#me getting in my car after the mechanic has altered the drivers seat

[forusomimiya]

@jamminlocks ship & prompt: “Kiss me properly” w/ Kiyoomi Sakusa ˚₊˚✧🌱✧˖°😷

Kiyoomi is a rich person, with a very good social and economic status, but not the kind of rich person who is proud and boasts about it, but one who goes unnoticed as such.

He doesn't show others the power he has by coming from a wealthy family, he doesn't show everything he can buy with money, he isn't grateful to people through details to show that he can make people happy, and he doesn't behave in a nicer or more polite way than usual because of who he is or to make himself look good. He doesn't need any of that. As long as he has his loved ones close to him and is loved by them, he doesn't give a damn about anything around him.

That is why, after long family meetings, and long hours where his personality has to change with respect to the people he dinner, which he does not feel any kind of admiration or interest for them, he feels the great need to see you when that happens, thus releasing the tension and returning to being oneself.

Out of the corner of your eye you see the car approaching. You look up from the phone to see that it is the same one Sakusa described to you, a black BMW with tinted rear windows and a small statuette adorning the hood. After typing a couple of times, you put the phone away and get in, but not without greeting the chauffeaur before opening the door.

"Home?"

"Yes, thank you" the gentleman nods and sets off. "How was the trip?"

"Ugh, pretty long. I'm not used to sitting for so many hours."

"That's the thing about living so far away from Osaka. If you lived here with me, it would be different" his voice trails off as he moves closer to your neck, pulling down his mask to kiss it. "I've missed you" you smile and watch as his hand runs down your thigh slowly, searching for a place under your skirt to rest.

"In what way?" you return to his eyes, to his dark, deep black eyes.

"I'll show you later" your gaze flies to the front mirror, where the driver is taking no notice of what's going on back there.

"I missed you too" you give him a kiss on the head and turn back to the window, losing yourself in the people outside on the street and the cars speeding past you.

Suddenly, a mechanical sound makes you turn towards the source of the sound, finding a dark panel coming out from behind the driver and passenger seats, slowly ascending to the ceiling, separating your area from the one in front of you.

“What the h-“

"Don't worry"

"But, that's inappropriate Kiyoomi!"

"Well, it's done. Come here" he got rid of his mask and waited until he saw you next to him and, in a way, you were grateful that he had pushed that button and you had stayed hidden behind that panel.

Yes, his hand traveled to your thigh again, more eagerly than before. As you again provided him access to your neck, you admired the shadow of his figure reflecting inside the car with the light of each street lamp. You gawked at the movement of his fingers squeezing your skin, altering at the same time his breathing on your neck. And you lost yourself when he drew a line with his tongue that reached your ear, manifesting chills that would take a long time to leave, as many more were to come.

"Kiyoomi…" you whispered nervously to not be heard.

"He won't hear us so, you can moan my name if that's what you want" and just with that, he managed to steal one from you. "Yeah... that's how I like it…" your lip wouldn't survive tomorrow if you kept biting it out of anxiety, and your posture didn't show that the last thing you wanted, was to stay strong, when every kiss from Sakusa made you more and more fragile, especially if he got closer to your mouth.

"Kiyo-" his lips took yours, and in a desperate attempt to run his hand down to your panties and make you lose control, he stayed back, getting only, and at least, sweet moans with broken and impossible kisses. That's when the Kiyoomi Sakusa you knew, became as dark as that night. "Kiss me properly" an order that made you surrender and that, defeated and without control, made you take his lips as it was due, without missing shortly after to open your legs for him.

Of that night you would not forget the dominance he exercised over you, and neither would you forget the grunts that, in exchange for giving him his name in a melodious moan and plea as you cum in his bed the way only he wanted, he gave you as a reward for being such a good girl. The scratches, hickeys and the marks of his fingers on your ass would not be forgotten either. And with that, you would reconsider returning to Osaka more often.

[gayf1hoe]

Part 6

“MoneyGram Haas F1 Driver Y/N L/N to join Red Bull Racing next season replacing Sergio Perez”

I still can't believe this is real. A few weeks ago my career looked dead and all things were pointing at me joining Williams which would have been suicide given the way they are performing this year. But, out of the blue one day during the week off I got a phone call from my manager saying that Christian Horner had asked to speak to me and within the first 5 minutes of us talking he offered me a Red Bull seat for next year. He said that he had been impressed with my efforts at Haas and that I was the ideal candidate which I'm sure it is a massive blow for drivers like Yuki, Liam and Danny but it wasn't my decision and I can't say I'm annoyed that they picked me, but can already tell there might be some jealousy.

The second it was announced my phone began blowing up with messages and calls from everyone. I am a bit nervous about driving with Max, but I won't be intimidated and as George Russell once said “I'm not going to wave him by because he's Max Verstappen in a Red Bull”.

We are here in Monaco after the Miami Grand Prix where I got P8 and Carlos P11 and Imola where I secured P6 and Carlos P9. The team have brought some major upgrades to Monaco including a new front wing design, a new rear wing and a supposedly stronger monocoque.

“Y/N how is the car?”

“Down force is good but this car is just too big for this circuit”

For many years as Formula 1 has developed there has been much questioning as to whether Monaco should still be on the calendar as the cars have gotten bigger and the track has pretty much remained the same size since the 1950s, a safety car or Red flag is always a possibility here at any point.

In the engineering meeting before Quali there is the usual tense atmosphere but I keep getting distracted by Carlos who keeps messaging me. We have sort of made up and he's only texting me things like:

“This is so boring”

“I can't wait for this to end”

We are on speaking terms but we are nowhere near besties, if anything I'm just keeping my head down for the next 14 races and never looking back at my time at Haas and maybe finally I can save money by stopping the therapy meetings I have had to attend for stress.

There are many reasons as to why I'm sad and happy to leave the team and as I'm sat in the car I look around and see all the engineers that I have got to know so well over my F1 career and realise that I am on my last few races with them. Alex of course gives me the usual fist bump and warm smile. When he found out I was leaving he was the one who was most upset and he promised to try and get a job at Red Bull.

But as I become too transfixed on his light blue eyes I am quickly snapped out of my thoughts:

“Green Light, the car is ready to go”

We wait a few minutes before going out and by this time there's so much traffic on the track and during my first flying lap I encounter a sleeping George just sitting on the track in the way which impedes me and means my lap is only good enough for P16.

“Yep, fucking George was just sitting on the track not looking behind him, that should be a penalty”

“Yep copied we are reporting it"

Thankfully on my second run I didn't encounter a sleeping Brit on the track and my second flying lap put me in P4 seeing me through to Q2. In the interval between Q1 and Q2 we make a few setting alterations and the mechanics do a little dance routine to the songs that are playing in the garage to keep me entertained.

I only manage to pass the pit exit line when I hear:

“Red Flag, Red Flag, Verstappen has had a shunt”

As I pass Max I pray that this isn't a sign as to what my future at the team will be like and if it is I would like to scrap my contract now.

Both me and Carlos make it through to Q3 without much pushing of the car, and with Max out of the session everyone feels a lot calmer. By the end of the session I qualify P3 and Carlos P5 which is probably the closest we have been together on the starting grid all season. Normally one of us is towards the front (normally me) and the other is to the back of the grid.

Me and Carlos agree to go for drinks after qualifying and as we have been seen together in public a lot recently it put people's minds at rest that we don't hate each other despite the accurate rumours that have somehow made their way to the media.

The bar is relatively quiet as you have to be a member to get into and after a while of talking Carlos changes the entire tone of the conversation.

“I have something to say”

“Sure, go ahead”

“Me and lando have started speaking again”

He looks at me as if he's expecting me to have some sort of reaction to it.

“That's great, why are you telling me though?”

“Well I didn't want things to be awkward and for you to be confused if you randomly saw us talking ”

“Whatever you do is your business”

“So are you talking to anyone?”

“No,” I reply.

It's probably the biggest lie I have ever told, I don't really want to tell him I'm seeing a Formula E driver. I just don't see how it's any of his business and I know he told me he's speaking to Lando but I really couldn't care less.

After a while of speaking we head back to our hotel rooms and I rest my phone against the wall as I take a seat at the desk and start a FaceTime call.

It doesn't take long for him to pick up.

“Hey Dan”

“Hi love you were awesome today”

I'm sure the last person people would expect me to be dating is Dan Ticktum. He's quite unpopular, many people say he has personality issues and is a bit of a dick but the people I have dated in the past all had one thing in common, they are dicks, it's just my type obviously which would explain why none of my relationships last.

“Thank you I didn't think you would watch”

“Of course I would watch you. I am meant to support you and plus you watch everything to do with Formula E so it's only fair”

We chat for hours talking about the last 2 days as we haven't been able to speak as we have been so busy. When I attended the Chinese E - Prix I wasn't aware that I would meet Dan and we would end up dating, he came to the Italian Grand Prix after we started dating and he said he enjoyed watching me race but he was also pissed off he never made it to F1 but I assured him that he shouldn't discount himself and to keep on pushing.

I eventually clamber into the bed after coming out of the bathroom from my shower and find a random TV show that I don't even get to watch as I fall asleep as soon as it starts.

In the morning I am awoken by my assistant knocking on the door with my outfit for today that I had sent down to be dry cleaned. The early wake up call isn't something I'm majorly overjoyed by and my groan of annoyance makes it obvious. There's an engineering meeting in 1 hour so I have to rush to the track but as the F2 feature race is taking place the paddock is overwhelmed by a tumultuous sea of people.

“So we have the engineering meeting, some fan engagement and interviews and the race” my assistant informs me.

I take my seat in the engineering room next to my engineer and some other team personnel and don the headset which connects us to specialists back in the factory. To make things much more worse Gene is here and as he owns the team me and Carlos have been told to be on our best behaviour.

“Y/N and Carlos do you have any concerns or questions about this weekend?” The racing director voices.

“If me and Carlos end up next to each other and we are trying to attack the car in front will there be a driver swap or is it just race until you overtake” I ask knowing full well I won't be participating in any driver swap.

“Well we of course will make that decision based on who has the better pace and what position we are fighting for”

I collect my cap and head out the back into the fan area where Haas has invited some fans and given them special access, so me and Carlos spend some time talking with them and signing some stuff all whilst the sound of the F2 cars engines dominate the air.

Monaco has always brought out a lot of pageantry with hundreds of celebrities and fans on the track as we start preparing for one of the most esteemed races in motorsports. I have a lovely view of George (who didn't get a penalty for impeding me in quali) and Lewis, the ex-teammates, in front of me in P1 and P2 and Checo who is in P4 next to me.

“Radio Check”

“It's really hot in here”

“Yep, loud and clear Y/N” my engineer replies.

“A quick compound run down everyone has gone hard apart from Ocon, Tsundoa and Verstappen who have gone soft”

“Thank you for that very precise information, it's greatly appreciated ” I reply with a very strong suggestive undertone.

My eyes dart to the 5 Red lights after the formation lap, concentrating on getting the best start I can.

I get off the line well whereas George encounters some wheel-spin that enables me to pass him. And all is going well until turn 3…

“Red Flag, Ocon and Gasly have shunted they have also collected Zhou with them”

“Copied. Are they all OK?”

“Yep all are fine”

In the pit lane we essentially get a free pit stop and Monaco is the track where you can make the tyres last as you aren't pushing flat out at any point really so your tires can last pretty much for the entire race.

“Y/N just to let you know the restart will be the grid order you started in so we are back down to P3”

“Yep regards to the FIA for making things harder for me”

It's just my luck to make up a place in Monaco and be denied that place after a red flag. It's like the FIA are working against me, but It's not like I've tried to be nice to them or make them like me.

On the restart both Lewis and George have a good start and I can't get ahead of them but I see Carlos coming into my mirror and I have no intention of letting him pass. My engineer must notice as he randomly starts talking in the middle of the turn which is a big no.

“Y/N we want to conserve tyres we are looking at Plan C”

Plan C is running the tires to the end of the race without stopping.

Lap 55 and I'm in second and I have a 12 second gap to Carlos behind and a 0.4 gap to George ahead, Lewis had to retire due to a hydraulic failure. I attempt to overtake George as we approach the Nouvelle Chicane but he defends aggressively and my front right tyre comes off.

“I have a puncture guys”

“Copy, box, box”

Me and George both pit but my stop is quicker as he has to replace his front wing and thankfully there was a massive gap between Carlos and Checo behind and I came out in between the two.

“Y/N we are thinking of boxing Carlos if he pits you will have to give back the space.”

“We didn't discuss that in the meeting”

“We said it would change depending on the situation”

Carlos boxes making me the race leader and having Checo trailing behind me. When Carlos exits the pits he makes numerous attempts to overtake Checo and on much newer tires it's not much of a challenge for him.

“Y/N we have 15 Laps to go. Please return the position”

“Why?” I ask.

“It's would be best for the team if you give back the position”

“You want me to do what's best for the team that screwed me over”

“Y/N I am trying to protect you”

I don't listen and continue to push on. Increasing the gap to 3.1 seconds.

10 Laps to go: “Y/N we need to do it now, if there is a safety car things are going to get really awkward”

8 Laps to go: “The way to do well in this sport is not by yourself it's by playing the team game, please let Carlos by”

4 Laps to go: “Y/N you have proved your point just let him by”

On the last lap I am sick of hearing the constant yapping of my engineer and concede to their demands and let Carlos by at the Nouvelle Chicane, incredibly pissed.

“Yep don't say anything to me or I could be liable to say something I will regret”

As we cross the line the team are hanging over the pit wall cheering both of us on and whilst Carlos drives close to the wall like most drivers do I go to the complete opposite side. Many could argue I'm being petty but willingly letting someone else pass you to win goes against every racer's natural instinct.

“P2, P2 good job”

“Yeah whatever”

I step out the car and head over to the FIA weighing scales and Valtteri comes over to me and says I did the right thing but it doesn't feel like it, because unlike when Valtteri had to follow team orders he was at the top of the standings any way whereas I'm in a mid tier team where every point for me is showing my potential to bigger teams, but I'm off to Red Bull so it doesn't really matter in that sense but my ego is saying otherwise.

