your doubts.

—What is this?! —your voice goes all high as you walk fast and nervously to him, showing him the Grand Prix Elite Academy logo stamp on the envelope.

—Listen, don't get mad at me —your dad puts down the fork and stops eating for a moment to face you. —Wait to get your hopes up high yet —He starts to calm you down, noticing how you are hyperventilating now. —Read it first.

—WHAT?!!

—Y/N, breathe, easy...

You tear the envelope with shaky hands and quickly scan the letter's content.

—AH! —a funny scream comes out of your mouth, and you look at your dad with wide eyes before pushing him into a tight hug, a bit brusquely. —I GOT IN! I GOT THIS YEAR'S SCHOLARSHIP!! —you fucking can't believe it. —BUT HOW!?!!

—I applied for you, well, I pretended to be you; I disliked being an annoying girl —he rolls his eyes at you, joking. —After that, I sent the board an email explaining our situation; as your father now obviously —he looks a bit embarrassed at his confession. —It's good that I documented your entire and promising racing career. I know how important this is for you. I'm sorry that we cannot afford it on our own. I know you have the talent and deserve that scholarship more than anyone! Thank God they went all charity on your ass!

You laugh, and happy tears run down your face. Your dad hasn't seen you this happy, not since mom...

—OH GOD!

—What?! —your dad's heart skips at your words.

—It says I must register ASAP for the virtual classroom since I didn't attend the in-person summer program. Jesus! I just got in, and I'm already behind! —you rush to the computer, and before logging in, you say: —Dad, I love you; you have nothing to apologize for!

As the countdown to the start of the academic year goes on, your nervousness levels increase.

You get more hysteric each day, and your dad already regrets his actions.

Billions of thoughts cross your mind daily: What if they don't like me? What if I end up failing? Am I good enough? What I'm going to wear? This attire list is so pretentious. What's a smart-casual look? I don't own any gowns!

OH GOD!

A heavy box arrives at the shop by mail.

It's your welcome package to the academy. Inside, you find a gorgeous and expensive-looking varsity jacket, the college's cashmere sweater, and many more branded items.

It also contains an extensive list of things you need to do before the start of the year, instructions for your first day, and a textbook of rules.

Your scholarship sponsor is WomanOne, which supports girls around the globe in completing their college degrees.

You feel so empowered that you swear to do your best and conquer the game!

Your grades and performance are crucial for them, so you must win the most Elite Cup races you can.

Two days later, another envelope arrives; this time is an invitation for the Homecoming Gala; the paper feels fancy as fuck!

The event is scheduled two nights before the start of the course, and it's mandatory, which you find hilarious.

You have never been obliged to attend a fancy party before.

A few days later, a push notification informs you you have two new DMs on the GPEA app (the official college app they requested you to download and register on).

After filling out and completing the procedures to set up your profile for the driver's market, the Ferrari and Aston Martin principals want to interview you on the virtual platform since you now appear available to be picked or to apply for a faculty slot.

Shit is getting real!

—She looks too sweet for this brutal land; I hope she survives here —Lewis says as he leans closer to peek at Sebastian's iMac screen.

They volunteered at the Student Affairs Department this year to obtain the mandatory extra credits. Well, Sebastian applied for the job and dragged Lewis along, as usual.

As they both look at the student picture you upload on the platform; then, Seb starts to copy out your data to print your access badge.

—Is she on the market yet?

—Yes. All the faculty principals have received her profile, but so far, only Ferrari and Aston have booked an interview with her. She applied to join the McLaren faculty, though.

—Interesting. So, no words from Zack?

—Not yet. You know how it is, my dear scholarship king. Y/N looks really promising. Are you feeling nervous about it? Now someone wants to take the full scholarship prodigy title away from you —Seb teases.

—By this rookie, you wish! —Lewis tenderly slaps Sebastian's face, a bit sexual still. —Everyone is after my titles anyway, as well as my sexy good looks. Are you feeling nervous about it?

—You wish! She doesn't have what I give you —it's Seb's turn to state; that light touch was enough to turn him on.

—Oh, please, could you remind me what you give me? —Lewis teases, a bit aroused.

—Oh, I can show you —Seb gets dangerously close to him, slowly pushing him against the office desk.

You are so grateful the full scholarship covers the on-campus living fee and secures you a dorm room.

The GPEA is so far from your house that commuting there would be a nightmare. Thanks, Google Maps, for the info!

Now you know you have to leave tomorrow with time to spare to be on time for the Homecoming Gala.

That night, you struggle to fall asleep. It's the anxiety about tomorrow's party. You pray to God that somehow you fit in.

As the moonlight dances upon the glistening waters of Monaco's coastline, the college's luxury campus emerges with opulence.

Tonight, the GPEA is hosting the most glamorous Gala to mark the commencement of a new school year; to your eyes, it's a scene of total excess and splendor.

Nothing as you have seen before!

Party lights dance and illuminate the facades of the campus buildings, casting vibrant and cool designs on the walls.

The garden's magnificent palm trees sway gently under the warm Mediterranean breeze, their leaves aglow with the enchanting hues of the illuminations.

The campus's modern architecture, a seamless blend of money and elegance, looks like an oasis adorned with meticulously manicured gardens, flowers, and fountains.

The soft sound of water cascading brings a sense of tranquility amidst the muffled DJ's set music coming out of the celebration.

As you are about to reach the building entrance, you notice the long parade of the most luxurious cars, gracefully chauffeuring guests who descend with elegance, sporting breathtaking gowns from renowned designers and dapper men wearing impeccably tailored tuxedo suits.

This homecoming Gala looks straight out of Gossip Girl.

As you step onto the red carpet, you can feel the electric buzz, radiating a contagious energy that sets the exhilarating tone for the party.

It looks like it is going to be a wild night.

And you are correct. The clinking glasses of champagne get louder as the evening progresses, and the party ensues.

The crowd consists of beautiful, fit, and effortlessly stylish students exuding an air of confidence and superiority.

Despite your striking look in a fancy dress, you can't shake the feeling of being an outsider among the elite.

As you move around in the ballroom with a glass in hand, you notice a figure that stands out: Toto Wolff, wearing an impeccably Brioni tuxedo and exuding charm and charisma.

His striking features, towering height, and muscular body immediately command your attention. Your gaze draws towards him, entirely captivated by his physical features and confident presence among the sea of people.

You can't help but stare at him; he is pure eye candy.

"So, this is what genuine attraction feels like?" you think.

You go all red when you notice a stunning set of clear eyes are watching you, lusting for Toto.

—No worries. It's the usual reaction Toto gets. We've all been there, I guess. I'm Leandra de Vries! I'm a Ferrari somophore —a stunning, lean girl with legs for days and perfect hair greets you.

Wow, that's having a face card! Her nose is to die for, and Jesus, those eyes! She looks tan, and her "gold" skin is silky and shiny.

"I need to moisturize!" you think instantly, comparing yourself.

—I'm Y/N Y/LN —you quickly add. —That's a beautiful dress, Leandra!

—It's vintage Dior; they don't make them like this anymore —she shows you her breathtaking embroidered gown, extending her long, athletic leg. —You look good, even with that thing you are wearing! No offense; you better get used to these kinds of comments. Let's say this place requires thick skin; my advice: never take it personally.

—Oh, thanks, I guess?! —you both laugh.

—Is it from Zara? —Leandra comes closer to whisper to your ear, curious and disgusted at the time, but with comedic timing.

—Yes! —you answer, holding a giggle.

—Oh god! Please remind me to get you in my wardrobe; I have a couple of pieces you so desperately need —she smiles at you and intertwines her right arm with yours.

—Please! —you beg and smile at her.

—Let's walk around! —she invites you.

So far, you like Leandra. Although she may look like a mean girl, she is well-intended, empathic, and honest. She doesn't hold back, and that's your type of person.

She tells you she got transferred here from the Italy campus the year before - after her older brother passed away in that polemic crash at Monza, and because her parents wanted to start fresh, trying to run from what happened - she states it was tough for her to settle in and be accepted here.

She also explains that the social circles here are very airtight, so she wants you to experience something other than what she went through.

—This place loves gossip, and you are the talk of the moment, "the charity baby who got the Lewis scholarship" —Leandra lets out like it was a bother, almost rolling her eyes while walking you to the bar area.

—So that's the new "Charity Baby"? She's cute!

—Where!? —Lando pops his head behind Oscar after his comment.

—There, with Leandra —he points.

—How does that woman get even hotter each year?! Fuck, she looks so fuckable in that dress! —Lando undresses Lea with his eyes.

—Getting an erection this early on? That's a new record for you —Max jokes, staring at him.

Leandra starts to lead you both in their direction. The group is gathered around the large velvet sofa in the fancy sitting area near the bar.

When you two arrive at their side, you overhear George leading the conversation.

—She is still out of your league, mate —George mocks him. —But how did it go with Arabella?

—Oh, she was delicious; I fucked her in the gym's pool. Her ass feels terrific! —Lando lets them know the gossip.

—Arabella is the blonde with the great tits? —Max inquires.

—No, no, that's the Mercedes girl, the one I fucked in the library.

—And you also fucked the librarian.

—And the trainer's assistant.

—And the Human Resources lady.