In the cool down room I take a seat and watch the race replay making small talk with Checo.

“You were really fast today” Checo comments.

“Thanks you were flying at the restart though” I retort.

After watching the incident between me and George it's clear we are both partly to blame so I hold no bad blood against him.

At the conclusion of the podium ceremony I head over to the reporter who I have been told I must speak to:

Reporter: So good result for the team the first 1-2 in the team's history, how does it feel?

Y/N: It feels pretty good for the team we have somehow gone from being a back marker to being in the fight for a top midfield position.

Reporter: Now the question we are all asking is how has Haas, previously a back marker notorious for having an unreliable car with bad pace, managed to secure such good results this year?

Y/N: It's been a lot of hard work and even this year we have had our struggles, in Imola and Miami we had pace issues and only managed to get a few points which wasn't what we wanted. We have been constantly developing the car and talking with specialist departments. And it has been difficult to improve whilst staying within the FIA cost cap but we have somehow managed to stay on track.

Reporter: Now I'm sure you know what's coming next. The team orders. Do you feel it was unfair to give the position to Carlos?

Y/N: At the end of the day it's racing. I don't see why I should just give up the places just because he's my teammate. The team didn't need to pit Carlos but they wanted to get the fastest lap point as well. In my opinion the team got a little bit greedy for points and that's what caused the conflict. But the team obviously wanted Carlos to get his first win with the team and move him up in the standings.

Reporter: Many people have said your attitude over the race sounds a lot like the way Dan Ticktum in Formula E talks. Now you have seen a lot with him so has he influenced your attitude? And what's your relationship there?

Y/N: Well yes we have spent quite a lot of time with each other but I would say he's explicitly influenced the way I talk or act. In terms of our relationship we are just good friends, we have known each other for 4 weeks and have gone out a lot together and got to know each other very well.

Reporter: Some people would call that dating. Do you disagree?

Y/N: Everyone has their own interpretation.

As usual at the end of the race we have the debrief meeting, some race weekends we do it the next day it just depends on the time the race finishes but as the race has finished in the afternoon we get the joy of sitting through a debrief.

Walking into the room there is a load of data on the screens and Gene is standing at the front with Guenther. After everyone arrives he does a massive speech about how well we have done and made changes from last year and how good it is for Carlos to achieve his maiden win with the team.

“I can't believe they didn't even acknowledge the fact Carlos wouldn't have won if you didn't give the position back” Alex says in a whisper.

At the conclusion of the meeting Guenther asks me to stand behind, I get deja vu from being at school when I would have to stay behind from class more than likely because I fell asleep after being up all night travelling back from a karting race.

“Look I appreciate you eventually following the order but you can't do that again. It's overshadowed Carlos’ first win and with all due you respect you acted like a child”

“I think you forget Guenther I turned down a Sauber offer that would have seen me go to Audi when they join. I turned that down because you practically begged me to stay. I stayed with the team even after a crazy Russian driver drove into me on track and his mad father who was practically threatening to set half the fucking Kremlin officials on me for outperforming his son and you stood by and did nothing because he was the main investor if you had come to me I would have told him to “fuck off” for you. So please don't lecture me about being mature and doing what's best for the team when I have always put this team first despite it giving me nothing in return apart from a very expensive therapist bill, probably being on some Russians's hit list, and a contract termination ”

As I'm packing my bag with my stuff Carlos enters my room holding my folder that I must have left in the garage. Genuther has gone mad at me for losing that thing before as it contains lots of documents about the car, the team and other confidential stuff we don't want other teams getting a hold of.

“Ah thanks you're a lifesaver” I say reaching to grab the folder from his hands, but he retracts his arm.

“Why didn't you tell me that you and Dan Ticktum were dating?” he asks.

I again go to reach for the folder and he moves his arm further back.

“I just didn't see how it's any of your business and before you say that you told me about Lando, I never asked.”

“That's not the reason, it's something different than that.”

“There really no other reason Carlos you are just paranoid”

“There's no reason someone like you would date Dan Ticktum”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I say, raising my voice slightly.

“He's a dickhead who's going to break your heart and you know it, if you want attention you could at least date someone who cares about you at least. Fuck, even Alex would love you more than Dan”

“Carlos just leave”

“Fine but don't say I didn't warn you”

Guenther’s talk and Carlos’ rant has pissed me off so I head back to my hotel and make a few calls to get out of here. We have another week's break before Spain and I intend to just spend it at home. I eventually manage to arrange a flight with the charter company that is sponsoring Haas and make my way to Nice to the private airport.

Before I leave George manages to catch up with me and evidently Carlos has spoken to him by the trajectory of the conversation where he is evidently hinting at something but is too scared to say it outright.

“Are you heading back already?”

“Yeah I just need to spend some time at home”

“Are you OK?” he questions.

“Yes I'm fine” I reply bluntly.

“So you and Dan huh?”

“George, what do you want? All these small talk questions really aren't amusing me?”

“I just want to check you're fine and doing the right thing with Dan?”

“George I am fine and I don't know if I'm doing the right thing with Dan but I'm an adult and I will learn from my mistakes if it isn't right. Now if you don't mind I have to catch a flight”

I was hoping to join a team that would have meant I didn't have to spend so much time in England because the weather is as Bipolar as me. But being with Red Bull means that's not happening.

I feel a sense of relief opening my apartment door that has become kind of stiff to open, elucidating how little time I have to come home.

There is a mountain of junk mail on the floor despite the very clear sign on the door saying no junk mail but apparently the people who work for the post office in the UK can’t read, and my assistant here promised to come by and check my mail but obviously she has been slacking but I don’t really care it's not like anything important comes by post anymore.

It's only early morning so I head straight to bed and the pattering of rain starts hitting the window.

“Great” I sigh, turning over.

I have no idea what I'm going to be doing whilst I'm here but I know I have some legal meetings with Red Bull and Haas regarding contracts which will be a lot of fun. Just kidding, it will be hours of banal meetings listening to tedious talks, from tedious people about tedious things.

I drag myself from my bed and decide to go for a run which is out of character for me but there is nothing more freeing than a run in the rain. I turn my headphones on and started playing a random saved playlist on Spotify. I live really near Silverstone like a 20 minute walk or a 15 minute run at my incredibly slow running pace . As I run past the track I can see some of the grandstands and other features that have been set up for the Grand Prix in a few weeks time.

During my run I happen to spot the same car drive by me 3 or 4 times as I run along one of the main roads but I don't think much of it as it isn't easy to get lost around here so I assume they are just looking for their destination and even when I start heading back home and see the same car I don't think much of it.

As I walk up to my apartment I see my door open and as much as in this situation I'm sure I should turn around and call the police I enter the apartment with the utmost caution. It's empty and nothing has been taken. Not that there's anything to take as all my valuable possessions which are literally my trophies and helmets are stored in a secure unit.

There is a single note on the kitchen side and it says….

[theringers]

V-card anon: hi sorry about that first ask i kinda went into a fugue state (spelling?) altered state of reality maybe when i wrote that and damn near outlined a fic in your inbox

The way we played hot seat was either part of a larger drinking game when a certain card was pulled from a deck, or just on it's own. You sit in a circle, everyone has a drink, usually a beer or cider. In the card pull version, the one who pulls the card gets asked a question by every person playing and if they refuse to answer they drink from their drink. In the standalone, you do that but everyone gets a turn being asked until people get bored and leave. Fun way to find out shit about people. Usually the unwritten rule is that you can't lie. I imagine everyone sitting on shitty chouches and chairs in a semi circle around a table full of cups and bottles playing it

Questions i have been asked: are you a top or bottom? Do you like anal? Wheres the weirdest place you've fucked? Body count? Favorite position (sexual)? Fuck marry kill/ignore people in this room (EVERY TIME I PLAYED I GOT THIS QUESTION)? Tits or ass or other? Favorite non sexual body part ex. Thigh? Ideal fuck buddy? Sex regrets? Etc

Also more weird details i have head cannoned out for some drivers and most likely does not fit with irl personalities, do with this what you will, use it or don't i just have feelings. Also everyone is like compressed in age to like 20-27ish except for some of the grid who i will just think of as younger alumns who come back:

Danny R: social chair, owns a jeep he takes the doors off of in the summer, walks girls home at night to make sure they're ok, tries to DJ house events and is rebuffed by literally everyone, has like 30 pairs of vans you trip over in his room, stolen roadsigns everywhere, masters in something arigcultural or physiological, cutoff frat shirts for days, fuckboy but nice, a bit cringe, will drive around with you at night so you can scream, met reader bc she had a band tee on and wanted to talk to her about it (no gatekeeping)

Charles: some kind of engineering or math degree but no one has any idea how the fuck he's gotten so far, 4.0 never studies, games with other house members, will show up at events randomly you will have no idea how he gets on your couch but he is there, the best and worst taste in clothes, is the only one allowed to play the piano in the house, sweet, cannot help you with studies but is always down for helping you out after, has to be reminded to clean stuff, disaster bi, reader met his gf first and they probably met through that

Pierre: good fashion and music taste, shirt is gone halfway through the night, also fuckboy but wholesome, actually studies, plays a sport for sure probably soccer in some way either club or Division he's too good for rec, will hold your hair back so you can throw up, will tell you your outfit sucks, good at math, also part of the squad that games, econ major, workout buddies with reader anday have taken a math class together

Max: is part of the hockey team he will go pro, also actually studies, got into gaming because of Charles, has the nicest car, is serious until he gets a couple drinks in him, he and Daniel are close and roomed together at some point, owns like 30 sets of the same outfit a white tee and jeans, knows reader through Dan and they get dragged by him to some of the same stuff

Lando: is a pledge or new member his big is Carlos, undeclared major, just happy to be here, gaming squad, used to play lacrosse or something equally obscure, king of knowing where the good snacks are, weirdly good at beer pong, growing into a fuckboy wholesomeness level tbd, probably sweet with reader as she helped him through a blackout or something, met her because she's basically house mom for some of the new boys (the kind of mom who will teach you to do laundry or iron ONCE)

Carlos: hockey flow but does not play hockey, actually studies and is smarter than what people give him credit for, came from a private high school and uni really opened his horizons, also good study buddy, gets along with most people, goes to office hours the most out of the actually studies gang, fun at parties, owns the frat dogs, he and reader met at Office hours (they were the only students) and found they had mutual friends too

Lewis: is/was president of frat, great grades greater bod, did full evolution from fuckboy to good man, has the back tests and the moral support, up for late noght talks about life, definitely was a D1 athlete, best fashion game, implemented no hazing policy, fits into notable alum or PhD category

Mick: undergrad like Lando, also plays soccer or something, too sweet, also walks girls home/holds your hair back etc, cleans parts of the house that aren't his responsibility, higher alcohol tolerance than you expect, everyone is bizarrely protective of him, legacy member (his dad was a legend), drives a motorbike around campus and can't decide between law and psychology, actually studies, met reader through the frat and she would die for him, brings her to class on the bike sometimes because the bike is faster

George: business major, frat treasurer, three ring binder business casual in class kind of guy, nice enough, shirt comes off when drunk, runs marathons and a podcast about investments, best notes in the game and great study partner, actually studies, is drinking monster at 6AM but not because he stayed up late, he and reader met through the frat and sometimes drink wine and bitch together

Lance: hockey player, legacy member, studies sometimes, sarcasm on point, great at stack cup, very chill, knows every good nap spot on campus, also has high alcohol tolerance, is the kind of person who does well in the cold but does not like it, wears headphones so people don't talk to him, great one on one but not in crowds, business major and minor in computer science, probably also met thru Lance's gf but vibe as more introverted people and will cover for each other if one does not want to go out

Nicky: a good boy, part of the walks people home squad, sets up designated drivers for parties, good snack game, future in medical field, good listener, pretty good study buddy, midnight snack enabler, met reader through frat and his gf he and reader are on babysitting duty together sometimes when others get too drunk/high

Yuki: also a pledge or new, majoring in games or computer science as they gave me the same energy as him, games squad, bit of a mad lad, has several stolen street signs, good, met reader through frat and Yuki is the only one patient enough to explain some games to reader, they cuss people out on mic

Esteban: good man, has a full ride scholarship, actually studies, also good study buddy, Dan's little, plays soccer but maybe on a rec team because he prioritizes school, very sweet guy as well, probably chose a really practical major/dual major, met reader through Dan and are also dragged similar places by him

Antonio: manbun, philosophy or classics major possibly business dual, generally good natured but can be seen supplying his own wine at parties, used to be really into metal but kept the hair, does not know that people find him attractive, soccer boi, met reader through frat and she's the only one who will (pretend) to listen to him rant about philosophy

Alex Albon: another full scholarship guy, somehow gets along with everyone, switched majors due to an asshole professor, electrical engineering or computer engineering, actually studies, helps with frat pets,will show you pictures of his cats at home, sweetie, another contender for will hold your hair or walk you home, probably met reader through a class or club and found they had mutual friends and that reader is friends with his gf

Notable alums:

Checo - dad, successful in finance somehow (he looks like an really successful accountant of CFO to me idk why)

Kimi - dad but people forget he is, holds the record for most drinks in 24 hours that will never be come close to by anyone else, shows up on random alum weekends with 2 kegs, legally cannot tell you what he does or he would actually have to murder you

Valterri - was good at a sport when he was there, now a very effective lead engineer at an architectural firm

Seb - environmental or mechanical engineering, all around good guy with someone the best grades in frat history

Alonso - legendary for sexual exploits (consensual)

Anyone I put as actually studies is probably the type reader would hang around for more serious stuff/schoolwork and would probably be closer to, with the exception of Dan bc I feel like he'd be like we're friends now :)) we shall hang or Charles bc he will just show up. I also imagine she has a pretty good friendship with any existing gf, however if a driver does have a gf and he is the love interest sorry bb girl u gotta go for the purposes of this fic

Sorry this is so long hahaaaaaaa glad you liked my Charles thoughts ilu

i honestly wasn’t going to share this like the rest of the anon asks i’ve gotten that i keep close to my heart but this was just too good to keep to myself.

LOOK! AT! THIS!

f1 drivers as frat bros/college students headcannon

i’m writing a series - each “chapter” will be a smut with a different frat bro and i’m hoping to post a sneak peek this week some time but here’s something to hold you over and give you some ideas

to my vcard anon - i appreciate this so much. my inbox is always open for ur thoughts bc they are SO GOOD !! can’t wait for you to read the first part of the series bby

PS if some of this doesn’t make sense to u feel free to send in asks (i know a lot of this is focused on american college culture so if u don’t get it i’m happy to explain)

[tricktster]

i finally bought a new car, which required me to trade in my beloved old car. Now there was a lot that sucked about my old car, like, for example:

 the driver’s window seal leaked, so I had to hold a towel up to it whenever I went through the car wash or got caught in a thunderstorm, or in the alternative, appear places as my alter ego, Ol’ Wet Sleeve.

one day, for no discernible reason, the passenger door power lock made a metallic shriek for thirty minutes and then refused to ever work again

the windshield fluid reservoir was cracked, so I not only had to stop at every gas station to wipe the salt off my windshield all winter, but until the last of the fluid worked its way out of its system, every parking spot looked like my car had done a blue tinkle

something went terribly wrong with the anti-theft system which caused it to beep incessantly until the battery quite literally drained from the effort every time I locked my door and it was even mildly humid, culminating in the day its incessant wailing ruined a kishi bashi concert and then never deployed again

once there was a chipmunk on the windshield and I needed to get to work so I started the car and began driving VERY slowly in the hopes it would jump off, but it instead disappeared into a hole next to the wipers and I just had to hope it crawled out at work because i was late and surely that hole didn’t lead anywhere

the hole apparently led somewhere, and the chipmunk made a home somewhere under the hood

thereafter, the chipmunk, and I do not understand the mechanics here, figured out how to get into the cabin and left about 15 uneaten acorns, 30 partially eaten acorns, 100 acorn shells, and 1000 tiny poops on the floor

after i got the tires rotated last year, the right front wheel made an irreversible and humiliating squeaking noise whenever i went less than 50 miles an hour

it got stuck in very small amounts of snow with extreme, perverse regularity

there were inexplicable danger buttons on the steering wheel that made the automatic transmission turn into a manual - which I cannot drive. But don’t worry, they were incredibly easy to deploy accidentally and could only be fixed by turning the whole car off

the horn sounded like a clown nose

After five years without so much as a scrape, I told my mom about my intention to buy a better car and trade in the old one for a few thousand bucks. Approximately 17 hours thereafter, my mom accidentally backed into it with her car, leaving a huge dent and rendering the whole car worth literally dozens of dollars.

Three days later, my mom ran into it again, but this time with the rider mower. Although the rider mower cannot top five miles per hour, she claimed the collision was unavoidable because “the rider mower doesn’t have brakes!” although she was unable to explain how that prevented her from, you know, steering around the large stationary object. Also the rider mower has brakes. 

Now I know this all sounds very bad and dumb. However, there were three great things about my car that made up for all that nonsense:

1. it only had two seats. Examples of why this ruled:

 “oh, you guys need a ride somewhere? Oh sorrrrrry I caaaaaan’t, it’s a twooooo seater.”

 “you need help moving? SOOOOOORRRYYY I CAAAAAN’T FIT ANYTHING IN THERE AND I ONLYYYYY GOT TWO SEATSSS MANNNNN.”

“It’s my turn to be the DD? Sure, that only seems fa- OH SORRY CAN’T NOT EQUIPPED TWO SEATS IS THE THINGGGG.

2. because it was stupid small, I could go roughly 340 miles on about 20 dollars of gas (unless I pressed the red button that made it much less fuel efficient but made the engine noise go “vrmVOOM,” you know, to impress men)

Lastly, and most importantly:

3. the license plate that it was randomly assigned was absolutely incredible. Now I don’t want to get doxxed so this is a fake plate to protect my car’s identity, but it was, in essence, ORC-42069. It was fantasy creature + the funny numbers. It was so fucking choice. 

Anyway, I loved that stupid, selfish, garbage car, but it was time to let it go, on account of I Drive In Vermont And This Winter It Nearly Killed Me (On 3 Separate Occasions). So two weeks ago I agreed to trade in the Jerkmobile for, and this is no joke, ONE DOLLAR, I said goodbye to the funniest plates in automotive history, I put several thousand bucks down on a preowned car with only 8k miles and that sweet all wheel drive, and I settled in to wait for the NYSDMV to process the registration.

It took like fifteen days to get the registration settled, but because NYSDMV employees, like the rest of us, are dealing with a global pandemic, I wasn’t about to complain about the wait. And I like to think that my non-Karen energy reaped beautiful rewards. See, at the dealership this evening, I finally laid eyes on my brand new car. 

Look, I don’t believe in God. I have to remind myself sometimes that there’s nobody pulling the strings, that human beings tend to draw connections between unrelated points of data, that none of this MEANS anything. And yet, at the same time....

oh what intelligence

what divine providence

that my new randomly generated license plate should begin with a thrash metal band and end in 69.

[starlightsearches]

Could you write a modern au, Armitage Hux x Reader oneshot in which Hux is a well respected CEO in the center of Manhattan and the reader is just a barista at a local coffee shop that’s right across from Hux’s building. On an off day Hux is forced to take the bus. He recognizes the reader because he’s gotten coffee from her shop before and decides to start a conversation. He ends up taking the bus more often just to see the reader and she ends up questioning him why. Sorry if that’s so specific.

Sunshine

This is definitely not too specific, and I’m OBSESSED with this concept! Thank you for this request. I have this for you, hope you like it!

This was partially inspired by @amadwomanrambles wonderful CEO! Hux headcanons that you can find here.  I also posted my own hcs earlier today about him (here), and I’m such a slut for this au I’ll probably post more!

Requests are closed  ✨

CEO! Hux x Barista! Reader Modern AU

Warnings: Pretty much just language! Enjoy 😊

When the interviewer from Forbes Magazine asked Armitage Hux—CEO of First Order Enterprises and one of the youngest millionaires currently residing in New York City—what the secret to his success was, he had a ready response: strict adherence to an optimized routine. Unlike most of the nonsense he was required to prattle on about in those interviews, this was something that he actually believed.

He started each day the same way: wake to an alarm at 5 AM, exercise, shower, breakfast and the news. After that he’d dress for work, check his email, and then wait for his driver to pick him up from his apartment and take him to the office building in Midtown. He’d arrive at work at 6:15 sharp, and he’d stay there until the sun set each evening. It was a good routine. A safe routine. And he wasn’t about to break it for just anything.

Today he didn’t have a choice. His driver called him at 5:30. She was sick. She could call someone else, but they’d be late. Hux told her not to bother; he’d find another way to work. He didn’t mention the queasiness that piqued in his stomach at the mention of another driver. They’d probably try to talk to him, and he’d have to think of something to say. Hux could handle a boardroom, he could handle a press-conference, he could even handle a fundraiser with sufficient preparation. But one-on-one interaction? With a stranger? He avoided it as often as he could.

But then how to get to work? He wouldn’t take a cab, for the same reasons he didn’t want another driver, in addition to the fact that most were terribly dirty. He never took the subway if he could help it. Hux stares down at the streets below, watches as New York City begins to wake. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see a bus stop, only a short distance from the front door of his building. It’s better than walking.

Hux finishes the rest of his morning routine, but there’s little pleasure in it now that he’s been forced to alter it, and his displeasure only deepens after he checks the bus schedule; he’s missed the first one, which means he’ll be late. At least he knows that his coffee won’t be waiting for him, since it’s a Wednesday.

Heat rises in his cheeks whenever Hux thinks about his favorite part of his morning routine. Every day but Wednesday, he gets to spend the last minutes before he walks into work at Pleasant Distraction Coffee, a little shop across the street from the FOE building, and every day but Wednesday, he starts his mornings with you—your smile, the brush of your fingers as you hand him his drink. You always have it ready for him when he walks in the door, and he thinks that you, too, have an appreciation for routine, for order. Not that he can say, for sure. He’s never really talked to you, after all, but he believes that the gesture speaks volumes. 

The air is cool and brisk outside his apartment, and he arrives at the bus stop with five minutes to spare. The sun is just starting to rise, the rays of light reflecting off of the windows of his building, and he thinks that New York City looks better when it’s bathed in the golden glow of the morning. It’s almost pleasant enough to make him forget his earlier frustrations, and he’s starting to feel invigorated instead of annoyed, like the day is full of unexplored possibilities. Like maybe he should take the bus more often. He immediately regrets that thought when the bus actually pulls up, coughing a thick cloud of exhaust fumes in his face before it stops. He boards and pays, and then freezes in the middle of the aisle. It’s you.

“Find a seat,” the bus driver calls back loudly, and a few people glare at him as he sits down, but you don’t notice the commotion, mouthing along to the music playing in your headphones, oblivious to the world. You look different out of your uniform, but Hux thinks he’d know you anywhere and he falls into a seat, watching to make sure he’s right. 

No, it’s definitely you. Your expression betrays an intense level of focus as you lean in closer to the book you’re reading before you scribble in the margins and then flip to the next page. He never gets to see you like this: looking so awake, so alive. It’s always been hard for him to take his eyes off of you, but now . . .

He should talk to you. He should talk to you because if he doesn’t, and you see him, you would think that he had chosen to ignore you, and he didn’t want that. That is, if you recognized him at all. Would you recognize him? You saw him every morning, but it was always while you were working, and it wasn’t like your interactions with him were particularly unique. You probably handed hundreds of people their coffee everyday. But you did remember his order; that had to count for something. And he’d really like a chance to say more to you than just “good morning.”

The bus stops again, and Hux gathers the courage to move to the closest empty seat. Your eyes stay on your book, your pen resting on your bottom lip. Hux takes in a deep breath before tapping you on the shoulder, and to his horror, you jump, ripping your headphones from your ears and turning to face him.

“Holy shit, you scared me—wait a second, I know you!” Your expression transforms from anger and surprise to one of recognition, and your face lights up when you give him a smile. It’s a genuine smile—not a customer-service smile, like he normally gets. A sunshine smile. Hux has to remind himself to breathe.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says when he finally regains the ability to speak, “but I thought I recognized you and I wanted to say hello.” He trails off awkwardly; this was a terrible idea. He had nothing to say to you, but he had to admit that he liked being this close, liked being able to see the way your lashes brush against your cheeks when you look down, pausing the tinny music he can hear coming from your headphones.

“Well, hello,” you say, smiling again. Hux turns his gaze to the ceiling, begging his brain to come up with something to say. Luckily, you carry on the conversation for him, “I’ve never seen you on the bus before. Car trouble?”

“Something like that,” it’s not technically a lie, and he isn’t exactly eager to get into the details of his morning. What would you think of him if you knew he had a personal chauffeur while you were forced to take the bus?

“Hmmm, that sucks. If you need a mechanic, I know a guy.” You pull a slip of paper out of the back cover of your book and nestle it between the pages, closing it and resting it in your lap. Hux takes this as a good sign—you want to keep talking to him.

“It’s being taken care of,” he says, and then, hoping to change the subject, “what’s your stop?” 

“Oh, I’m headed to NYU,” you say, nudging your backpack on the floor with the toe of your shoe.

“You’re a student?” He should have guessed, but the information surprises him. You seemed older than most of the students he sometimes saw running around campus when he went to give guest lectures in the business school every semester. 

“No, I just like going to the library on my days off,” you say in explanation, like you already knew what he was thinking, “It’s quiet there and my roommates are loud, so . . . ” The bus jolts to a stop again, and you’re almost thrown into him, until you brace yourself against his shoulder. Your hand lingers just for a moment before you move it back your lap once again, mumbling a quick apology. Hux changes his mind again, he should definitely take the bus more often.

“This is an early start for a day off,” he says, and you laugh.

“Yeah, it is. I guess all the time I spend serving coffee has kind of ruined my ability to sleep in,” you say, and then with some hesitation, “you work for First Order Enterprises, right?” 

“How did you know that?” God, he hopes you don’t read the tabloids. He’s only minor fodder for the parasites who write them—there are many bigger names in New York than his—but the articles aren’t exactly flattering, and he’d hate for you to have a negative opinion of him before he even had a chance to get to know you.

“Well, I do see you walk into the building every day,” you say in explanation, and he relaxes, safe for now. Maybe it’s a trick of the light as it floods through the greying bus window, but he thinks you might be blushing, and it’s thrilling. Talking to you is surprisingly easy, even when he’s so often distracted by the quirk of your lips, the way your tongue sometimes peaks out of the corner of your mouth when you’re trying to think of something to say. Hux takes a chance to look out the window and, to his dismay, he can see the FOE building in the distance. His time with you is almost up.

“I think my stop is next,” he says, and your mouth folds into a small frown. He moves to stand, getting ready to disembark, but you stop him with a hand on his arm.

“Wait,” you say, and he hesitates, although he can tell by the streets passing by that the bus will be stopping any moment now, “I don’t know your name.” Hux winces. Of course he should tell you his name, he knows yours after all; you wear a name tag when you’re working and he had made a point to read it. You don’t release him, expectant.

“I go by Hux,” he says, finally giving in, and you squint your eyes at him in confusion.

“There’s no way that’s your name,” you say, your fingers dancing over the sleeve of his suit jacket sending sparks up through his arm. It wakes him up better than caffeine ever has; he feels like he could run a marathon if you just kept touching him. 

“I go by my last name, actually,” he explains, and you raise your eyebrows, waiting for more, “my first name is . . . unique.”

“Well, now I have to know.” Your eyes light up and you smirk, tightening your grip as he feels the bus roll to a stop. He looks to the doors, waiting for them to open, but you tug on the hem of his sleeve to bring his attention back to you, “It’ll drive me crazy if you don’t tell me.” God, you’re pretty when you want something. Hux has a feeling that you don’t hear the word no often, and you certainly won’t hear it from him. 