Everyone keeps adding.

—Better be getting ready for Lando's disappointing dick game —Carlos jokes with you as soon as he notices you standing there in complete silence and addressing you for the first time.

Everyone turns their head towards you.

You go all red.

—I mean, if you want, I'm available tonight —Lando shoots his shot, shamelessly flirting with you and reaching for your hand.

—And welcome! —Sebastian jokes from a distance, comfy wrapped in Lewis's arms on the sofa.

—Lando, you fuck everything that breathes —Yuki states impressed.

—It's cus' I got dick game, to Carlos' jealousy.

Out of nowhere, you notice Lance standing right to your left. —I heard you are working class and got here under a full scholarship like Lewis did. Is that true?! —Lance inquires, curious and with a sweet voice, but his wording is not the best.

—Yes, I'm from a middle-class family —you shyly reply. —We own a car repair workshop, and I work there.

Lance's face looks amazed. Sebastian notices his and your expressions and doesn't waste time.

—Lance, you can't ask people that! You know some people work for a living? God, you are so out of touch! Excuse him —Seb joins in.

—Yeah, unlike you, the people's people —Lewis mocks Seb, pointing at him and roughly combing his hair, then Lewis gives you a "these guys" face and winks at you. —They don't mean it —Lewis lets you know. —Welcome, welcome! I'm L-

—Lewis Hamilton, yes, I know, you are a legend —you look at him in awe.

He is the only one who gets it, who gets you.

He is as rare as you. His family famously worked their butts off to get him here before he got offered a full scholarship like yours and became the scholarship program and the GPEA prodigy.

No one has won more trophies and cups in the history of the college than him.

Mercedes already hired him as their reserve driver and offered him a contract as the future of their F1 racing team, the most expensive deal ever for a rookie. They are just waiting for Michael to retire.

After lots of chatting, dancing, joking around, and getting to know a bit of everyone in that little group, Principal Zack reaches you. —Miss, Y/LN. Can we have a word, please?

—Of course! —you interrupt your conversation with Oscar and go to him.

After walking around and casually chitchatting a bit, he informs you: —I appreciate your request to join our faculty, but unfortunately, it's impossible for us now. We noticed your career resume has a long hiatus, which puts you behind our other candidates. However, we will closely watch your performance this year, and maybe you can ask again next year —Zack politely kills your dream to drive for them momentaneously. —You have a promising future, you are talented, and I wish you the best.

—Oh, bummer! But I understand, sir. I will do my very best!

You make it back to the group, but since they love to dish, they all were observing the scene from afar and interpreting your expressions, betting their money wasn't good.

—And? —Yuki asks.

—Not McLaren.

—I'm sorry, it's their loss! —Mick comforts you. By far, he is the most kind and polite of the bunch. It must be tough to grow up under his dad's shadow; maybe that's why he is so empathic with the outcasts.

—I haven't heard from Aston or Ferarri after my interviews either —you look slightly concerned now.

—Give it a time —Seb reassures you.

—Oh god, it's too early to endure a Masi speech. No one is drunk enough yet! —Lewis cuts the chat, looking straight at the man getting up on the fancy and tech stage, lit out under professional lightning; a massive state-of-the-art Samsung screen is behind him, showcasing the academy and its sponsor's logos.

—Does anyone feel like powdering their nose in the bathroom before the speech begins? —Carlos offers.

—Count me on, babe! Do you want to join us? Being high as a kite is the best way to enjoy this party —Leandra addresses you.

—Oh! No, no, thank you —you quickly deny with your arms.

—Hey, don't go hard! I brought mushrooms for all of us later —Max adds, and they nod in sync.

Okay, this is going nothing like you expected.

"Good night, esteemed faculty, staff, and enthusiastic students. As the Dean, I am honored to address you at the start of this new academic year at the Grand Prix Elite Academy. We are here united by a shared passion for speed, engineering, and the excitement of Formula One racing.

Our college stands as a unique institution dedicated to preparing the next generation of brilliant minds and innovative professionals in the motorsport industry.

This academic year holds incredible opportunities for growth, learning, and discovery, and I encourage each and every one of you to embrace the challenges, cultivate your skills, and push the boundaries of knowledge in this exhilarating field.

Let us fuel our enthusiasm, collaborate synergistically, and pave the way to new frontiers of excellence together. I extend a warm welcome to all and look forward to an extraordinary year ahead.

Thank you."

A lazy round of applause comes from the crowd, but minutes before that, about the middle of the speech, Leandra stands by your side. —Do you want to know all the tea about Toto? —noticing how your eyes went all over him once more.

He is up on the stage with all the principals from the different faculties. It's nothing new, but you are experiencing it for the first time.

—Well —you hesitate. —Yes.

—He has remained single for a while now, more like fucking around, actually. Toto has a type: blond bombshells, the supermodel type, you know, with insane bodies. I'm friends with two of his conquests, and one told me he fucks like a bull. He likes it hard and rough, and the other let me know he has a delicious fat cock but that he hits it and quits it; he left her begging for more.

You blush at her words, which she instantly notices, before continuing: —Last I witnessed with my own gorgeous eyes, Toto was hooking up with Anitta at that fancy Ferrari's anniversary party; she was all over him; it was a great party, we all got smashed! I ended up cowgirling Dani on the back of his car, oops.

You hit playfully Leandra in the ribs with your elbow while looking at Ricciardo standing meters away. —Daniel is hot!

—And a moron! Ah, right! Toto went through a very public divorce about a year ago; it was the talk of the town. The Wolff's splitting, OH! The elites went wild! His ex-wife is a counselor here, so you will see her around; they have a weird relationship. I think they still fuck.

Okay, this is a lot of information, but one thing is sure: you are different from his type.

—By the way, he's a very demanding professor and one of the very best. His subjects are challenging to get accepted into, and it is hard to obtain good grades in them, but if you achieve them, you gain a lot of respect; he has an eye for talent, so think twice before choosing him. Many girls try to add his class to their schedules to get closer to him, but it never ends well. He is a dream crusher. Do you want me to introduce you to him? I'm one of his favorite students.

—Oh, no, no —you get all nervous. Leandra laughs at your answer and how you go full panic within seconds.

—So you are the type who only likes to stare? —she mocks you. You softly push her, joking around.

Oh, yes, and he looks so fine! That suit is tight in all the right places!

The party gets better and wilder as the night progresses, and the alcohol takes a toll on your systems.

People are dancing around to DJ Lando's sensual set and hooking up everywhere; the lights are dim, and neon lasers pulsate to the beats.

Bodies move in sync with the rhythm as you all gather on the packed dance floor. Max offers the mushrooms around, and a "Fuck it! I deserve to feel alive!" feeling overpowers you, and you join them as they cheer you in, feeling now more like part of the pack!

Amidst the blur of Carlos's body dancing around you - he became your companion for the night - you start feeling everything on your skin: the energy, passion, and thrill.

You can feel your pupils dilating and his firm chest under your hands. Your vision gets distorted, and a tall man with dark hair and intense eyes forms in front of you, and you fight that urge to slide your hands down.

You needed so bad this tempting display of youthful freedom and uninhibited release, begging for your inhibitions to fade temporarily after years of sadness and solitude.

You can't wait for the course to start and for this new chapter in your life to begin.

Please don't let it just be a fantasy!

114 notes · View notes

seat-safety-switch · 1 year

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Recently, a child asked me why an old Toyota was making a horrible noise. It was part of my community service, cleaning up after a group of disadvantaged children. Originally, I thought it was just that they were poor, but after this interaction I realized that they (the kids) were also stupid. That sound? An exhaust backfire from poorly clocked ignition timing.

I mean, sure, there were obviously lots of other problems too. Vacuum leaks, a clogged-up throttle body, and what I suspected was just a hint of worn-out, rattling heat shield. It all came together in an incredibly loud melange of 1980s car adversity. This poor, late-80s Tercel was suffering, ready to be lowered into the grave but still fighting on past all odds, a testament to the survival instinct shared solely by high-mileage import automobiles.

You’re probably out there going, I bet this asshole is going to try and fix up a total stranger’s car just to demonstrate to the children the importance of doing basic maintenance. Nothing doing, bud: the directions on my court order were incredibly narrow and specifically indicated that I shouldn’t teach the kids about any sort of internal combustion engine, much less old two-door economy cars. Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t bring in consultants. Guest speakers, if you will. Enter Shaky Tim, my painter “friend” from a few years back.

Tim had ingested virtually every solvent known to man during the course of his long career, and as a result had developed what the medical journals called “a superhuman ability” to sense the specific concentration of gases in an area. He was basically a human mass spectrometer, except that he didn’t cost thousands of dollars, and he’d piss his pants if there was too much ethanol in the mix. Shaky Tim went over to the driver, who was letting the thing idle while he checked his smartphone (presumably with some kind of hookup app meant for poorly-maintained engines to find a sexy mechanic in their area,) and Shaky Tim helped him adjust his distributor.