“It’s Armitage,” he finally concedes, and you throw your hands to your mouth, but they can’t keep the squeal from escaping. He gives you a pained look and you lower them, adopting an air of mock solemnity.

“That is unique,” you say, clearing your throat to cover up your giggle, “what does it mean?”

“Mean?” The bus finally stops, and he stands, waiting for the bus driver to open the doors.

“Come on, a name like that has to mean something.” Your finger runs over the skin of his wrist, and he has to lean close to hear you over the sound of the passengers getting on, a few of them shuffling irately past him to find seats. He should leave now, before the bus driver starts up again again, but not without giving you what you asked.

“It means,” he says quietly, “that my father was an asshole.”

You pause only for a moment, and then the sound of your laughter fills the whole bus, a hearty, full laugh that’s like gold in his veins. A few people glare at the two of you, but Hux doesn’t mind the attention. God, that’s a lovely sound. He’d like to wake up to a sound like that. Your hand falls from his arm, and he straightens, heading to the door, but he looks back before disembarking.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Armitage.” You leave him with one last smile as he steps down onto the street. He stays on the curb for a moment, watching as the bus turns the corner, disappearing from view. For the first time in a long time, Hux thinks he has a reason to break his routine.

It doesn’t take long for you to figure him out; certainly not as long as he’d like. It’s the third morning that he sees you waiting for him, a morning that’s overcast and cloudy, but you smile at him when he walks through the doors and it makes everything seem brighter. You move your bag from the seat next to you and put away your book as he joins you—a new routine in its own right. It’s nice to see you in the mornings when he gets his coffee, but he’s been looking forward to Wednesday mornings the most, likes that he can just be with you for a little while.

“So I met a friend of yours yesterday,” you say in greeting as he sits, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Hux doesn’t have many friends, and he had plenty of enemies who might try something devious. “Your driver—I think she said her name was Phasma? She came in for coffee after parking your car.” You’ve got a great poker face, but Hux thinks he can see the hint of a smile at the corners of your lips as you wait for an explanation. His face falls; he had hoped for a little more time to get to know you, and now he has to tell you the truth, even if it might drive you away.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he turns away from you, trying to hide his disappointment. Getting coffee in the morning would be much too awkward if this conversation did not go well.

“When were you going to tell me?” You speak seriously, but everything about you is tinged with an infectious sort of humor, and it gives him a fragile sort of hope.

“I was actually hoping that I wouldn’t have to,” he responds, and you sit, waiting, staring him down with impenetrable eyes, “I just . . . wanted to get to know you.” You do smile then, a small, incredulous smile that makes his heart skip a beat. 

“Well, since we’re being honest, I have something that I should tell you,” you don’t look at him as you speak, instead you rummage around in your backpack, pulling out your book again and flipping through the pages. He braces himself, waiting for the worst. Were you about to tell him that you had a boyfriend? Or that you weren’t interested? He looks out the window; his stop is close, but not close enough if he has to deal with the mortification of your rejection.

 “I wasn’t planning on going to the library today,” you begin, pulling a slip of paper out of the back cover of your book, “I just came because I knew you’d be here.” You finally meet his eyes, your expression shy, embarrassed. Hux can scarcely believe it.

“Are you saying . . .” he doesn’t dare finish his sentence, but waits as you reach over, tucking the slip of paper into his waiting hands. 

“Here,” you say, folding his fingers around it, and the slip crinkles against his fingers before he looks at it, raising it to eye level so he can better read the numbers you’ve written.

“What’s this?” He knows what it is, obviously, but he has to make sure that you’re on the same page. He’d like to make sure he’s not dreaming.

“It’s my phone number. Call me sometime.” He can’t think of a single thing to say, not when it feels like rays of pure light are bursting out of his chest, but he tucks the little paper into his jacket pocket, staring at you like an idiot. You smile back, openly. Even as you’re smiling, he can’t wait for the next one; he’s never seen happiness so at home on someone’s face before.

The bus rolls to a stop, and he’s pulled out of his reverie, standing so that he can disembark. He pats his pocket to make sure that the little paper is tucked securely away before turning to face you, “I’ll call you, tonight if that’s alright?” and you nod in response, looking almost as eager as he feels. He’ll call you tonight, and he’ll see you tomorrow morning, and hopefully every day after that, because he never wants to go another day without seeing you smile.

[paodequeijofeliz-blog]

I would do it all again

Ride or Die Fanfiction (characters and main story belongs to Pixelberry Studios).

Pairing: Mona and MC (Annie)

Information: this takes place after the first book.

Summary: After what happened at the parking lot, each member of the crew tries to build a new life, following the “every man for himself” motto. But Annie doesn’t agree with that and tries to pull them back together, especially Mona, who she has been waiting for too many years. 

Warnings: none. For now. 

Part 2

I would do it all again - Part 1

         Six years. It had been six years.

         Don’t call me. Don’t write me. Don’t wait for me.

         Mona’s voice was still very much alive in Annie’s head, even though she hadn’t listened to it in six fucking years.

         Not for lack of trying, of course. She was too damn stubborn to follow Mona’s orders, no matter how hard the convict tried to force her into it. During the trial, Annie would always sit as close as possible, whispering comforting things such as “I’m with you”, “I’m still here, you know” or “Damn you’re lookin’ hot today”. The last one caught a smile from Mona, but the woman was still not answering or even glancing at her… Girlfriend? Annie didn’t know if they got to be that. It didn’t matter, though. It looked like the Lebanese was sticking to her ground. The last thing she said to Annie, after the sentence was decided, was “now you have to forget me”.

         Of course, that wasn’t going to happen.

         It took a while, but Annie finally found out where they moved Mona to. Muncy – she sighed, hands on the wheel for that very long drive. – Philly, really? Could it be any further?

         That was the decision that altered her entire life. She was a smart girl, so smart, in fact, that managed to get into three different universities. Luckily, the University of Pennsylvania was one of them, so moving to Philadelphia wasn’t such a crazy plan anyway.  Annie had to figure some things out: where to stay, where to work, how to do things… Eventually, it all settled and there she was, living on campus with four crazy roommates and a pretty good job tutoring high school kids.

         Ever since day one, the girl tried really hard to break Mona’s resistance. She visited, called, wrote, sent gifts… But no answer came back. Every time Annie would go on visitation’s day, she had to sit and wait for nothing. Mona never came through the door. Never picked up the phone either, no matter how insistent her trying was. People there soon got familiar with Annie’s face, the naïve young woman the new inmate was ignoring. Guards didn’t like her, but she got to be friends with someone else from the inside: Dominick Ferreira, an Argentine art teacher who had a small project teaching painting and sculping to the inmates. Guards didn’t like him either. They soon became friends, talking about TV Shows while Annie waited for long hours in the empty room.

         Six years. Mona never gave up on her attitude.

But the girl knew, nonetheless, that the feeling was still there. She knew the letters were being read, at least. The first four years flew by, and Annie graduated in History and started to work as a teacher at a school nearby the campus.  

         Until she received terrible news.

         “I’m really sorry, Ann…” Dominick put a hand on her shoulder, both alone in the prison’s waiting room. After four years confiding on each other, she felt comfortable enough to hug and sob on his arms. He was around the same age of her father. Well… past father. “Is there anything I can do to help? Do you want me to arrange things for the funeral?”

         “No, I need to do that on my own. Thanks. I just…” - she sniffed, cleaning her face for the tenth time that day. – “I just… God, she’s so stubborn! Toby accepts my calls, Ximena writes me every month, but Mona… I just really wanted to talk to her. Once.”

         “I can try asking one of the guards to help with that.”

         “No, no. She would hate me then. I can’t force it.” – another sniff. – “Did she receive the magazine? And the letter?”

         “Yeah, I made sure of it. Like always.” – Dom pinched Annie’s nose. She reminded his niece so much. “And I definitely saw her reading them.”

         That’s the system Annie found. If Mona wasn’t going to see or talk to her, then she needed another entrance. Every week, the girl would bring a new edition of Motor Trend magazine and a letter for Dom to deliver, then patiently waited outside, hoping this time Mona would finally accept the visitation. The second part never happened, but the first one seemed to be working. After losing her father, she got even closer to the art teacher. He was the only one nice around there.

         “I’ve got good news.” Dominick whispered one day, waiting for the other two officers to leave for coffee before saying anything else. “The FBI stepped in. Apparently, the material you guys gave them helped to bring down another big fish. Jason had a partner in NYPD doing the same thing. So, they had a hearing today and reconsidered Mona’s sentence. If she keeps the good behaviour, it’ll be reduced from fifteen to only eight years, which means she can be out on parole soon enough.”

“Tell me how it works.” Annie answered with a seriously committed look.

         That’s how now, after six years apart from each other, she was sitting on the car hood, waiting for them to open the gates. Dominick explained every single rule of parole so many times, Annie probably knew it even better than the parole officer himself. She had a year to prepare things for the release, making sure every single detail was reviewed. But now, looking at that gorgeous tall woman carrying a bag and a scowl on her face, Annie felt like maybe the details wouldn’t matter.

         What if she just doesn’t want anything to do with me?

         There was only one way to find out.

         “Hi, you.”

         “What the hell are you doing here?”

         “Picking you up, duh. You needed a ride.” Annie arched an eyebrow, capturing something in Mona’s face. A shadow of relief? Maybe.

         The convict glanced at the car, a criticizing tone on her voice.

         “What happened to your car? Does that thing even work?”

         “I had to sell it. This one is old, but reliable. And his name’s Harold. Be nice.” She took the bag without waiting for permission, tossing it in the trunk before climbing into the driver’s seat. A grumpy Mona sat beside her, mumbling about how “Harold” was a stupid name for a car.

         “Where are you going? Drop me at the station. It’s good enough.”

         “You can’t leave the state.” She glanced briefly at Mona with the corner of her eyes, hands holding the wheel a little bit stronger.

         Even though Annie was trying to focus on the road, she could feel the woman’s dark eyes studying her intensely. After a couple minutes in silence, the driver risked talking again. “We need to solve some stuff first.”

         Mona didn’t answer. Her face was unreadable while watching Annie pull over in the parking lot of an old dinner in the middle of nowhere. The girl’s hands still holding the wheel so strongly, it seemed she was about to go on a race.

         “Do you still like me?”

         Not a single word. Not even a movement.

         “Well?” Annie finally let her hands slide to her lap, frustrated by the silence. “It’s a yes or no question, Mon. It’s not that hard.”

         “Yes.”

         She searched for more hints on Mona’s face, but that was it. One word. No expression. Nothing else.

         “Ok.” Annie bit her lower lip, insecure. “Ok then.”

         The engine creaked at the turn of the key. The car had barely moved, crossing the road only to park again at an empty and dusty mechanic shop, with no living soul around. “Welcome to your new home, I guess”.

         Mona finally had an expression on her face. A mix of confusion and shock, so startled that she only understood what was going on when saw Annie unlock and pull the gates up with a crowbar picked up from the corner. “Drive in!” she asked, signing to the convict with a shy smile.

         “What the hell did you do…” Mona jumped on the driver’s seat, driving that old stubborn piece of trash into the shop.

         Annie was still trying to lower the gate when heard Mona snap from the car.

         “HAVE YOU LOST YOUR GODDAMN MIND? WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR?”

         “What?” she jumped again, still not catching the hoop with the crowbar.

         “Oh, for god’s sake, gi’me that.” Mona took the crowbar and pulled the gate down with a single movement. When it hit the floor, both of her hands held Annie against it, one of each sider of the girl. That would’ve turned her on, if it wasn’t for the deadly dangerous look on the convict’s face. “Answers. Now.”

         “I…” she lost track of it, the proximity making the knees tremble a little. “No one… I don’t… It’s not…”.

         “Who’s the boss here?”

         “Me?” Annie shook her head, confuse. “Mon, I don’t work for anyone. I mean, for the principal, maybe? I’m a teacher. You know that. You read my letters.”

         “Who’s auto shop is this, then? Is it Colt’s? Did he drag you into this?”

         The plug finally fell. Suddenly realizing what the snap was about, Annie chuckled. “You idiot, you do care about me, don’t you?”

         That took Mona off guarded, but she didn’t retreat, arms still blocking the girl against the gate.

         “There’s no boss, Mon. And I haven’t seen Colt ever since what happened that night. This is my auto shop. I bought it last year. We’ll… Ours if you decide to get on board.” Annie risked pulling her closer by the waist, so tempted to kiss that angry face. “There’s no danger here, I promise. We’re safe.”

         Oh crap, thought Mona, seconds before throwing the crowbar away so she could dive her hands in Annie’s hair. The kiss that followed was so hungry and careless like it would never stop again. Their hands couldn’t stay still, both eager to remember each other’s curves and sensitive spots. Mona was doing the exact thing she promised herself not to. For six long years, she tried to ignore the visitations, calls, letters, everything that had Annie tagged along. It took all her strength to do it. Eventually, Mona gave in and started to read those damn letters, since it looked like they weren’t gonna stop coming anyway. That made waiting even worse, especially when the convict had decided to leave Annie’s life for good. She was convinced the girl deserved better…

         “Look what you do to me.” Mona growled, holding Annie so close they could barely breath. She couldn’t leave. Now that Ann was finally trapped in her arms, there was no backing down. “I was gonna flee, you know?”

         “Hate to spoil your plans, babe. But there’s an apartment upstairs waiting for you to settle in.”

         Foreheads together, breathing slowly, both started to cool off bit by bit, but Mona’s grip was still tight around the girl’s waist. “I told you to forget me. To live your life. Damn it, Ann. I ignored you for six years, how could you still stick around?”

         “Cause’ you were just being stubborn. I knew you were reading my letters.” Her smile was fragile while she was putting on a fight against tears. “And I did live my life. I graduated. Published my monography. Then finished the master’s degree and published the dissertation too. Got a good job. Made friends. Bought a place to live. I did all of it. Waiting for you didn’t stop me from living.”

         “You wouldn’t be stuck in Philly if it wasn’t for me. Maybe by now you’d be married to a badass Harvard lawyer, living in Boston and adopting a bird.”

         “I’m a cat and dog person.” She twitched her nose, laughing. “I hate lawyers too.”

         Mona roller her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

         Annie got serious suddenly. They needed to talk things through at some point.

         “Okay. Listen. I did some changes in my life, yes. For you. But that was MY choice. So, you don’t get to be mad at me, alright? Or feel guilty. Any of it. And if you prefer to leave…” she hesitated, heart pounding at the idea of losing Mona again. “… you can always leave. I only wish you to stay if that’s what you really wanna do. Don’t fool me. Don’t lie. I deserve the truth, at least. We’re clear?”

         “Yes.” Mona was serious too. There was a big struggle going on inside her, problems and emotions she lived in prison and that Annie wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t. “I won’t fool you. That much I can promise.”

         “Good.” She slid away the embrace, pulling the woman by one of the wrists. “Let me show where you might live if you want to. And then you can decide what to do from here.”

         “We.” Mona tangled their fingers together, a long sigh of relief escaping her lungs. “What we do from here.”

[atc74]

You Were The First - Chapter One

Summary: Dean Winchester completed basic training in March 1941 and was offered an opportunity he can’t turn down, to fly with the Allied Forces and England’s Royal Air Force. It will provide a better future for him and his bride-to-be, but what he doesn’t know is it will change the lives of everyone around him.(This is loosely based on Pearl Harbor).

Square Filled: Soldier!Dean

Written for: @spnaubingo​

Characters: Dean Winchester, Y/N Bennett, John, Mary and Sam Winchester, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett

Warnings: Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 2029

A/N: Thank you so much to @crispychrissy​ for her patience and guidance, and exceptional listening/reading skills. This probably would not have happened without her. An Anon sent me a request that I will also fulfill later in the series for an Eagles song. Guys, it has been a really long time since I was this excited about a series! I hope you like it! 

~Chapter One~

It was a Sunday. And Sunday's were for Winchester family dinners. Since they became engaged, Dean and Y/N spent each Sunday having dinner with Dean’s family. Dean always felt he was meant for so much more than fixing cars. He made an acceptable living and would be more than able to provide for his soon-to-be-bride and children that would follow, but something was missing.

Dean had enlisted in the Army Air Corps and finished his training. Each day, the news of the war that raged in Europe was too much for him to handle. His commanding officer had asked for volunteers to go to England to assist in the fight. Since Dean had flight and mechanical experience, he knew he could be an asset to the allied forces, flying combat missions for the England’s Royal Air Force. He could help defeat those Nazi bastards. It was Sunday, March 16, 1941, he choose to tell his family and his fiancée.

“But Dean, America isn’t even in the war! You are going to fight someone else's war! What about us Dean? We’re getting married this summer!” She cried.

“And we will, Doll. We will. You have my word, that I will come back and I will marry you,” Dean vowed.

Y/N stood up so quickly her chair toppled over. She threw her napkin on the table in a huff. “I’m so sorry Mr. and Mrs. Winchester!” She ran from the room, leaving the entire Winchester clan staring after her.

Mary Winchester looked at her oldest son and shook her head. She then locked eyes with her husband exchanging words silently, before leaving the room to comfort Y/N. She and Dean were high school sweethearts and only months from their wedding date. Mary understood Dean’s need to do something about the war, but she worried about her son. This wasn’t even America’s war and she could lose him.

“Son, why don’t we indulge a little with an after dinner cigar. Join me in the den,” John Winchester stood from the table and walked away. He knew his son would follow as it was not so much as a recommendation, but a request.

The youngest Winchester was left alone at the family’s dining table. He stood and sighed loudly, though there was not a soul to hear him. Sam started gathering the plates from the table so he could take them to the kitchen. It would help his mother and give him something to do. He took the first load of plates through the swinging door to the kitchen when he heard crying. His mother and Y/N were sitting in the small kitchenette, talking quietly.

“Samuel Winchester, you get out of my kitchen right now!” Mary ordered and Sam set down the plates on the counter, then promptly left the room.

He finished gathering the dishes, but left them on the table for later. He silently made his way through the house to the stairs. He debated going to room to read a book or going outside. It was cool in Lawrence, as it was still March. He came to a decision, grabbed his sweater from the coat rack and stepped out into the chilly evening air. He lowered his lithe frame into the porch swing, his long legs rocking it back and forth.

Sam’s thoughts wandered back to the announcement his brother had made at dinner. Dean was twenty-one years old, but he would always be Sam’s big brother. Sam looked up to him and they were best friends, despite the four year age difference. Sam knew the news was coming, as Dean had wrote him letters each week during his training. The last letter he received had arrived the day before his brother came home.

Dean was everything to Sam. He taught his little brother all about girls, how to drive a car, how to change a flat tire, how to ride a bike and tie his shoes. Their father should have done that, but he was too busy running the auto shop that he had never really made time for his boys.

Sam wanted to be optimistic about what this new opportunity could mean for his brother, but dread had settled in his soul the moment he read Dean’s letter. He didn’t want him to go. He didn’t want him to fight someone else’s battles, but that was his big brother. Always standing up for someone, always doing what was right.

He didn’t know how long he sat out on that porch swing, but the sound of his brother’s voice tore him from his thoughts. “Mom thought you might like some cocoa; she said it’s too cold to sit out here, too.”

“Yeah, I know. She is always worried about me being too cold,” Sam chuckled, taking the steaming mug from his brother.

“What’s on your mind, kid?” Dean always knew when Sam had something on his mind. It is only part of what makes him a great brother.

“I got your letter the day before you came home, Dean. I knew this was coming and I still don’t believe it,” Sam admitted.

“It’s going to be fine, Sammy. I am going to fly a few missions for a couple months and should be home with plenty of time to marry my girl,” Dean brushed him off.

“I’m worried Dean. The Germans are destroying all of Europe! How can this be a good thing?” Sam shouted at his brother.

“It’s something I need to do, Sam,” Dean told him. “I feel like I was meant for more than this small town and fixing cars. I am good with my hands, but the things I can do in a plane, Sammy? It’s so much better. It’s freedom.”

“Freedom from what, Dean? Mom and Dad? Me?” Sam cried.

“From Dad, yes. But you’ll be off to college in less than two years and you won’t want to come back here,” Dean told him. “I want more for Y/N; for the family we’ll have. I don’t want to be ruled by Dad’s iron hand anymore. Even after we get married, it won’t change a thing. I’ll never be good enough for him.”

John Winchester was a Marine. One simply didn’t stop being a Marine because your time was done. Once a Marine, always a Marine. The Winchester Patriarch fought in Central America during the Occupation of Nicaragua and it hardened him. Dean didn’t know if his father had always been like that, but he certainly was as the boys grew up, and it only intensified as they got older. Dean never thought he would live up to his father’s expectations. It was John’s voice constantly in his head telling him to be a good soldier. It was a driving force behind his enlistment and his motivation for getting out of Lawrence.

Mary peeked her head out the front door. “Dean, Y/N would like you to take her home.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll be right in,” Dean answered. “Everything is going to be okay, Sammy. You concentrate on school and you’ll be out before you know it, kid.”  Dean slapped his little brother on the back then disappeared back in the house. A few moments later, Y/N emerged with Dean right behind her. Dean held open the door for her, then climbed in the driver’s seat of their father’s 1937 black Chevrolet Master sedan.

“Y/N, I am sorry. I should have told you about my decision instead of announcing it at dinner. I just wanted to explain to you why I am doing this,” Dean pulled up in front of her home and turned to look at her. They had spent the short ride to her parent’s home mostly in silence, but Dean needed to explain it to her. All of it. Why he felt he needed to do this to get from under his father’s thumb. To provide a better life for them, for the family they will have.

“Dean, I know how you feel about your father and I support you wanting to make a better life for us, but we’re getting married. You have to talk to me about life altering decisions,” Y/N’s voice started to shake as her lower lip quivered. “Now, you can come in the house and explain yourself to my parents.” She was out of the car and slammed the door before Dean even saw her move. He ran a hand over his face and reluctantly got out of the car.

Thirty minutes later Dean returned to his father's car. He opened the door and sat heavily in the driver’s seat. Explaining himself to the Bennett’s went about well as he could have expected. He had one more day before he had to report for duty at Fort Riley. He had one more day to make this right with his girl before he left. He didn’t know how, he just knew he needed to. He turned the key, firing up the engine and drove back home.

“Hi honey. How is Y/N?” Mary asked as he walked in the house. She was sitting in her favorite chair, a cup of tea next to her and her knitting in her lap.

“Hi Mom. I know I should have told her in private, but I don’t have much time,” Dean took a seat on the sofa facing his mother. He looked up at her, tears shining in his bright emerald eyes. “How do I make it right, Mom?”

Mary saw the tears. She heard the tremble in his voice. She heard and saw everything when it came to her sons. She set her kitting aside and rose from her chair, crossing the room and took a seat next to him. “Dean, you can’t change the past. All you can do is remind her of the future you want with her. Show her how much you love her and can’t wait to come home to her.”

“I can do that until I am blue in the face, but I don’t think saying it will help,” Dean told her.

“I didn’t say to tell her. You need to show her Dean. Actions will always speak louder than words,” Mary reminded him. She kissed his cheek then left him alone with his thoughts.

Dean sat alone in the dark until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He trudged up the stairs to his room and changed into his bed clothes. He crawled under the covers and laid there a little longer. His mind needed to rest to sort through all the ideas that had came to him. He rolled to his side, closed his eyes and fell fast asleep, dreaming about Y/N.

The morning sun rose outside Dean’s bedroom window, the light shining through the panes of glass. Dean jumped out of bed and rushed down the stairs. His mother greeted him with a cup of coffee as he walked through the kitchen.

“You look well rested and happy, son,” Mary smiled at her eldest child.

“I figured it out. Dreams are a funny thing,” Dean kissed her on the cheek, he quickly sipped at the coffee, wanting to get a start on his plan for the day. “Thanks for the coffee, but I got an apology to make. Love you.”

“Dean, what are you doing here?” Y/N answered the door to her parent’s home, still wearing her bathrobe. The look on her beautiful face told Dean that she was still displeased with him after yesterday. He deserved that, but he was going to make it up to her today. He had worn his best suit and tie, a hat and his overcoat. He was going all out for her today.

“Get dressed, Doll. I am taking you out. Wear comfortable shoes,” Dean told her as he walked inside, closing the door behind him. She looked skeptical. He waved his hands towards the stairs, gesturing for her to get a move on. She rolled her eyes and stomped up the stairs to her room.

“Please God, let this work,” Dean whispered, his eyes pointed up at the Heavens.

Forever Tags: @iwantthedean @d-s-winchester @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms​ @just-another-busy-fangirl @mamaredd123 @ellen-reincarnated1967 @tankcupcakes @katymacsupernatural @winchesterprincessbride @chelsea072498 @meeshw777  @tmccarney @ruprecht0420 @theoriginalvicki @nanie5 @docharleythegeekqueen @megansescape @notnaturalanahi @impalaimagining @mrswhozeewhatsis @blacktithe7 @emoryhemsworth @bringmesomepie56 @devilgirlsarah @spnbaby-67 @myoutletforfanfiction @deansangelgirl @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel @kayteonline @rockhoochie @percussiongirl2017 @fanfreak07 @sandlee44 @moonstar86 @squirrel-moose-winchester @growningupgeek @charliebradbury1104 @evansrogerskitten @feelmyroarrrr @itseverythingilike @smoothdogsgirl @supernatural-jackles @ryantherandomhero @love-kittykat21 @kathaswings @crispychrissy @paintrider13-blog  @bethbabybaby @ravenangel33 @shaelyn102 @roxyspearing @nosleeptillbucky  @x-waywardaf-x 

Dean Tags: @whimsicalrobots @akshi8278  @iamabeautifulperson18 @suzannebeaketa @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @deandoesthingstome @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @boxywrites  @sparklesuperwholock88  @ericaprice2008   @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels 

YWTF Tags CLOSED: @luci-in-trenchcoats @hexparker  @meganwinchester1999 @bitchy-tacos @ultimatecin73 @neveah-potter15 @housav @thereisnolumos @frickfracklesackles 

[boston-boy-cevans]

Everybody Needs Good Neighbors - Chapter Seven.

Pairing: Neighbor/mechanic Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader. Warnings: Language, Smut, Daddy!Dean, Fluff. Word Count: 1.9k.

A/N: hey guys, this is the final chapter, you can read previous chapters here. __________________________________________________

It’s your 3 year anniversary with Dean.

Emily is with Charlie and Rowena while you both get ready, Dean made reservations at your favorite restaurant for tonight, he surprised you this morning by getting Emily bathed and dressed while you slept in, the diamond bracelet currently resting around your wrist was another surprise Dean had up his sleeve this morning.

“Ok, come on” Dean says grabbing your hand. You were saying goodbye to Emily, kissing her chubby cheeks “okay, okay” you chuckle “just one more cuddle” you say in a baby voice walking over to your 1 and a half year old. “Oh no you don’t, we have reservations and I’d actually like to eat desert this time instead of skipping because they need our table” “Fine” You lace your fingers with his as he leads you to your front door and outside where you had Dean’s anniversary present and he stops in his tracks as soon as he sees it. “Wait” Dean chuckles “oh my god” “Happy anniversary, baby” you grin at his excitement. “What the? How did you find her?” He asked walking around the sleek black 67 impala sitting in the driveway. “The guy you sold her to still had her” He walks back over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his lips press against yours with passion. You feel your feet lift from the ground as Dean picks you up and you giggle.

“I can’t believe you did this, I love you so much” “I love you too, now c'mon” you tug at his arm “we’ll miss our reservation. Oh, you’ll need these” you grab the impala keys out of your purse and hand them to him. Dean can’t stop smiling as he opens the passenger side door for you, once he’s settled in the drivers seat, he removes the little bow you placed on the steering wheel mumbling something about how cute you are before turning the key in the ignition. “Ohh there’s my baby” he says caressing the wheel as the car rumbles. You clear your throat, arching an eyebrow when Dean looks over at you. “You’re my baby too” he says rubbing your leg. “I better be, Winchester” you wink.