Before we go any further, I think it is important to note two more facts about my friend Tim. One: he can no longer speak the Queen’s English, as it was taken from him by what his whiteboard scrawls indicate may have been some kind of Varsol-sponsored leprechaun. Two: his customer-service skills leave much to be desired. As the terrified children watched on, Tim pried the hood-release cable out through the fender liner, popped the hood, and loosened the distributor cap tie-down bolt with his bare hands. Then he pinched off a vacuum line while sniffing around the exhaust header leak, and, using his unearthly sense of smell, slowly wiggled the thing into perfect running condition, the ignition system now humming in the mathematical ideal.

I like to think the kids learned a lot from Shaky Tim, and maybe they accidentally learned something else from me. It’s better to have your burned-out druggie friend get into a fight with a random Tercel owner than to get into that very same fight yourself. I hear Tim’s gonna have that thing painted any day now, as soon as he remembers where his paint shop is.

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quirkymarshmallows93 · 10 months

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Gas Station Stream of Consciousness Post

Gas Stations as Liminal Spaces

I've had quite a few hyperfixations in my day - ATMs, laundry detergents, credit cards - so my current one pertaining to gas stations is fitting considering my affinity for liminal spaces and the dedication of this blog to them. Liminal spaces are transitory in nature, hence their portrayal in online circles through photos of carpeted hallways, illuminated stairwells, dark roads, and backrooms, among other transitional points.

Gas stations are posted online as well; images of their fuel pumps or neon signage photographed through a rainy car window communicate their liminality and the universal experiences they provide to all of society. Perhaps they are the ultimate specimen of a liminal space. The machines they are created for, automobiles and tractor trailers alike, themselves are tools for motion, vestibules that enable travel and shipment across long distances at high speeds. Cars and roads are liminal spaces, albeit in different formats, and gas stations serve as their lighthouses. Vehicles at filling stations, therefore, are in a sense liminal spaces within liminal spaces within liminal spaces.

The uniqueness of a gas station as a liminal space, however, is its intersection with the economics and aesthetics of capitalism. Gasoline (and diesel fuel) is a commodity, downstream from crude oil, merely differentiated by octane ratings. Some argue that minute distinctions between agents, detergents, and additives make some brands better than others. Indeed, fuels that are approved by the Top Tier program, sponsored by automakers, have been shown to improve engine cleanliness and performance, but this classification does not prefer specific refiners over others; it is simply a standard. To a consumer, Top Tier fuels are themselves still interchangeable commodities within the wider gasoline commodity market.

The Economics of Gas Stations

The market that gas stations serve is characterized by inelastic demand, with customers who reckon with prices that fluctuate day in and day out. This is not to say that consumer behavior does not change with fuel prices. It has been observed that as prices rise, consumers are more eager to find the cheapest gas, but when prices fall, drivers are less selective with where they pump and are just happy to fill up at a lower price than last week. In response, gas stations lower their prices at a slower rate than when increasing prices, allowing for higher profit margins when wholesale prices fall. This has been dubbed the "rockets and feathers" phenomenon.

When portrayed as liminal spaces, gas stations are most often depicted at night, places of solitude where one may also enter the adjacent convenience store and encounter a fellow individual who isn't asleep, the modern day lightkeeper. The mart that resides at the backcourt of a gas station is known to sell goods at higher prices than a supermarket, simultaneously taking advantage of a captive customer, convenient location, and making up for the inefficiencies of a smaller operation. It may come as no surprise, then, that gas stations barely make any money from fuel sales and earn their bulk through C-store sales. This is a gripe I have with our economic system. Business is gamified, and in many cases the trade of certain goods and services, called loss leaders, is not an independent operation and is subsidized by the success of another division of a business, a strategy inherently more feasible for larger companies that have greater scale to execute it.

Nevertheless, most gas station owners, whether they have just one or hundreds of sites, find this method fruitful. Even though most gas stations in the US sell one of a handful of national brands, they operate on a branded reseller, or dealer, model, with oil companies themselves generally not taking part in the operations of stations that sell their fuels. The giants do still often have the most leverage and margin in the business, with the ability to set the wholesale price for the distributor, which sells at a markup to the station owner, which in turn will normally make the least profit in the chain when selling to the end customer at the pump. This kind of horizontal integration that involves many parties lacks the synergies and efficiencies of vertical integration that are so applauded by capitalists, but ends up being the most profitable for firms like ExxonMobil, who only extract and refine oil, and on the other end of the chain merely license their recognizable brands to the resellers through purchasing agreements. Furthermore, in recent years, independent dealers have sold their businesses to larger branded resellers, in many cases the ones from whom they had been buying their fuel.

A Word on ExxonMobil's Branding Potential

The largest publicly traded oil company in the world is Exxon Mobil Corporation. It is a direct descendent of the Rockefeller monopoly, Standard Oil, which was broken up in 1911 into 34 companies, the largest of which was Jersey Standard, which became Exxon in 1973. This title was generated by a computer as the most appealing replacement name to be used nationwide to unify the Humble, Enco, and Esso brands, decades before AI was spoken of. The latter brand is still used outside of the United States for marketing, arising from the phonetic pronunciation of the initials of Standard Oil. In 1999, Exxon and Mobil merged, and the combined company to this day markets under separate brands. Exxon is more narrowly used, to brand fuel in the United States, while Mobil has remained a motor oil and industrial lubricant brand, as well as a fuel brand in multiple countries.

Mobil originated in 1866 as the Vacuum Oil Company, which first used the current brand name for Mobiloil, and later Mobilgas and Mobilubricant products, with the prefix simply short for "automobile". Over time, Mobil became the corporation's primary identity, with its official name change to Mobil Oil Corporation taking place in 1966. Its updated wordmark with a signature red O was designed by the agency Chermayeff & Geismar, and the company's image for service stations was conceived by architect Eliot Noyes. New gas stations featured distinctive circular canopies over the pumps, and the company's recognizable pegasus logo was prominently on display for motorists.

I take issue with the deyassification of the brand's image over time. As costs were cut and uniformity took over, rectangular canopies were constructed in place of the special ones designed by Noyes that resembled large mushrooms. The pegasus remained a prominent brand icon, but the Mobil wordmark took precedence, which I personally believe to be an error in judgement. This disregard for the pegasus paved the way for its complete erasure in 2016 with the introduction of ExxonMobil's "Synergy" brand for its fuel. The mythical creature is now much smaller and appears only at the top right corner of pumps at Mobil gas stations, if at all.

Even into the 90s and the 21st century the Pegasus had its place in Mobil's marketing. In 1997, the company introduced its Speedpass keytag, which was revolutionary for its time and used RFID technology, akin to mobile payments today, to allow drivers to get gas without entering the store or swiping a card. When a Speedpass would be successfully processed, the pegasus on the gas pump would light up red.

When Exxon and Mobil merged in 1999, the former adopted the payment method too, with Exxon's less iconic tiger in place of the pegasus.

The program was discontinued in 2019 in favor of ExxonMobil's app, which is more secure since it processes payments through the internet rather than at the pump.

What Shell has done with its brand identity is what Mobil should've done for itself. The European company's logo was designed in 1969 by Raymond Loewy, and is a worth contender for the "And Yet a Trace of the True Self Exists in the False Self" meme. In recent years, Shell went all in on its graphic, while Mobil's pegasus flew away. I choose to believe that the company chose to rebrand its stations in order to prevent the malfunction in the above image from happening.

ExxonMobil should have also discontinued the use of the less storied Exxon brand altogether, and simplifying its consumer-facing identity to just the global Mobil mark. Whatever, neither of the names are actual words. As a bonus, here is a Google map I put together of all 62 gas stations in Springfield, MA. This is my idea of fun. Thanks for reading to the end!

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adventuressclubamericas · 6 months

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Adventuress Aloha Wanderwell Baker, sometimes called "the Amelia Earhart of the Automobile," became "the first woman to drive around the world," as part of the Wanderwell Expedition from 1922-1927. She made the trip largely behind the wheel of a Ford Model-T (Ford sponsored the expedition,) filming the adventure and giving talks along the way. By some accounts, she was the most well-traveled woman in the world, chalking up over 500,000 miles before her death in 1996

#adventuresses we love #adventuresseswelove #adventuress

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pandorasword · 1 year

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Chaeri as the 8th and youngest member of BTS.

Chaeri's Masterlist

❒ Requested ✓ you can find the request here

Trends that went viral thanks to Chaeri (part one)

◌ Formula One in South Korea

Growing up in France for most of her life, she took it for granted that sports such as formula one (which were in fact typically European) were followed with excitement all over the world. Kind of like football. When she got back to Korea, she was quite shocked to notice that most of her fellow citizens had never seen a race in their lives.

As a lover of adrenalin sports, the day of the week that held the grand prix was always a memorable occurrence for her. In France, with the local TV, she could perfectly follow the races without too many problems. In Korea, on the other hand, for the first few years she was forced to watch them on illegal streaming channels because rights to stream F1 were up to SKY, a pay-to-stream service, for which she did not have enough money to subscribe

With her growing fame (and salary), it became easier for her to follow motorsport regularly, getting so passionate about it that she even mentioned it on her social media. And that, as a result, started the Koreans' interest in formula one.

Just as her millions of followers became interested in the topic, so did the sponsors of the FIA (the federation of automobile clubs) started to express interest in her and how they could use the opportunity to officially promote the sport in the Asian country.

She soon became the face of Korean Formula One, receiving unlimited access to all races around the world, performing at the opening ceremony of the 2020 Grand Prix where, for the first time in seven years, the Korean International Circuit would be included in the season. ↬ Related events ↫

#bts 8th member #bts imagines #bts female member #formula one #pierre gasly #bts scenarios #bts #bts eighth member #bts addition #kpop female oc #kpop female member #kpop female addition #bangtan sonyeondan #bts au #bts 8th member au #bts fic

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hibiki-on-the-rock · 4 months

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Came across two interviews with Charles’ older brother Lorenzo which shed some light on their family background and whether Charles’ family is rich or not.

Credit:

1. A Chinese translation of an interview by Autohebdo (June 2020) which Lorenzo talked about his family background, his career and relationships with his brothers. The original article was in French and by subscription only.

https://northarctic.lofter.com/post/1d541332_1c9c47e88

2. Code Sport Monaco (March 2021)

https://codesportmonaco.mc/portrait-lorenzo-tolotta-leclerc-family-business/

Charles Manni, the founder of Mecaplast, was Charles Leclerc’s paternal grandfather (Herve’s stepfather), not maternal grandfather.

It is well documented that Charles Leclerc almost stopped karting because his family could no longer financially support him. His karting career was only saved by Nicholas Todt who became his sponsor. Lorenzo explained their grandfather did not support any of their racing career because he thought the rate of return in racing was extremely low.

Herve got sick thus the Leclerc family income was severely impacted. I guess this was probably why he could not pay for Charles’ karting by himself.

Even though Charles Manni was Herve’s stepfather, it seems the family was close. Lorenzo mentioned Charles Manni wanted both his sons (Herve and Thierry) to take over the family business. Thierry (Herve’s stepbrother) posted quite a few tributes to Herve on instagram throughout the years. Manni-Leclerc families always spend Christmas together, including the most recent one. Thierry was also the one who paid Arthur to resume his karting.

Charles Manni did not support their racing career but he was instrumental in Lorenzo’s study. It seems he spent lots of effort to make sure Lorenzo was motivated to achieve academic success.

The general perception is that Charles has a humble background. He almost stopped karting because his family could no longer financially support him. His karting career was only saved by Nicholas Todt who became his sponsor (at the request of Jules). In one interview Charles said “[My] grandfather had quite a big plastic industry… My parents aren’t’ particularly rich, my grandparents were a little bit, so they were helping us pay for the hotel…”

So…how rich is ‘a little bit of rich’?

According to wikipedia, in 2015 Mecaplast generated €734m of revenue and had 6000 employees. Compared to some mega rich families in F1 like Stroll or Piastri, of course the Manni family was not particularly rich. However I would take Charles Leclerc calling his family a working class family with a grain of salt if by his standard his grandparents were ‘a little bit rich’ XD

#charles leclerc #my own mumble

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crazychaoticizzy · 11 months

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Overture

A viscount attends an auction at the famous opera house he used to sponsor, only to be reminded of the terrible things that happened there…

WARNINGS: none for this chapter

Word Count: 1.1k

<< Cast of Characters

Masterlist

AOT Masterlist

Series Masterlist

1919

Elaborate tales and rumors surrounding the abandoned opera house had been in the paper since the original incident. It had been nearly fifty years since then, and people still read every story released.

No one had stepped foot into the rundown building for decades. That was until the Eldian government decided to tear it down, since it served no real purpose and was only ever a reminder of those dark days.

Construction workers had already begun the process, but while they were doing that others had volunteered to search the opera house for fragments of the past left behind.

They found enough to auction off and decided to do so, only allowing nobles with high social standing to attend.

The weeks leading up to the event were semi-chaotic—construction workers and auctioneers kept getting into arguments about what was trash and what was treasure, short disputes about what part of the building the auction should take place and so on.

It was decided that the auction would be on what was left of the stage. A podium was set up on the stage for the speaker to stand at, and the space in front of it was cleared of any rubble and debris.

On the day of, a large banner was hung at the front of the building and a ramp was put in place for those that needed it.

A sleek automobile pulled up, stopping to let a man slowly get out. He was accompanied by a younger woman, and together they walked up the stairs and into the opera house.

It was clear there was little to no effort made in making the building look presentable. Debris formed a pathway to the stage, which in truth made it easier for the old man to follow, and a couple tools were left here and there. In the open area before the stage, there was a large object concealed by an even larger white sheet.

The man had arrived late because the auctioneer was already on lot 664, an old and faded poster that advertised the first production of Hannibal by Chalumeau. As the young woman led the man inside, an attendant fetched two chairs for them and they sat as the poster was sold.

“Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen: a papier-mâché music box in the shape of a barrel organ.” As the auctioneer spoke an assistant walked out, in his hands a music box. A monkey sat on top of it, wearing Marleyan clothing and holding cymbals in its hands.

“...still in working order.”

“Showing here.”

The assistant holding the music box readjusted it, turning a knob in the back to play a soft, melodic tune. The tune sounded familiar to the old man, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it. He slightly raised his hand, signaling to the younger woman beside him that he wanted to buy the music box.

“May I commence fifteen coins, ladies and gentlemen?”

An older woman standing on the other side of the room raised her hand. She wore all black, a sign that she was in mourning, and a hat with a mesh net that covered part of her face.

“Yes, thank you, miss. Do we have twenty coins?”

The younger woman raised her hand for the old man. The older woman looked back, seeing who else wanted to buy. The old man recognized her, a dear friend to his deceased wife.

“Miss Ackerman, twenty-five?” She nodded in confirmation at the auctioneer's question, putting down her raised hand.

“Twenty-five, I bid. Do I hear thirty?”

The young woman raised her hand again.

“And thirty-five?”

The auctioneer looked expectantly at Miss Ackerman, waiting for her to offer. She glanced behind her at the man before softly shaking her head.

“Alright then.” The auctioneer pounded his gavel on the podium once. “Sold for twenty-five coins to Viscount Kirstein.”

The assistant descended the stairs to the stage, walking to the old man and carefully handing him the music box before walking back into the stage.

The viscount admired it, taking note of the elaborate golden detailing on the box and the intricate embroidery on the Marleyan robe the monkey wore. It sat on a red velvet cushion, small golden tassels hanging from the corners.

“Now then, lot 666: a chandelier in pieces.”

The blanket from the large object was taken away by two men, and those in the audience turned to see.

The chandelier was dirty, a clear sign of its battle with the elements over the years. Around it say a few shattered pieces of the crystals that once fell from it, along with a few bits of metal broken off.

“Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera—a mystery never fully explained to the general public. According to our historians and architects, this is the very chandelier featured in the famous disaster. Electricians have wired it to suit our modern world in hopes that we may get a glimpse of the past. Perhaps, we might frighten the spirit of the ghost from years ago. Gentlemen.”

And just like that the chandelier went up, being pulled by multiple men into the sky and assuming its former position. Sparks flew from some of the lights, and it was clear that the chandelier wasn’t exactly stable based on the way it kept flickering and swinging as if it would fall down any moment.

It was almost eerie, the way the chandelier seemed perfect in place. The old viscount looked around, and it’s almost like the scenery changed. It was no longer the rundown opera house he was in moments ago, instead the building was completed, kept in wonderful condition and bustling with people as they scurried to and fro to get ready for their next production.

It nearly gave him a headache, and he sought for the young woman’s hand to calm him down only to find that she was no longer there.

Instead, he saw Miss Ackerman—a younger version of herself, her hair jet black and yet to be cut—speaking and quietly giggling with another young woman backstage.

The young woman, as he remembered, was his dearly departed wife Y/n. She was certainly a picture, standing to the side in her chorus costume as the viscount was introduced as the opera house’s new patron. It was before her marvelous voice had been revealed, and before the strange happenings on the opera ghost became more frequent.

The viscount often found himself revisiting this memory, wishing he could go back and change it, wishing that he would have stayed long enough to stop Hange from suggesting Y/n be the replacement for Historia’s abandoned role.

Because then, the opera house would still be open, and Y/n wouldn’t have lived her life forever plagued by the dark memories.

welcome to the first official part! i hope y’all enjoyed it and stick around for more in the future

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, just comment or DM me. and if you have a request for something that might drift away from what I have planned for this series like extra parts of their lives or a “what if” kind of thing then put a request in the ask box!

thank you again for reading

-Izzy <3

next part >>

TAGGING: @antichristisbby @rebekah-george

#izzy’s imagines ❀#attack on titan #aot #jean kirschstein #jean kirschtein #jean kirstein #jean x reader #jean kirsten x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #phantom of the opera x attack on titan #phantom of the opera au #phantom of the opera #Spotify

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distantlaughter · 1 year

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"My life belongs to me"

By Cathrin Gilbert for Die Zeit, 8 December 2016 (x)

From the very beginning, Nico Rosberg was a stranger to the laws of Formula 1. What's amazing is not that he's quitting now, but that he's lasted this long.

Let's not fail again, thinks Nico Rosberg. It's the last race of the season, late November, Abu Dhabi, 32 degrees. The asphalt is sweating, and so is Rosberg. The wind whirls desert sand across the track. Rosberg can't help but think back to the race two years ago, when he narrowly lost to his teammate Lewis Hamilton. Who cares about second place in a world championship? Back then, after the defeat, his wife Vivian took him in her arms, he cried, promised to make it next year with the fulfillment of his life's dream: to become world champion for once.