Dean made reservations at your favourite restaurant, it’s a little pricey but the food is spectacular. “Hi, reservation is under Winchester” “Uh, I’m sorry sir there’s no reservations under that name” “That’s impossible” Dean leans over “I called up 3 months ago to make these reservations” “I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can do” “Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean yelled. “Dean it’s fine” you say rubbing his shoulder “come on, we’ll go somewhere else” You pull him away from the terrified maitre d, Dean can be really intimidating when he wants to be.

You drive around for half an hour, Dean tried to find somewhere nice to have dinner but you had no luck, everywhere you went was fully booked. “Hey” you say grabbing Dean’s arm after walking out of another restaurant “let’s just grab some burgers and go to the park?” “I wanted tonight to be special, it needed to be perfect” he says leaning against the car. “It is perfect, Dean” you say standing between his legs, sliding your arms around his waist “it’s perfect because I’m with you”.

You walk through the park, hand in hand with Dean, you stop at a park bench in front of a small lake and sit, the moonlight hitting the water beautifully.

“I love you” Dean says as he pulls you closer to him. “I love you too, baby” you press your lips to his, he licks your bottom lip and you gladly let him explore your mouth. You pull away coming up for air and Dean rests his forehead against yours. “I really wanted to do this at the restaurant over ridiculously expensive wine and delicious food but fuck, I love you so much and you brought my baby back for me” You shoot Dean a confused look and you watch him as he stands up from the bench and gets down on one knee. “Oh my god”

“Y/N, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you make me want to be the best version of myself and you’ve made me more happy than I have ever been in my entire life, I love you so much” You watch as he takes out a small velvet box from his coat pocket. “Y/N will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” You nod profusely, “yes” you say through tears of happiness. Dean opens the velvet box and you gasp at the diamond ring inside. “Oh my, dean it’s beautiful” “Not as beautiful as you” he said sliding the ring on your finger.

You don’t even wait to get back home before you’re pulling at Dean’s belt in the front seat of the impala. His hard cock springs free and you quickly remove your lace panties and your dress is bunched up your waist, you coat his length with your wetness before sinking down with ease. Dean’s hands press into your shoulders as you ride him, your mixed moans filling the small space in the car. “Fuck, I’m close baby” Dean growls in your ear. “Me too” His hands slide down to your waist holding you still has he trusts up into you, your breasts bouncing with every harsh thrust, your eyes roll back as your orgasm hits you, his name leaving your lips in a breathless moan. Dean isn’t too far behind you, the view of you coming hard around his cock pushing him over the edge and he releases rope after rope of his seed inside you with a loud groan.

After you come down from your climax you sit beside Dean in the front seat of the impala, both of you with looks of complete and utter happiness on your faces.

Whoever said planned a wedding was stressful was definitely not lying. You’re 4 weeks from the big day and you’re still waiting for RSVPs from guests. The one call you’re dreading the most, your mother.

You inhale deeply before dialling her number, you look over at Dean in the kitchen helping Emily eat her spaghetti.

“Hey, mom” “Oh, Y/N, to what do I owe this surprise phone call, that mechanic didn’t knock you up again, did he?” The tone of her voice instantly made you regret this phone call. “No, I was calling to see if you’re coming to the wedding? It’s in 4 weeks and you haven’t RSVP’d yet” “Oh, I’m sorry, dear, I can’t make it” “Oh ok, well that’s unfortunate, you haven’t seen Emily in so long” “I see pictures of her all the time” “Yeah but you haven’t held her since she was 1 month old, she’s two now” “Y/N, I can’t. I have an important meeting” “Ok, whatever, it’s fine” you’re not proud of what came out of your mouth next “this is so typical of you, missing the most important day of my life for work, you know what, I’m glad you won’t be there” and after that you hang up.

You don’t even realise your crying until your cold tears hit your skin and you quickly wipe them away.

“Hey, how about you go play with your dolls in your room, baby girl?” Dean walks Emily to her room before coming back out into the living room. “So, your mom can’t make it?” You shake your head ‘no’ “she has an important meeting” “Y'know what? Screw her, if she doesn’t want to make even half the effort that we do then she can get eff u c kayed”

You marry the love of your life today.

You look over at your wedding dress and tears threaten the brim of your eyes ‘oh do not ruin your make up, Y/N’ you think to yourself.

“Okay, let’s get you dressed” Charlie says walking into your room at the church, Rowena, Jess and Mary walking in behind her. “Oh you should go pee, I didn’t before I put my dress on, big mistake” Jess says standing beside you.

Your dress is on and now things are starting to feel real, you panic slightly, breathing deeply, you hear the door open and you turn to see your beautiful 2 year old in her flower girl dress. “You look so pretty” you bend down and kiss her cheek “c'mon let’s go marry daddy”

You walkout to the hall to see your dad in his tux. “Oh baby girl, you look beautiful” he says with a few tears rolling down his cheeks. “Thanks dad” “You ready?” “Yeah, little nervous though”

The music starts and you watch as Emily walks down the isle throwing white rose petals on the floor. You link arms with your dad and begin walking behind her, Dean smiles as he watches his 2 year old, his eyes flick up to you and stay there, as you’re get closer you see the tears in his eyes. Your dad kisses your cheek before giving you away to Dean, “those better be happy tears, Winchester” you say as he walks you to the alter.

Your first dance was to Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran and you couldn’t help the tears as they fell down your cheeks. “Hey, Mrs Winchester” Dean whispers “you look so fucking beautiful sweetheart” “You watch your mouth, Mr Winchester”

You watched Dean dance with Emily in awe as you danced with your own father during the father daughter dance. “Can I steal the tail end of this with my new daughter in-law?” John asked your dad. You sway to the music with John, sneaking looks at Dean and Emily. “So, does he know?” “Know what?” “Does Dean know your pregnant” John says low but only audible for you. “I uh, what?” you stutter “how’d you know?” “I have a knack for it” he smiles “plus you’re glowing and you haven’t had a drop of alcohol to drink all night” “I only found out last night, I was going to tell him tonight” The song ends, you hug John and thank him for the dance before returning to Dean’s side. The rest of the night goes off without a hitch, Charlie caught your bouquet and bragged about it the remainder of the night.

Emily stayed with your dad tonight and you and Dean went to a hotel, you were barely in the door when Dean was kissing your neck and unzipping your dress. “Hey, wait a sec” you say reluctantly pushing him away “I gotta talk to you about something” You sit on the bed and pat the spot next to you and Dean sits beside you. “So, I have news” “You’re pregnant” he says. “Okay, does everyone in your family just know when a woman is pregnant or something?” “No” he chuckles “I noticed you missed your period” “Aw, that’s sweet but oddly creepy at the same time” you smile “so you’re okay with this?” “Are you kidding? The woman I love is having my child, Emily will get a little brother or sister, I’m over the moon, sweetheart” he tucks a few strands of your hair behind your ear and kisses you tenderly “now, can I make love to my beautiful wife?”

[makbuleatcarolineoi04insura-blog]

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So I m in high school now but still have a bit to go till I get my first car my budget is max 8 grand and I really would like a decent sports car something that s either rwd or awd and has around 250 to 400hp in that range any suggestions?

[itsworn]

A Family Tradition: 1972 Plymouth Duster 340

Following the deprivation and hardship experienced during World War II, Americans basked in the excesses of the 1950s and the auto industry certainly reflected this. As the decade progressed, cars got larger, heavier, and increasingly ornate. When the 1950s turned into the ‘60s however, a funny thing happened – Detroit’s Big Three got into the low cost, low frills, compact car game. For model year 1960 Ford introduced the Falcon, GM launched its Corvair, and Chrylser unleased the Valiant.

The Valiant was restyled twice in its ten-year lifespan, first in 1963 and then again in ’67. During that second refresh the character of the platform was dramatically changed, with the elimination of the sportier two-door hardtop and convertible body styles, leaving only the four-door Valiant. While the Valiant-based Barracuda was offered as a convertible or fastback with a good range of performance options, it had grown larger, heavier, and sufficiently expensive to create a significant void in Plymouth’s offerings. Beginning in 1970 this void would be filled by the Duster, which shared its structure and front end sheet metal with Valiant, but looked dramatically different owing to its semi-fastback design and dramatically curved side glass.

With the optional 275-horsepower 340 V8 a relatively lightweight Duster offered very spirited performance. Contemporary road tests saw 0-60 mph times in a little over six seconds and the standing quarter mile in the mid-14 seconds range. Add in compelling styling and cargo carrying capacity, and a starting price of only $2,172 for a base model and $2,547 for a 340-powered car and it’s obvious why Plymouth sold an impressive 217,192 Dusters in 1970, and an astounding 1,332,846 cars in total from 1970-76.

In spite of their attributes however, most people did not enjoy long-term love affairs with their Dusters. Time and technology moved on, countless examples succumbed to rust, and, as most were owned by young people, they suffered the usual indignities that come with youthful exuberance (my sister sent at least three Dusters over the rainbow bridge back in the day). But as with every rule, there are exceptions, and the striking ’72 featured here is one of them. Mike Cummings bought this car thirty-two years ago and though there have been some bumps in the road he remains in love with it to this day.

Cummings grew up in a military family and learned to wrench on the family Mopars from his father. “I learned basic auto mechanics from my father,” he recalls, “who learned from his father. My grandfather was a manager for Armory Chrysler in Albany, New York and my father worked part time at a service garage. My brother and I would watch and help do simple repairs on our 1969 Plymouth Fury III and 1973 Dodge Dart Swinger.”

When it came time for Cummings’ first car he found a 1968 383 Super Bee but his father wasn’t keen on him starting off with a big block, so he ultimately ended up with a 318-powered 1975 Road Runner, which he drove all through high school. After high school he wanted to serve his country, as is traditional in his family, so he joined the U.S. Navy and trained in advanced electronics. After being sent by the Navy to Newport, Rhode Island he was in need of another car and naturally was on the hunt for a Mopar.

“A friend of mine told me about a 1972 340 Duster for sale in front of Williams Auto Salvage Yard in Schenectady, New York for $600 with about 52,000 miles on it,” he remembers. “The car was in rough shape, but for the money it was a good deal, so I bought it.”

Cummings began modifying the car shortly after buying it, and quickly came to regret the changes he made. “The first modification to the car was the addition of a glass, pop-up style sunroof. That was a big mistake. The sunroof never sealed correctly and I regretted altering the original headliner. I then tried to install a 440 with an automatic transmission. It never really ran right so I put the original motor back in, and decided to keep the car an original Formal Black, numbers-matching, 340 4-speed Duster.”

Cummings drove the car for about a year and a half until being assigned to Pensacola, Florida for C-School training, which led to him putting the car into storage for about two years. After completing the training, and marrying his high school sweetheart, he went back to Rhode Island and took the Duster out of storage. “My first task was to rebuild the engine in our spare room as we had no garage living on the Navy base. The short block was given to Master Machinist Gary Askins and Ori Askins at Napa in Saratoga Springs, New York. They installed a sleeve and turned the original steel forged crankshaft. The heads were reconditioned with hardened seats to run super unleaded.”

In 1991, after leaving the Navy, Cummings and his wife moved back to Saratoga Springs, New York, bought their first house, which needed some work, and increased the size of the family with the addition of two children. These major life changes often mean the end of the fun car but Cummings never even thought about selling his Duster. Instead, he simply put it aside for some time, while continuing to accumulate parts for the restoration he planned to eventually do. After about five years he was able to devote enough time and attention to the car to get the ball rolling.

“I started the main body work on the car and over the next two years replaced both rear quarters and the driver’s side floor pan. The trunk was another issue as it didn’t even exist. After these parts where replaced it was time to prep the rest of the car for epoxy primer and PPG single-stage acrylic urethane paint. Four coats were applied in my garage in a homemade paint booth. The process of wet sanding the paint began and then I finished up with a multi-stage polish process. I then started on the interior, which included a new carpet and front seat covers from Legendary Auto Interiors and putting the horrible glass pop up sunroof back in the car. It was the summer of 2000 and I was headed to my first car show since restoring the car. The show was at Clifton Park Dodge World. I received a second place trophy in the A-Body class!”

Over the next several years Cummings devoted most of his time to his family but continued to work on the car sporadically, as time allowed. “I located a 1970 T/A 340 six pack manifold with carburetors for $200. The set needed a major overhaul which was completed with assistance from Chicago Carburetors. The motor needed to be modified so the six pack could breathe properly, so I had the block bored 0.060-inch over and the heads opened up to accept 2.02-inch intake valves. The cam was upgraded with a mild COMP Cams grind. My brother-in-law Rick helped me reassemble the engine. I also acquired an Air Grabber induction setup from a 1969 Dodge Super Bee and fabricated a new hood by replacing my original under hood support with the one from a Dodge Super Bee Air Grabber hood to mount the induction system that sits over the six-pack air cleaner. I added power steering from another ’72 Duster that I found at the Englishtown Mopar show, and installed front disc brakes from another ’72 Duster that I got from a good friend, “Mopar Dan” in Lebanon Valley, New York. I started looking for a factory style sunroof from a ’72 or ’73 Duster and finally found one from a ’73 in Wisconsin. Once the sunroof arrived, I spent the next three weeks preparing the roof to receive the new opening. It was a nice addition to the car after the first attempt. This lead to the second painting of the car around June of 2007.”

Following the second complete repaint Cummings continued to drive and enjoy the car, but there were a few areas he was not satisfied with, so in 2015 he decided to go through the whole thing once again. “The most recent time I painted the car I used PPG’s Shop-Line base coat/clear coat. It turned out to be my best paint job mostly because of the advice from my father-in-law who use to paint cars. This time extra care was given to the engine compartment. By March 2016 the paint was finished and in May I was at my first show of the year. When June came around the family and I took the car to the Mopar Madness show in Liverpool, New York. Of the thirteen or so cars in my class I was awarded 1st place for the first time in 30 years of owning the car.”