Perhaps this dream was the only thing that belonged to Nico Rosberg in recent years. His name, his face, his talent had become a brand. A money machine that brought millions in profits not only to Rosberg himself, but also to Mercedes and Formula 1. The price he paid for it: a life he was never really cut out for. Polarized at risk. Clocked to the rhythm of Formula 1: sleep, eat, train, abstain.

Never before has it taken a racing driver so long to become world champion

While Rosberg is sitting in his race car in Abu Dhabi, he hears a voice over the radio link. "Nico, it's getting tight! You have to overtake Max Verstappen!" his engineer shouts. Damn, thinks Rosberg, "Mad Max" of all people, 19 years young, a highly talented racing driver who stops at nothing. At the Grand Prix in Mexico, Verstappen touched him, so hard that it was almost over for Rosberg in the first corner.

Never before has a racing driver taken so long to become world champion as Nico Rosberg. He tried in vain for nine years. He was never an attacker, always driving in the slipstream and trying to avoid risk. Now, in Abu Dhabi, if he wants to win the title, he has to do what he shied away from for years: attack at the right moment.

Rosberg waits one lap, then pushes his Mercedes past "Mad Max." An hour later, after 205 races and 23 victories, he has finally done it: Nico Rosberg is world champion.

Just five days later, he ends his career, at the age of 31. As an explanation, he writes on his Facebook page, "For 25 years in racing, it has always been my dream, my one big goal, to become Formula One world champion." He mentions "all the work, the pain, the renunciation." Now, he says, he has reached the summit. It feels right to leave.

On Monday evening this week, Rosberg is back in the car. This time in London, without a helmet. His suit is not made of fireproof aramid fiber, but of fine blue fabric with pinstripes. A chauffeur drives him from the hotel to an honorary gala at the British Racing Drivers' Club, a club for old British men, among whom Rosberg, with an estimated fortune of 40 million euros, is exceptionally not the richest. The gala dinner is one of many obligatory events Rosberg has to attend after winning the title: on Tuesday he visits his sponsor in Kuala Lumpur, Wednesday he travels to his birthplace Wiesbaden, Thursday to the Mercedes racing factory in Brackley, Friday to the Automobile Association in Vienna, Saturday to the Mercedes plant in Sindelfingen and the "A Heart for Children" gala in Berlin, and finally to Monaco, where he lives. Jackets and bags pile up on the back seat, the world championship trophy lies in the trunk, a heavy colossus, he drags it along to all his appointments.

Before the future can begin, he has to work off the past; after all, he is still employed by Mercedes. He earns 15.72 million euros there per season. For the Mercedes brand and for the Nico Rosberg brand, the weeks after victory are decisive. A Formula 1 racing driver only becomes visible at the moment of triumph, and only then can he be marketed well. Fans can identify better with the smile of a winner than with the technical data of the F1 W07 Hybrid, 1.6-liter V6 engine, turbocharger - that's the name of the race car in which Rosberg drove to the title. The fact that he is announcing his retirement in these very weeks is something of a total meltdown for Mercedes.

"When I explained my decision to my wife, she laughed and said, 'You'll never do it,'" he says. He had felt the desire to quit since the beginning of September. "It was funny: the thought of quitting motivated me, but at the same time I couldn't give it too much space, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to concentrate properly."

In the back seat of the sedan, Rosberg looks even slimmer than his 67 kilograms would suggest. It's hard to imagine that this frail man can race toward the apex of a curve at 360 kilometers per hour and keep a 700-kilogram race car under control. He would so love to sleep now, he says. In the last few weeks of the season, he has been able to do that less and less, "because of the pressure." The lack of sleep has turned the whites of his eyes red. His skin is pale, and sometimes his voice fails him. But if there's one thing he's learned in his career, "it's to persevere."

Rosberg's path to racing was preordained. Father Keke became Formula One World Champion in 1982, three years before Nico was born. When the son was a year old, the father quit. "Isn't it funny, my daughter is one now, too," Rosberg says. At the age of six, he drove his first go-kart race. The father kept the time. Rosberg began looking at the world through the slit of a helmet. He had doubts about whether he would really make it to the top, he says. But the question of an alternative never arose.

When he gives TV interviews, he talks slowly, in platitudes. Now he speaks quickly, without fear, pointedly. "For years it was written: 'Nico is too soft! He's too tough! Now I can just answer freely: I'm just right." Or: "Sure, I could still drive on, try to defend the title. But why? It doesn't get any more beautiful than this." The limo steers past Notting Hill Gate. He continues to talk. "If you're part of this racing business, you belong to Formula One and your team," he says. There's little room for self-determination, he says. "But my life belongs to me."

Rosberg has 2,563,762 Facebook friends. Besides his wife, he says he has three friends who really know him with all his fears and longings. Of course, his life up until now has also included his "racing family." He has done everything not to disappoint them, he says. "If it had just been up to me, I would have preferred to take my time until Christmas announcing my retirement," he says, "but I couldn't have done that to the team." He said he wanted to give them planning security.

In competitive sports, family is one thing. You get a lot of support - but rarely without expectations. Rosberg learned what happens when you don't live up to them over the weekend. Niki Lauda, head of the Mercedes team's supervisory board, publicly reprimanded his behavior. Rosberg should have warned the team, he said. Where would they stand now? He added that this was causing a huge amount of uncertainty. Rosberg says: "I don't understand what got into Niki's head. He must have misunderstood something." He says he was one of the first to inform the Mercedes team boss of his resignation. "He understood my decision."

There are probably no two people in Formula One more different than Nico Rosberg and Niki Lauda. Lauda, 67, won three world championship titles between 1971 and 1985. In the process, he crashed and almost burned to death in his race car. He fell into a coma with lung burns and burns - 42 days later he was back in a race car. Lauda's return after his accident made him a hero; his drive was to fight. Rosberg's drive was to fulfill a personal dream. Lauda needed the public's attention, the pressure. Rosberg always tried to minimize pressure. He preferred to hide his face behind the helmet he had worn since he was six years old.

Rosberg looks as if he is collapsing under the weight of the World Cup trophy

"I've never felt such an intense adrenaline rush as I did at the race in Abu Dhabi," says Rosberg. The reason was not just "Mad Max," but his teammate Lewis Hamilton. While in the lead, he went against the team's orders and slowed down so much that he slowed down the entire race. The other drivers were able to catch up to Rosberg. Hamilton wanted to beat Rosberg for the win, hoping to win his third consecutive world championship title. After the race, Rosberg got upset about Hamilton's behavior. Today he says, "He's just a racer like everyone else." It gets quiet in the car. "We had a comparable situation in Monaco this year, but there I let him go first for the sake of the team."

Lewis Hamilton is the Robbie Williams of the sports scene, the perfect entertainer, the tattooed star who flirts with the pit girls and can become an ice-cold strategist at the decisive moment. Athletes are always able to captivate when they put themselves in the limelight. When you can see the effort, the joy, the agony. In Rosberg's case, all of this remained hidden behind his helmet. In Formula 1, he was the man without a face.

Rosberg says he received an e-mail from his engineer two days after winning the title in Abu Dhabi. Subject: "Timetable 2017.” As early as this week, it was supposed to start again: sleep, eat, train. Like being on a hamster wheel.

He gets out of the limousine. The room of the Racing Drivers' Club glows in blue neon light. Gentlemen in black suits sit at the tables. A montage of the 2016 impressions is shown on a screen: Rosberg jumping out of his Mercedes after the victory, Rosberg passing "Mad Max". While he waits for his entrance, he watches the video show through a crack in the door. An attendant presses the World Cup trophy into his hand. The slender Rosberg looks as if he must collapse under the weight. He smiles. Then he disappears into the applause.

#nico rosberg #nicology #my post

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georgegraphys · 2 months

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i'm kind of worried more sponsors would quit merc if they continued to be bad

This is a very valid concern. I cannot predict what is going on internally and how the sponsor dynamic is so take this lightly but one thing I am certain of is that Monster Energy didn't quit because Mercedes is bad. They are more likely to quit because the fee was getting too expensive for them and probably McLaren is way cheaper and they could offer more publicity to the sponsor (e.g. Oscar/Lando doing more content for Monster Energy than Lewis/George could) but so far, I don't see Monster Energy standing out much as a sponsor in McLaren then when they are in Mercedes.

This is probably caused by a) they paid less b) their logo is drowned by other logos in McLaren race suits/team kit and also drowned by the bright colours around them. You can't really see ME's logo if you don't stop to pay attention

Different from these two where they pretty much stand out and have a presence that I don't need to point their logo out.

Okay so back to your question anon. I can't say anything about Mercedes being bad yet as it is 3/24 races and this a complete new concept, new slate for them to work on. BUT if things were to go downhill, the sponsors who were there for a shorter term would probably quit and it would be understandable as Mercedes isn't a cheap team to pay. But I don't think sponsors like IWC, Marriott Bonvoy, Petronas, UBS, Tommy Hilfiger will. Especially Petronas.

There is also a very high chance that even if things go downhill, no one quits. Why? Because Mercedes is a team of higher valuations who had good media coverage and is one of the big names out there. But they could probably demand an exchange such as the drivers doing more publicity for the sponsors.

Regardless of anything, Mercedes itself is a renowned name in the motorsport or the automobile world. It remains as a "prestigious" "expensive" "classy" name. I don't think it will go on to the point that they will be begging for sponsors and signing pay drivers. Take this lightly. I can't make predictions but these are my thoughts. Don't mess your mind up with these thoughts! It's race 3/24. There is still lots of time for improvement

#ari's asks #sponsor talks #PR talks

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more-than-a-princess · 9 months

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Continued from here for @mechatiqe!

Her question performed as it was intended: all traces of Kazuichi's self-apprehension seemed to have dissipated after they'd left the café. It was either the distraction or the pleasant weather, and Sonia wasn't about to question either if it kept him from both panicking and from fawning over her. Both were, in their own ways, equally disastrous. "So you grew up with a wrench in your hands then," Sonia confirmed with a small smile, waiting until the light changed before beginning to cross the street. She wasn't an expert, but she felt fairly certain that all cars made the sounds Kazuichi described. Perhaps it was like trying to choose a favorite book or horror antagonist: some things just couldn't be selected out of so many wonderful options and he simply loved all cars equally. "And you like understanding how all of the parts come together to make a moving vehicle, is that correct?"

That part, Sonia couldn't really understand. But the driving of cars...or rather, watching others drive (she had to remember she was in a foreign country. Even if being heir to the Novoselic throne made needing a driver's license redundant at home, Japan would not be so lenient with her tendency to take a car for a spin around the grounds of various royal properties). That, at least, she could relate to: she had seen, and done, her fair share. "Soda-san, have you ever attended a car race?" She asked eagerly, their conversation prompting her to ignore the siren song of the bookstore closest to Hope's Peak's campus. Alongside cafes and konbinis, she spent much of her free time there. For someone who always had an assistant to order whatever she needed, Sonia was spoiled for choice with novels, manga, and various blu-rays of films and shows she wanted to add to her print media collection, and she could hand over her own money in person to acquire them. "With the formal track, and spectator stands, and professional drivers and the various organizations that sponsor them? They are great fun! I have attended the Monaco Grand Prix a few times, but never a race in Japan."

The Formula One circuit was one of many, Sonia had learned, but she suspected Japan would have something similar. And if Kazuichi's family was a prestigious one in the world of automobile repair, then it was likely their expertise might be sought for racing cars. Still, her smile faltered when he brought up that connection. It reminded her, for better or worse, that she was different than many of her friends. They chose their talents and passions, grew into them, evolved with them and truly shaped them as their own identity. Sonia had been given no choice in the matter of her talent, or future for that matter, the moment she was born: she was a princess who would become queen one day, and she would spend her entire life devoted to that singular cause until the day she died. For the most part she flourished, her heart and mind open to love and learn, preserving tradition and taking steps into a prosperous future. But there were times when she wished for something else, something more, something she herself had chosen all on her own to be passionate about and share it with the world. Sure, she adored her horror movies and the occult and true crime stories involving various serial killers and cult leaders, but that wasn't something like cars. Everyone, despite understanding them or not, could accept cars: her personal interests made others, for the most part, uncomfortable at best and downright worried for her future at worst (her mother leading the charge of that group, of course).

"Y-yes," She piped up as they passed a supermarket. Another fascinating place, though one she was discouraged to visit alone. When unchaperoned, Sonia tended to buy a mish-mash of items that could hardly make up a meal even if they were prepared with skill and expertise, neither of which she possessed when it came to culinary pursuits. "That seems like how it should be: that talent comes from following a passion, a choice one has made to pursue for the rest of their lives." Something she couldn't relate to, but now that she'd said it, realized she adored seeing in so many of her classmates, Kazuichi included.

That included the unexpected: Sonia had, perhaps foolishly, assumed Kazuichi's interests began and ended with the following things: cars, giant mechanical devices that on some occasions seemed to move on their own, and herself, though not necessarily in that order. "You like trains as well?" She asked, eyebrows raised as they approached Hope's Peak Academy's front gates, and the guard who also raised his eyebrows at the two. Though in his case, it was because the pairing walking together and having civil conversation seemed less than unlikely, it was truly a hell frozen over situation. Kazuichi idolized her and on more than one occasion, Sonia had clearly proclaimed that he was her stalker and she did not care for his attention. "I am a bit more familiar with those! Riding them, anyway: my family is given use of the Royal train carriages at home, which is often how we travel around Western Europe when needed. It is not as cool as public trains I suppose, especially Japanese bullet trains, but I am fond of it nevertheless."

Many of the carriages had only been renovated as much as needed for modern luxuries, leaving the overall design an homage to the elegant train eras of the 19th and early 20th Centuries. A trip to the past, which her life seemed to constantly be unless she challenged the Royal social norms. The same norms that, when considering a field trip, Sonia could only suggest what she'd been deprived of as the Princess of Novoselic.

"Oh, well, that is an easy choice," She beamed, her cheeks turning lightly pink. "Though my idea of a 'field trip' is nothing terribly refined. You see, we do not have amusement parks in Novoselic, and I would very much like to visit one. One with very tall and very fast roller coasters! And haunted houses! I have read that some amusement parks even put on a temporary theme during the fall for Halloween, with even more spooky and scary entertainment! I should like to see that and ride all of the 'thrills,' indeed!"

#mechatiqe #Non-Despair AU: Hope's Peak Academy verse #(I continued our thread in a new post due to your blog switch. I hope that's ok!)#(Kazuichi innocently asking what field trip Sonia would like to take)#(And she's just 'SCARE ME AND THRILL ME')

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canarydarity · 4 months

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howdy! it's day 1 of MCYT fanfic appreciation week, and i was wondering if you had any future writing projects or other ideas that you wanted an excuse to talk about :D no pressure whatsoever to answer this ask, just thought i'd reach out ♡

HI :')) this absolutely made my day to receive, and also served as reminder to me that yesterday was that events start day!!! so thank you for that!!!!

i will always always always take an excuse to talk about the fic ideas that are rotting my brain <3

I'm going to talk about 3 projects; 1) yet another DL rancher one-shot 2) my current brain rot go to: speed racer au 3) and a worm tried and true classic: gay baseball au

cut here because....i am a rambler

I'll start with what y'all are most likely to see next,,,

After the second session of Limlife came out, I wrote a little vignette from Tango's pov that included a throw-away scene from DL where someone left a golden apple on the ranchers porch in the middle of the night as an extremely un-funny joke. And that. idea has haunted me since I thought of it,,, I outlined it months and months ago though never got around to writing it... but for some reason a few days ago I opened that doc again and it just sorta. happened.

it's only about halfway done right now, but if all goes well it might be up by the end of the week :)) small preview mayhaps:

The door not yet having been opened, the possibility of what was waiting for him on the other side yawned and stretched towards endless. In a way, not knowing but speculating was worse than just opening the damn thing and facing the one singular scenario that was, but that was why he struggled to do it. Schrodinger’s danger—this was stupid; Tango opened the door. No one was there. He blinked in the face of its emptiness for a moment. Of all the situations he had considered, absolutely zero of them included opening the door to nothing. The one definite thing a knock spoke to was the presence of someone—something. So, what, they risked the middle of the night in peace times to come to the ranch they all loved barging into any time regardless to ding-dong ditch? That seemed, like, a gazillion times more unlikely.

---

Then...the thing that is currently carving out its home in my brain...speed racer au. Tango-centric, more tango & etho angst than it is team rancher tbh.

The au is based solely on the 2008 movie speed racer, not as much the rest of the franchise! I guess /warning for speed racer spoilers, but the movie came out 16 years ago and the anime is from the 1960's...............so like.............also come on

I...have absolutely 0 clue how to describe to you the plot of speed racer. imagine you drive a race car so good and look so hot while doing it that you take down the mafia AND defeat the evil that is capitalism. That's speed racer. Like most worm aus its...not a comprehensive story. it's mainly me taking scenes from the movie that i adore and reimagining them with life series characters in those positions.

Tango is our titular character, an up and coming, widely known and celebrated automobile racer. He's the only racer not sponsored by some big company, he'd rather his pals—his family—be in control of his car, the Mach 5, and his racing career.

This is so so silly to try to explain you have no idea. I'm just going to say it. So when Tango was a kid, his older brother Etho died in this really dangerous unofficial non-track race thing. Two years later, theres a new racer in the league calling himself Racer X. No one knows his actual identity, and, at all times, he is wearing this. mask. thing. umm. anyway so Racer X is secretly Tango's older brother who Tango thinks is dead. And he now races under a secret identity because he is trying to take down. the fucking mafia. who own a whole bunch of racing teams and do crime and things. cause why not. Im going to stop over-explaining speed racer, just take this snippet and go:

“Look, can we cut the bullshit?” If Tango’s mounting poor mood had any effect on X, he didn’t show it. He maintained the stillness of a wildlife photographer, danger not a warning to flee but more the promise of a shot worth sticking around to capture. Tango had felt studied since they’d cut the engines, since X’s head had popped up over the wheel, smirking—but now he’d felt seized. “Alright.” His mouth opened, all the energy to press on but none of the gall. As usual, he’d gotten too ahead of himself; clutch pressed to the floor, shift it into first gear, every intention to move with no promise to follow through. He didn’t ease off the clutch so much as he ran away from it; he’d stalled, his mouth shut dumbly. There wasn’t the time to wait it out, and Tango didn’t think he’d afford it to himself if there were. This moment had been promised to him since Casa Cristo began. He might not have then, but standing here now he knew it to be true. He thought X knew it, too—this was inevitable. He knew it like you knew you had minutes before your mom found that thing that you broke, like you knew someone was about to walk away from you for good. It was no less natural to him than knowing he was going to be a driver, no harder to glean from his future than being able to picture Jimmy by his side. He wouldn’t squander the chance because he hadn’t been adequately prepared for it to arrive. Tango choked, “Etho?” “You think I’m your brother.” When he said it it was a statement, not a question. “Aren’t you?”