In addition to showing the car, Cummings continues to drive it frequently. Both activities bring him a great deal of happiness, but the relationships the Duster plays a role in is what gives him the most satisfaction. “Throughout the years that I’ve owned the car it has brought me in contact with many people who have become good friends, and I have a wonderful wife and two incredible children who have supported my hobby from day one. Reminiscent of my childhood, my children have watched and helped over the years with repairing and maintaining the Duster, and that is really the best part of owning the car!”

  Mopar Muscle Magazine Fast Facts

1972 Plymouth Duster Mike Cummings, Ganesvoort, NY

ENGINE Type: V-8 349.6 cid (stock 340 with cylinders bored .060” over) Bore x stroke: 4.10” (bore) x 3.31” (stroke) Block: Stock cast 340 cid iron Rotating assembly: Stock 340 forged crank, stock connecting rods, Speed-Pro forged aluminum pistons Compression: 10.5:1 Cylinder heads: Factory J heads Camshaft: Comp Cams Machine work done by Gary & Ori Askins at NAPA Auto Parts in Saratoga Springs, NY Induction: 1970 T/A Challenger six pack with Holley 2300 series carburetors and six pack air cleaner Oiling system: Stock oil pump and oil pan Exhaust: Stock exhaust manifolds, pipes and mufflers Ignition: Chrysler electronic ignition, MSD coil Cooling: Stock radiator and viscous-drive clutch fan Fuel: Stock pump and lines Engine built by: Mike Cummings

DRIVETRAIN Transmission: 1972 A-833 Chrysler 4-speed, gear ratios of 2.44:1, 1.77:1, 1.34:1, and 1.0:1 Shifter: Hurst Clutch: Ram Driveshaft: Stock driveshaft Rear End: Stock Chrysler 8-3/4” Sure-Grip limited slip differential with 3.55:1 ring and pinion, stock axles

CHASSIS Construction: Welded steel unit-body Front suspension: Independent, unequal length upper and lower control arms with 0.87” torsion bars, 0.88” anti-roll bar, hydraulic tube shock absorbers over gas-charged Rear suspension: Hotchkiss type, asymmetrical leaf springs, hydraulic tube shock absorbers Steering: Stock recirculating ball with hydraulic power assist and fixed displacement hydraulic power steering pump, 3.5 turns lock-to-lock, 37.7’ turning circle Front brakes: Stock Chrysler disc Rear brakes: Stock Chrysler 10” x 2.5” drum

WHEELS & TIRES Wheels: Stock Chrysler Rallye wheels, 14”x7” Front Tires: BF Goodrich Radial T/A, P235/60R14 Rear Tires: BF Goodrich Radial T/A, P235/60R14

The post A Family Tradition: 1972 Plymouth Duster 340 appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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[sportscarss]

23 Thoughts You Have As 23 Audi A23 Review Approaches | 23 audi a23 review

DIGITAL EDITOR ANDREW STOY: Beautiful to attending at and sit in, the 2013 Audi S7 about larboard me with alloyed feelings, abundant as it’s kissin’ accessory the S6 did. There’s annihilation amiss with the administration feel or anatomy dynamics; the agent is magnificent, able of casting one like a sixth grader’s spitball, but the dual-clutch automated exhibits abundant awe-inspiring behaviors to blemish abundant of the fun.

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At tip-in, there’s abundant rubber-banding to accomplish one anticipate they’re in a approved automated with a apart torque converter. The aftereffect is affiliated to what I’d brainstorm a affliction body actuality catapulted over a burghal bank ability experience…were it not a body (shame too; it’s affectionate of fun in its own way). Upshifts and downshifts are performed bound enough, but in action approach they’re abnormally timed and decidedly harsh, as if the gearbox aback began channeling the Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution MR while the blow of the car remained an Audi.

In the end, what’s absent is the mechanical, belly attributes of the powertrain begin on the S4. Abundant if it can be traced to the use of a dual-clutch consecutive chiral against a acceptable chiral transmission, and I accept it’s additionally accompanying to the blazon of chump who purchases the beyond Audi sports sedans against the A4/S4 buyer. But as far as driver’s cars go, the S4 (and S5) artlessly bear added of the absolute lever-connected-to-gears affiliation I prefer.

Damn if it isn’t pretty, though.

EDITOR WES RAYNAL: I accept alloyed animosity about the Audi S7. Adulation the exoteric shape; I anticipate it’s aloof stunning. I mostly adulation the autogenous as well. It’s comfortable, chic and beautifully built. So why do I say “mostly” about the interior? Because I’d like it a accomplished lot bigger after the head-up affectation that array of sticks out like the accepted abscessed deride on top of the dash.

And afresh there’s the transmission. Yes, that’s area I air-conditioned off — sometimes. There’s the rubber-banding appear aloft authoritative launches from lights uneven. But it’s not absolutely that per se, it’s that the activity is intermittent. Sometimes the car will cruise abroad calmly from lights. Sometimes there’s a averseness as if one is bottomward the clamp on a chiral chiral car. The accomplished acquaintance is aloof weird. It seems the beneath you cossack the bigger it is, but again, sometimes it aloof acts up. Trying the assorted ambience didn’t assume to help. The transmission’s alternate aberancy connected throughout the weekend.

Once underway the affair is fantastic. The agent is bland and there’s absolutely abundant ability actuality and added than abundant anchor — it’s one of those attenuate birds that feels lighter to drive than it absolutely is. For acquisitive up bags of artery afar I can anticipate of few cars accomplishing it better.

Overall, I like the S7 a lot. I aloof ambition the chiral was added seamless and there was no head-up affectation to accomplish the autogenous a bit tacky.

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Other than that, this car is actual nice.

ROAD TEST EDITOR JONATHAN WONG: We’ve broiled up to Audi’s A7 about the Autoweek appointment back it accustomed on the market. The exoteric sheetmetal is elegant, the rear bear offers some added utility, it has a beautifully done autogenous and with the 3.0-liter supercharged V6, it’s a adequately absorbing car to drive.

In the S7 we accept added ability with the turbo V8, acicular handling, sportier administration touches and an autogenous that has some of the best admiring and adequate in the business.

Compared to the A7, the S7 packs 110 added application (310 against 420) and 81-lb-ft added torque (325 against 406). Audi says the S7 gets to 60 mph in 4.5 seconds, while the A7 needs 5.4 seconds.

In abode of the eight-speed torque-converted automated in the A7 there’s a seven-speed dual-clutch consecutive chiral in the S7, which happens to be my alone big afraid point to the car. I’ll get into that added after on.

On the outside, the S7 gets specific fascias, argent mirror caps, ancillary sills and bankrupt outlets.

The amount to advancement from an A7 Prestige to an S7 (which is alone accessible in Prestige trim) is $12,650, which isn’t too crazy if you accede how quick a sticker amount can jump on European cars if you go a little bonkers with options. Is it account it? I anticipate it is, but the abuse dual-clutch chiral is putting a damper on the affair for me. Like the S6 I collection afore this S7, the aerial burke acknowledgment at tip-in collection me crazy over the weekend. Maybe with some programming alterations Audi could bland things out. Or at atomic I achievement they can.

Car and Driver: 223 Audi A223 23.23T Quattro vs. 223123 BMW 6423i Gran Coupe – 2013 audi a7 review | 2013 audi a7 review

Once you’re affective along, things are accomplished with quick up- and downshifts abnormally back the Audi Drive Select arrangement is set to Dynamic. Dynamic additionally quickens council response, increases weight and the S7 stays durably buried about corners with little roll.

The agent is a acceptable allotment with the 406-lb-ft of adorable torque accessible at aloof 1,400 rpm, which is affectionate of decrepit by the apathetic burke tip-in response. Throughout the rev ambit ability is strong, which is nice. Slowing affairs is additionally accessible with acceptable brakes that calmly abrade acceleration off with a close pedal feel.

The absolutely abundant affair about all these affluence sports sedans with adjustable anatomy and burke mapping settings is that at the advance of a button you can about-face the car from aciculate and acquisitive to a car that’s adequate to docilely rolling about back you’re aloof dabbling home from work. With Audi Drive Select in Comfort, the car can be adequate with a berth that’s able-bodied abandoned from wind babble and alone a little bit of annoy babble from the 20-inch summer tires award its way into the interior. The abeyance damps out alley imperfections able-bodied and council feel is lighter.

In archetypal Audi form, the autogenous is accurately done with best abstracts and the above advanced action seats are adequate and supportive. Audi’s MMI interface charcoal my admired one amid affluence makes with the controls aural accessible ability on the centermost console.

The S7 is a nice car with an adorable silhouette, a bang of an engine, a anatomy that can be both bound and adequately absorbing or calm and adequate and an autogenous that’s aloof a nice abode to absorb time in. If Audi remedies the burke tip-in, the S7 would be abreast perfect. Now, let’s get our easily on the RS7.

Base Price: $79,695

As-Tested Price: $94,570

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Drivetrain: 4.0-liter turbocharged V8; AWD, seven-speed dual-clutch consecutive manual

Output: 420 hp @ 5,500-6,400 rpm, 406 lb-ft @ 1,400-5,200 rpm

Curb Weight: 4,508 lb

Fuel Economy (EPA City/Highway/Combined): 17/27/20 mpg

AW Observed Fuel Economy: 15.7 mpg

Options: Bang & Olufsen complete arrangement ($5,900); addition amalgamation including cruise ascendancy with stop and go, pre-sense plus, alive lane abetment and ancillary assist, head-up display, night eyes assistant, cornerview camera system, ability folding mirrors ($5,600); LED headlights with LED active lamps ($1,400); 20-inch admixture auto with summer tires ($1,000); carbon album inlays ($500); Phantom atramentous fair aftereffect exoteric acrylic ($475)

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[nastywomenblr-blog]

Giving Grace

Working in family law, I believe firmly in the adage "there are three sides to every story - yours, mine and the truth".  Every person has their own perception of how a situation played out.  Some match reality more than others and it's easy to say "Fuck it!  I like my version better."  Sometimes the "fuck it" approach is a great coping mechanism - but only for so long.  Ultimately, it stunts any long-term growth.  Which is how I find myself here - years after a horrific death, trying for the first time to see it through fresh eyes.  As opposed to the tear-blurred eyes from before.

Nearly four years ago, the local news ran a short clip that the body of a woman near my age was found in my hometown.   I knew immediately it was going to be someone I knew of.  Instead, after translating my best friend's cries in the phone I realized it wasn't just any former classmate, or sibling of an acquaintance.  It was one of our own.  A member of that core group of high school friends that you may only see once a month or once a year but the time between visits isn't so much a huge gap, as a brief pause, in the conversation.

She died from a hit and run.  She was not in a vehicle.  The driver did not have a valid license.  The driver was drunk.  The driver and passenger knew they hit something or someone and left.  They pulled over later down the road and saw blood on the car and drove home.  The driver and passenger did not call police.  The passenger later gave up the driver's name to police.  The driver left the state in attempt to evade police. The driver had a lengthy criminal history.  Said criminal history is really the only reason the driver is serving any jail time.  (Because persistent felony offender carries a surer sentence than manslaughter. Neat.)  

There are lots of ways to look at the facts.  But there's really only one way most people look at them if they know the victim. Selfishly.  And I was no different; I met these facts selfishly, sprinkled with horror, grief, restlessness, fear, hatred and bitter rage, for good measure.  (My personal version of the seven stages of grief.)  That was MY friend.  Look how this affects ME.  Be angry for ME.   This is natural, and arguably necessary, to process a sudden tragedy.  Everyone around us made it about themselves, too.   When we told people where she was found - "I was just there".  We numbly thought, yeah, it's a pretty busy road, lots of people were just there.  When we told people when it happened - "I just talked to her last week". We dumbfoundedly thought, yeah, she wasn't a hermit, lots of us just spoke with her, too.  (Apparently nightmare-induced sleep deprivation made us weirdly competitive in our grief.  Selfish and pious-the winning combo.)  We sat there in judgment whilst simultaneously doing just about the same thing. We looked at her death and how it affected us and the people we cared about most.  And we became viciously angry at the person who dared disrupt our life and end hers.  Our thoughts had no mercy for the driver, the passenger, or their loved ones.  We thought and spoke in ugly tones.  

But in truth, it wasn't a premediated murder.  It was a really fucked up unintentional death.  An "accident" as they like to say. Granted, an accident that could have gone a hell of a lot better than it did.  You could even say a completely preventable accident.  But even if you take out the drunkenness and replace it with ill-timed texting or even fucking sneezing, we're still in the same awful situation.   Humor me, and consider whether you've ever found yourself in this scenario, in part....

*You and your new girlfriend are hanging out a bar near her place downtown.  You didn't plan on drinking that much, and you really thought you stuck to the plan fine.  You and your girlfriend decide to go back to your place.  You're walking to her car and she decides she isn't good to drive. She asks you to drive.  You don't really have a legit license at the moment, but you don't want to get into that now.  Besides, you know how to drive-the government just says you shouldn't.  It's fine.  You realize maybe you've had one too many, but you'll take the back roads to avoid the cops.  It's fine. You're both still amped up in the car: music on, laughing, all that shit.  Hell, she may still be drinking in the passenger seat-one for the road! It's fine.  You're almost home and you don't know what the fuck happened but you hit something.  Hard. You both freak the fuck out.  She tells you to pull over and you find a lot down the road and look at the car.  It's not fine.  The window is fucked up, the lights are fucked up, her car is FUCKED UP.  She is panicking.  You tell yourself it was a deer.  You tell her you just hit a deer.  It's fine.  You tell yourself it's a deer because you sure as fuck aren't telling the cops your drunk ass drove home, without a license and then hit someone. Something.  It was a deer.  It's fine. You go home and pass out.  You see the car in the morning light and it's not fine. Nothing is fine.*

Ever driven without a license?  I definitely did as a teen.  Had one too many and got behind the wheel?  I’ve certainly been the passenger in this situation.  Taken the back roads to avoid interactions with police?  See prior answer.  Hit a parked car and left?  It’s been done to my car.  It was always fine.  Because we were lucky.  We didn't injure or kill anyone.  

What the driver did was stupid.  But I don't think intentional.   And he'll lose ten years of freedom.