---

And lastly...gay baseball au :')) or rather, "against all odds"

yes I'm still stuck on that, YES I plan to keep writing it.

I posted a little bit ago,, beginning of January, that I wanted to post the first chapter of baseball au if possible around/on my birthday, which is the first week in March. I can't PROMISE that will happen, because I am working on grad school applications at the moment and I also. know myself. and want to have the UTMOST MAJORITY POSSIBLE of the writing done before I post it. otherwise. I won't go back. But...tentatively that is hopefully the plan <3

Once again: plot summary, snippets

Have another for free :))

“What about you, Jim Jam?” Jimmy frowned at Skizz, only somewhat confused and mostly sure that he shouldn’t have been. “What about me?” “The question—what would you do if you weren’t doing this?” With clarity came even more confusion. It had felt normal for the others to ponder what-ifs and other lives where they did other things, a rightness that immediately soured when the spotlight had shone on him. There were no alternate versions of Jimmy, this was the only one in existence; he was a model toy that had never made it off the drawing board, no plans for mass production—too little consumer interest. “Oh…I dunno.” He thought baseball might be the only thing he was capable of, and even then that didn’t mean he was good at it. “I’d never thought about it, I guess.”

Anyway, I will exhibit exemplary self control and stop talking now. Thank you again so so much for asking <33

#worm says #pastelitey #MCYT fanfic appreciation week #i know this was yseterday but i didnt have time ti answer it when I received it last night ajgfhak i hope this is okay #thank you also os much for the reminder this event started this week.......ive pulled up the list of prompts I gotta join in

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albad · 10 months

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💰 LES SPONSORS DU FASCISME

Carglass répare aussi la vitrine médiatique du fascisme.

La chaîne Cnews, du milliardaire Bolloré, fonctionne notamment grâce à la publicité. Ce sont donc les entreprises qui achètent des annonces qui sponsorisent ce média. En sachant parfaitement que Cnews a été sanctionnée pour des propos racistes, sert de tribune à toute l'extrême droite et que son propriétaire ne se cache pas pour dire qu'il utilise ses médias pour «son combat civilisationnel».

Qui sont les sponsors du fascisme en France ? Les voici, en millions d'euros versés, en 2022 :

➡️ Stellantis (automobile) : 13,77

➡️ Renault (automobile) : 11,4

➡️ Carglass (vitres automobiles) : 8,2

➡️ Comme j'aime (régimes): 8,03

➡️ Orange (télécommunications) : 7,85

➡️ JDE : 7,85

➡️ Wolskvagen (automobiles) : 7,41

➡️ LIDL (grande distribution) : 6,59

➡️ Crédit Mutuel (banque) : 6,23

➡️ L'Oréal (cosmétique) : 5,74

Faites-le savoir, et boycottez ces marques.

Sources des chiffres : L'informé

Contre Attaque

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easternmind · 2 years

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J A P A N o F I L E S # 8 -- Chronicle of Starting a Shina Soba Shop

[ The last JAPANoFILES feature was written eleven years ago. The post reached an audience of many thousands and helped create awareness about a powerful videogame creation left buried beneath the snow: Mizzurna Falls. One of its readers went on to translate the game to English, in fact. This is an impossible act to follow. In reviewing the original intention of these articles, it occurred to me that if I’m to give continuity to this effort, I should carry on seeking items of both cultural and videoludic relevance that have slipped between the cracks of history. Today’s story was one I began writing shortly before this tumbleblog hibernated and that, to my knowledge, has not yet been satisfactorily told until now by any of my fellow japanophiles. As you read it, I hope to instil in you the same gemütlichkeit you’d get from a steaming bowl of noodles on a cold winter evening.]

From the very onset, チャルメラ suggests a fascinating divide: although the title and cover art will hardly resonate with western observers, virtually anyone in Japan will instantly recognize what it is all about. To them, this is as household a name as they come, and one synonymous with precooked noodle deliciousness and convenience for over half a century.

Charumera is a much beloved line of instant noodle products introduced by Myojo Foods, a company whose foundations date back to the mid-twentieth century. Its name is interchangeable for cup noodles in many areas of Japan and the Japanese diaspora, including Brazil. The company grew a reputation for introducing some of the early revolutions in this food category that we now take for granted. In 1961, it was the first to propose the concept of cup noodles, a simplified meal preparation method made possible by ice cream type paper containers capable of withstanding the pouring of boiling water. Many misattribute this invention to Nissin due to the fact that Myojo, who lacked the wherewithal to file for a utility patent, could only profit out of their idea by selling production and commercialization rights to that prosperous food giant. The Tokyo-based company was also the first to usher in the now ubiquitous separate powder flavouring bags, initially under the name Myojo Ramen in 1962, and later rebranded as Myojo Charumera in 1966, with an improved formula that made this a reference to a fast-food seeking population.

The man in the above cover art for this Playstation game adaptation, also titled Charumera, consists of the product's very own mascot, whom the Japanese lovingly call Ojisan (uncle). Few could have predicted that he would ever star in a videogame of his own. Created by Bits Laboratory and published by Victor Interactive Software on November 1999, it is unclear whether the game was sponsored or merely certified by Myojo. In the absence of more concrete information, all appears to indicate that this project was developed with the clear intent to pay homage to the brand and iconic character, only tangentially serving the purpose of advertising.

~ An ageless man carries the weight of tradition ~

In Charumera, the good uncle merrily pushes his Yatai about the streets of a fictitious town at the height of the Shōwa era. Momentarily, if the player relinquishes the control pad, he may feel at ease to wipe the sweat off his face with his chef's side towel. The streets are wide and long and barely any automobiles can be spotted. He does not speak during any of the ample verbal exchanges, although a narrator of unknown origin may on occasion report on his sentiments and reactions. He is simultaneously the central component of the game and a mere spectator to unfolding events.

A map of the aptly-named Naruto town, itself a microcosmic representation of Japan in the fifties and its dichotomy between urban and rural zones.

One part of the game has the player engage in the basic management of a mobile food stand business, starting with an understanding of the different areas of Naruto, its distant farm fields, a fishing wharf, sooty industrial zone and the bustling city centre. Each turn represents a business day, lasting from late afternoon to the wee hours of the night. Different locations at different times of the day represent varying degrees of foot traffic.

When the turn is complete, the player is free to indulge in culinary research and development, customizing all aspects of a ramen dish: the different varieties of noodles, type of bowl, seasonings, stock base and toppings. At first, the selection is limited to a set of base ingredients that can be expanded by the discovery of new areas and characters, some of them tradesmen and produce suppliers. The best selection of components ensures the most customers and, consequently, the most servings. Currency does not exist in the game. Its functional end is reached when enough meals been served for the empty bowl stack to rise above the height of the fabled mount Fuji. No small feat for a self-employed man of advancing years.

The interface for assembling Ramen bowls puts one in mind of Cybernetic’s less-than-stellar Pizza Tycoon, enabled by the overlapping of transparent bitmaps. The final presentation adds a plume of smoke to what may well turn out to be a mouth-watering success.

Charming as the business simulation aspect of the game system may be, at its heart, Charumera is an adventure centred around the exploration of a city and its denizens; one where the main goal is to bring people together through a common appreciation of the quintessential Japanese delicacy that is ramen. Scattered across the different areas, and at different times of the day, exist a number of key characters who, unlike the average passerby, will not only stop for nutritious soup but also prompt a conversation. This is done, primarily, in order for players to receive an assessment of their dishes. Some of these self-professed critics will be quite forthcoming in their comments, suggesting the flavor profile or combination of fixings most likely to please them. Others add difficulty to the game by keeping their contributions brief and enigmatic. By learning of their preferences, the player is invited to adjust the composition of the dishes and return to the same location, at the same hour of the day, to attempt another serving and achieve complete satisfaction.

Customers tasting Ojisan’s cookery will react with different facial expressions. Some, on the other hand, will slurp his stock while remaining silent and expressionless. To captivate the more demanding customers, subtler signals need to be observed.

At times, a fully content customer's quest will be completed with a round of smiles, praise and gratitude. But on occasion, these may set in motion a more layered story to be unfolded over the remaining course of the game. An illustrative example of this is the recluse monk who is undergoing a long prayer exercise, and of whose rigorously vegeterian dietary needs can only be learned through the input from other characters who relate the motive of his abstinence. The developers also integrated a clever mechanism to aid in the understanding of what constitutes a fine plate of noodles by allowing the player to regularly visit the home of one of uncle’s best friends, a taxi driver who will be delighted to perform a tasting and attribute a score.

The evolution of Ojisan’s design over the years observed some changes including a much needed footgear upgrade from hardwood zori to a snug pair of sneakers (left). The alternative, far less inspired cover art for the game's second edition (right). The black cat Suzuneko only makes its first appearance a couple of hours into the game as a part of a substory (bottom).

~ Sweet shawm music ~

The long tradition of Yatai-wheeling cooks is only supplanted in age by ramen itself. Decades before it came to known by its present name, noodle soup was commonly referred to in Japan as Shina Soba, a clear enough reference to its nonetheless opaque Chinese ancestry. Japan’s fast-paced industrial development in the late 19th century caused severe economic and demographic changes. A host of policies adopted by the government expedited the rift between an increasingly impoverished and isolated countryside population, for whom labour-intensive agriculture was no longer a profitable activity in view of neighbouring competition. This resulted in an exodus to the cities, in droves, and the search for the opportunity of low-level employment in manufacturing. The extended work hours and taxing duties of factories paved the way for a new type of meal, one substantial enough to sustain workers and at the same time affordable for regular consumption.

The passing of time is strikingly reflected in the backgrounds, the result of a clever combination of gradual colour scheme alterations and the loading of new bitmaps. The switch of music themes equally signals the change.

Wheat flour imports from Korea and Taiwan being more affordable than Japanese rice, this new noodle soup found its way among the most predominant food offerings of the early 20th century; first introduced by Chinese emigrant-owned eateries and later integrated into even the most traditional Japanese restaurants in view of its high demand. Yatai, already used for many decades in Japan to bring prepared food to residences, were one of the prime vehicles behind the propagation of Shina Soba by keeping this delicacy in permanently close reach.

As illustrated by the emblematic Charumera product logo, the sounding of the horn is an instrumental ritual of food cart owners, enabling their presence to be known. Conversely, this is a recurring action performed in the game with the pressing of the O button. Once the sound plays, bystanders will gather around the ever-cheerful uncle.

The name ‘charumera’ refers to a double-reed woodwind instrument that is said to have derived from ‘charamela’ – Portuguese for shawm -, hinting at a possible introduction to the Japanese by way of Christian missionaries from that provenance sometime during the 16th century. The simplicity of the instrument made it popular among pushcart owners, not only because its sound signalled their impending arrival, but also due to the clever employment of signature melodies in what can only be described as a primordial manifestation of brand awareness. All these practices are exquisitely demonstrated in a scene from Yasujirō Ozu’s 1936 film Hitori Musuko (The Only Son). Needless to say, a viewing of the entire picture is most advised.

~ Ramen as the expression of longing for a bygone era ~

In the present, where connections to history have been severed, ramen is a tool to rearticulate the charm of Japan’s traditions. - Hayamizu Kenrō

There couldn’t have been a more appropriate moment to reintroduce Charumera. Ramen is more of a nipponic cuisine staple than it has ever been before, sustaining its high demand across the islands, each region unyieldingly asserting the superiority of their own rendition. As for the rest of the world, ramen has long expanded beyond the constricted cubbyholes in which it remained for decades, when only urbane gourmets or ablutophobic otakus dared to publicly utter the word above a whisper.

Japan is presently witnessing an intriguing wave of nostalgia for the Showa era, as evidenced by the multitude of visitors to the recently inaugurated Yūhi No Oka Shōtengai (Sunset Hill Shopping Street) at Seibuen Yenchi, a massive theme part located in the Saitama prefecture of Tokyo. The concept behind this attraction is to recreate the life of a small shopping district from the 1960s, faithfully capturing the architecture, décor, fashion, transportation, advertising, stores and products from this period. Visitors seem delighted at the prospect of evasion to what they perceive as an easier, more compassionate style of living. (recommended viewing: NHK feature "Showa Nostalgia", May 2022).

A similar ideal is humbly pursued with this unique software: the use of modern technologies as a medium to connect to younger game-playing audiences, reciting a tale from a time when simple pleasures such as a cup of hot soup were deemed an enriching experience, for those preparing and feasting on it alike. Its only message is the celebration of amity and unity, as conveyed by its ultimate purpose: to weave lasting bonds with the community, establish the business as a local institution by acts of kindness and cooperation, inspire followers through hard work ethics and gain full support of every element of society. Its period recreation prowess may lack the verve of SEGA’s seminal Shenmue, published that same year. The exploits of its game system surely pale in comparison with the gargantuan catalogue of expansive role-playing games for which this epoch came to be celebrated. This is, after all, the product of nearly self-sufficient designers making as good a use of their previously acquired skills and experience as was permitted by the modesty of the budget in reach. In true indie form, it nevertheless excels at what the majority of the towering productions of the day failed to possess – a soul.

~ Heisei 11: the year of digital noodles ~

Though infrequent at the turn of the century, food and cooking themed video games have witnessed a vast expansion in popularity, presently existing in numbers sufficient to constitute a subgenre all their own. The ordinariness of most proposals in this category of late, however, beg for a tribute to earlier accomplishments. In general, food has been a pervasive theme in Japanese games since the early 1980s – after all, what is Pac-Man’s main premise if not to devour? For the purposes of this article, a more refined search is required to single out those pertinent creations still shrouded in relative obscurity.

Ajinomoto's foray into the world of video game product placement may have been the unintentional inspiration for a brave new console game category.

Certainly, one of the first Japanese games on the subject of cooking was Motoko-chan no Wonder Kitchen, a 1993 promotional Super Famicom cartridge obtainable only in return for mailing Ajinomoto mayonnaise cut-out label seals, all part of a contest for which ten thousand units were produced. The relevance of this game cannot be overstated: not only does it produce an early example of a stunningly functional dish assembly minigame, it also represents the early days of that obscure Japanese tradition wherein the video game space is permeated by advertising from large-scale food corporations.

A year later, the doyen of bishōjo games, KID, teamed up with Nissin Foods to give digital life to UFO Kamen Yakisoban, the superhero from their saucer-shaped yakisoba cup noodle ad, this time for an eccentric Super Famicom beat ‘em up in which the kitchen remains off-limits. In early 1999, KID would in turn partner with PepsiCo for the production of Pepsiman on the Playstation, Japan’s most recognizable face for the world-renowned soft drink, a game that garnered cult following among western players in the early 2000s.

It never ceases to amaze how many ports of The Family Restaurant hit the market between 1998 and 2000 alone. Just a year after the original Masterpiece game, a slightly improved version developed by ArtDink also made its way to the PC. There were also three editions of the game for the Playstation, each a unique variation of the base design. Notably, the Human edition included a partnership deal with the Skylark group, advertising a handful of their most beloved restaurant chains. The above cover art boasts the logos for Yumean, Aiya, Jonathan, Gusto and the temple of Chinese food deliciousness, Bamiyan.

Other honourable mentions from the latter half of the decade include Burger Burger, a Maxis/Bullfrog styled fast-food chain restaurant strategy simulator designed by board game designer and 1988 Monopoly word-champion Hyakuta Ikuo; the 1998 Masterpiece personal computer game Za Famiresu (The Family Restaurant), another restaurant business sim ported to the Playstation in 1999 by Human Entertainment, in an edition rececing the sponsorship from the major restaurant group Skylark; and Cooking Fighter Hao, a remarkably unusual Nippon-Ichi combat game in which the player slashes live animals for meals to be prepared.

Ore No Ryouru demands impeccable chopping skills at the cost of a few fingers (left). A leering look at historical Japanese society, Ramen Bashi is best described as a game of customs (right).

The year of 1999 represented a peak of creativity within the genre. Invariably, the first piece of evidence sustaining this claim is Ore No Ryouri, the result of a partnership between Sony and Argent intended to support marketing efforts for the original Dual Shock controller. Much like Saru Getchu, the game makes sensible use of the dual sticks in replicating the taxing kinesis that restaurant-grade food preparation entails. The game was a small success in Japan due to its hilarity and frantic pace, meriting a Playstation the Best edition and PS3/Vita rerelease.

Making its appearance mere weeks before Charumera, Ramen Bashi, developed by Media Entertainment, is another triumph from that same year, one that remains largely unappreciated even among Japanese players. Unlike the aforementioned oddities, novelties and brazen publicity stunts, this is a game of some depth and complexity. In it, the player assumes the role of a soldier demobilized from Siberia after the war who takes over his father’s ramen shop, finding himself encircled by a society of commoners, thugs and other such unpleasant people that, throughout the four decades during which the game takes place, ceaselessly prey on his Hakaiou-like, short-tempered nature. For every ounce of heart that Charumera possesses, Ramen Bashi matches it with its peculiar brand of satire and sardonic humour. So caustic, in fact, that the studio was forced to tone it down in for their ensuing gourmet series, referred to by some as the holy trinity of PlayStation cooking games - Yakiniku Bugyo, Nabe Kazoku, and Yakitori Musume. An article of similar scope to this one has yet to be written about any of them.

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#playstation #sony #ramen #myojo #nissin #charumera #instant ramen #videogame #obscure games #obscure game #Japanese food

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