But she lost everything.  

And I can't change that.  I can change how much energy I spend cursing the driver, cursing the universe, and cursing the unfairness of it all.  I'm still pissed - and I think that's fair.  But I'm not going to spend any more of my energy hating a man that made a lot of common mistakes that this time resulted in a life-altering moment I can't reverse.  He didn't intend to kill her, so I can't keep treating this like a premediated, heinous, torturous murder.  It was an unintentional death.  

He didn't intend to kill her.  It was an unintentional death.  

He didn't intend to kill her.  

It was an unintentional death.  

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New Post has been published on http://www.buildercar.com/first-laps-nio-ep9/

First Laps: Nio EP9

This May, the all-electric Nio EP9 beat its own Nurburgring Nordschleife lap record by 19.2 seconds, lowering an already exceptional mark to a blistering 6 minutes, 45.9 seconds. Peter Dumbreck drove it through the Green Hell at a pace which looks downright frightening on the video taken by the on-board cameras. Today, we’re here at the Bedford Autodrome with the very same car for an exclusive first drive. That is, if I can stuff myself into it.

Flashback to the Shanghai motor show in April, where the EP9 built for Nio chief William Li — one of seven cars completed so far — awaits me for a fitting. It does not go well. If this carbon fiber garment were a suit, the buttons would have popped: one, two, three. But after a crash diet and a visit to the barber, I just might be able to cram myself in, sardine style. I’m going to find out soon enough.

A small group of experts, engineers, and enthusiasts are forming a circle around the dark blue EP9 being prepped to attack the Bedford circuit. The seat turns out to be a naked, non-adjustable carbon-fiber bucket. Where there once was a cushion is now the same slippery pale-blue protection foil as on the sills and down in the footwell. The meat in this hard-baked composite sandwich is 6-feet, 8-inches worth of Kacher, and that’s before the towering helmet and the protruding HANS (head and neck support) system are in place. This is going to be fun.

For now I’m just a passenger. The man at the wheel introduces himself as Tommy, who turns out to be a seasoned former race car driver and a laid back, happy-go-lucky guy. While my torso is being roped with Sparco straps, my head still has enough freedom of movement to check out the lab-style dashboard. Right in front of me, a tall, full-width rectangular display has just come to life. Further to my left, three more monitors are beginning to glow — the smallest one is attached to the hub of the steering-wheel. Six green lights on top of the windscreen are signaling to the mechanics that the high-voltage system is active. There isn’t a single airbag on board.

Off we go. Bedford’s so-called grand prix circuit is a 3.8-mile cone serpent worming across what was once an army airfield. The track has zero change in altitude. I have zero track knowledge, and zero self-confidence. Thankfully, Tommy knows the track well. He gives me the spiel through the intercom: do not straddle the curbs, do not touch the buttons on the wheel or in the center stack, do not alter the battery mode. In other words, don’t screw up this priceless piece of four-wheeled e-history.

During the warm-up lap, Tommy rattles off some of the NP9’s insane performance numbers. The wide-body racer can allegedly accelerate to 60 mph in less than 2.7 seconds, to 125 mph in 7.1 seconds and onto a top speed of 194 mph. True, the Bugatti Chiron is as quick or quicker off the mark, not to mention it has a higher maximum speed and longer driving range. But for a purely electric vehicle, the Nio’s one megawatt (roughly 1,360 horsepower) max power output and the massive 1,091 lb-ft of estimated peak torque are simply sensational.

About a third into lap two, Tommy starts mumbling to himself. Late apex, late apex, and again. Brake early here. And there. Then out of the blue he slips into total attack mode. Cerebrum and cerebellum start to slug it out in a corner-by-corner boxing match as my spine fights a losing battle against the low ceiling, the shockwaves from below, and the g-force salvos. The EP9’s largest digital display is recording every single second of this assault on body and mind: 2.21 g lateral acceleration, 1.4 g deceleration, 147 mph at detection point two. Whenever a digit lights up green, it signals a new best. Needless to say, the numbers are pinging green for the remainder of this lap. And the next.

Back in pit lane, getting out of the passenger seat and into the driver’s seat are two giant gymnastic embarrassments. The seat acts like a slide, spooning the body into an embryonic driving position: bum too far forward, legs akimbo at an angle that hurts, the head fixated by HANS, the helmet compromising the field of vision. I feel like a piece of human origami art aiming for the bin. But this doesn’t stop the sadists strapping me in from pulling my four-point belt tight, then tighter still. Why don’t you push the pedal box further forward, Georg? Because it’s already about to crack the bulkhead.

Through the intercom, I can hear myself wheezing, loud and clear. Thumbs up? Thumbs Up! With a bit of luck, I should at least better my own lap time set earlier in a Skoda Octavia rental car. But first things first: Hit the big black button on the panel between the seats to select power mode one, put a hoof hard on the brake pedal, then pull the right shift paddle to engage drive. Let’s go!

Never mind the cramped cabin. What makes the mind boggle right now are a staccato of alien noises. Like intermittent driveshaft clutter, yelping transmission whine, tires drumming in all four wheelwells, and the high-pitched hissing of a brace of electric motors, two up front and two in the rear. The EP9 provides electric mobility in its purest and simplest form: on/off, forward/reverse. That’s it. No gears to select but neutral, no driving programs to choose from, no torque vectoring to worry about, no chassis-related trickeries like rear-wheel steering or active anti-roll bars. Braver men might have played with the brake balance, ABS intervention, and ESP assistance. But I’m a coward, we all know that.

Everything OK, Georg? Absolutely. No sweat at all. If it wasn’t for chafing my shin bones, a brooding cramp in the left thigh and my eyeglasses being bump-steered in different directions, everything would be fine and dandy. Since pedal modulation is both physical and delicate, you must start thinking about your brake points before ever flooring the throttle. As soon as the floodgates open, the torque tsunami flattens you in the seat like a mighty breaker. Although the pedal effort required to make the cooled-off Alcon discs perform could easily kick-start a truck engine, the deceleration is mental. Absolutely mental.

One more familiarization lap, and then you may increase the power from 362 hp to 510 hp — per axle — which still is about several hundred horsepower short of the Nio’s no-holds-barred ludicrous mode. Everything is happening faster now. Corners approach at warp speed, working the steering becomes physical, not knowing the track doesn’t help. Hold this pace, Georg, because that’s what it takes to cool the driveline, the batteries, and the cabin. Ignore the numbers on the displays. I know the maximum stopping power is 3.3 g, the maximum lateral acceleration works out at 2.5 g. According to the data recorder, I am painfully slow, so why do I feel like a hero?

The oddly sized 320/705 R19 Avon tires are made of a secret rubber compound which sticks to the pavement like fresh chewing-gum. The cornering grip is simply out of this world, but so is the bone-rattling ride. Sight lines range from okay (straight ahead) to non-existent (rear three-quarter). The adjustable downforce has a noticeable effect, the directional stability is that of a full-size slot-racer, body movements are kept in check by an adjustable damping system, and a hydraulic actuator controls ride height. You guessed it: the Nio EP9 is a hardcore race car, totally electrifying and in no way street-legal, a visitor from a different galaxy, merely passing through.

Back in the pits, a twist of the belt buckle releases the harness — what a relief. While the ECU logs out byte by byte, crackling like a dozen scrunched-up packets of chips, the steering-wheel monitor tells us that the range dropped from 295 to 167 miles after only five laps, while the state of charge fell from 100 percent to 55 percent. No big deal — replenishing the batteries is claimed to take only 45 minutes. That’s the good news. The bad news is that the energy cell containers must come out of the car before the plug-in process can start. Since they weigh almost 700 pounds each, this exercise requires two strong men, an engineer with laptop, and a pair of transport cradles.

Now that the biggest shareholders have taken delivery of their personalized trackday specials, it was decided to manufacture a second batch of 10 more cars which have allegedly already been sold. The millionaires paying for this high-voltage hypercar are reportedly forking out somewhere in the neighborhood of $1.5 million plus tax for the car, plus pocket money for incidentals like spare batteries, special toolkits, a high-voltage charger, and the qualified personnel to operate this high-tech toy.

Next on the agenda is the still highly provisional, re-engineered, road-ready EP9 evolution model, of which between 50 and 250 units would be built. If management does decide to convert the EP9 for road use, such a move would of course require a more user-friendly charge concept — ideally, inductive charging. Airbags would have to be added to meet the most basic crash protection requirements, and filling the extra-wide sills with lithium-ion batteries may cause problems as far as side impact performance is concerned. According to the EP9’s instruction leaflet, the driver must remain seated in case of a malfunction no matter what. Why? Because one leg earthed outside the car and the other leg insulated inside could cause a terminal short-circuit. That wouldn’t pass muster with safety regulators if the car were to be homologated for the street.

Although there are still a lot of ifs and buts hovering above the project, Nio wants to keep its options open as it uses the EP9 to boost image and brand-awareness. According to those in the know, producing electric vehicles is only part of Nio’s future business model. If all goes according to plan, stakeholders like Bitauto (digital services), Tencent (Internet, social networks, media), and Lenovo (laptops, smartphones) will use future Trojan horses like the almost production-ready Nio ES8 for marketing purposes, too. Wishful thinking? Well, Tencent has 830 million users who spend 95 percent of their online activities with this particular provider. Which is another way of saying that the future is now, and the Nio EP9 is doing a remarkable job promoting it.

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UFO Sighting: The 1967 NHRA C/XS Championship-Winning 1965 Plymouth A990 Belvedere I is Reborn

Tom Tignanelli’s job as a Chrysler Race Group engineer provided the opportunity for his father to buy this 1965 Plymouth A990 Belvedere I from Chrysler Engineering. Adam Engelhart and the team at AAA Restorations in Rushford, Minnesota, performed the incredibly accurate restoration after its current owners, Clark and Collene Rand, bought it in 2014.

Chrysler built 101 Dodge Coronets and 101 Plymouth Belvedere I post cars with the A990 package. The cars featured lightweight steel fenders, a hood with scoop, a radiator support, and grille brackets. The package also included lightweight Corning glass. In building the UFO, the Tignanelli crew replaced the fenders and hood with fiberglass units from the Golden Commandos. The wheelbase alteration was done at Shadowoods Auto Center, the Tignanelli family business.

The 426 Hemi was restored and rebuilt by AAA Restorations to factory specifications. The engine features a 12.5:1 compression ratio, a 0.590-lift Comp Cams solid-lifter camshaft, Hooker headers, and a correct 1965 dual-point distributor.

The Holley 3116 770-cfm carburetors are mounted on the factory magnesium cross-ram intake manifold that was used on all the 1965 A990 cars.

The original rollcage is still in place, yielding 1965 vintage protection for the driver during those 130-mph jaunts.

The Moon spun aluminum 3 1/2-gallon fuel tank is rated at 10 psi maximum fuel pressure. The tank is topped off with a traditional Moon three-bar gas cap.

The weight of the huge Mopar Super Stock battery was placed over the right rear corner for optimal traction assistance. Bob’s Drag Chutes supplies the laundry for shutdown security. Since the UFO has no front brakes, the chute was a necessity.

Photos courtesy of Tom Tignanelli 009-tignanelli-1965-plymouth-belvedere-a990-sidebar-testing Though the date is uncertain, here is the UFO testing at Motor City Dragway in Detroit.

A young Tom Tignanelli demonstrates the lightweight fiberglass replacement hood that was partly responsible for removing 400 pounds from the car when it was converted to C/XS status.

The front straight axle was supplied by Logghe Chassis, sans front brakes, when built for Experimental Stock racing. Those 12-spoke American Racing wheels are still on the car.

Tignanelli’s work as race support for various Chrysler contract drivers netted him the benefit of free parts for his Chrysler race cars.

Having earned a mechanical engineering degree from Detroit Engineering Institute in 1964, Tom Tignanelli went to work as a technician and test driver in the Road Test Garage at Chrysler Engineering in Highland Park, Michigan. His dream job, though, was at Chrysler’s offsite Woodward Garage, headed by Roger Lindamood.

“My boss at the Road Test garage used to let me sneak over to the Woodward Garage so I could possibly get hired there,” Tom recalls. “In the Woodward Garage, which was the Clark Pontiac dealership at one time, there were cars being built for circle track, drag racing, and road racing.”

At first there wasn’t a position open for him, but things changed “when Roger decided to go drag racing fulltime,” Tom says. “I was hired to work as Race Group Engineer in the Woodward Garage. That job opened me up to working with the great minds of the product planners at Chrysler, like Dick Maxwell, Robert Cahill, and Dave Koffel. In addition, I had the privilege of being taught by and working with the Chrysler engineering staff that included legends like Tom Hoover, Dan Mancini, Warren Tiahart, Tom Coddington, and Allen Adams, who worked and ran the Woodward Garage. I couldn’t help but be a good student since I was being taught by the best talent in the industry. It was a great time in my life. I worked on a number of Chrysler race cars, including those owned by Jack Werst, John Tedder, and one car for Ron Mancini.”

Chrysler built 102 1965 A990 Plymouth Belvederes featuring lightweight body panels and the 426 Hemi engine with a magnesium intake manifold. Chrysler Engineering received two of those cars. Tom says, “The UFO car was a real A990 Chrysler engineering test car with the lightweight panels, 426 Hemi engine, and reverse-pattern manual valvebody TorqueFlite transmission. As part of the R&D, I recall having the Chrysler engine room build the motor with an Isky cam and some other go-fast items. Eventually, my father, Robert Tignanelli, bought the car from Chrysler. It was offered to us because I was their youngest test driver and my family was heavily involved in drag racing. I didn’t get an official racer contract with Chrysler, but since I was an employee for Chrysler Race Group, I ended up getting free race parts.”

Tom raced his newly acquired A990 in NHRA Super Stock during the 1965 race season. Hooked on drag racing, he began planning for the 1966 race season. NHRA had announced that it was introducing a new category called Experimental Stock (XS) that would be divided into six classes running from Super/XS to E/XS. Tom decided to build his 1965 Plymouth to compete in C/XS. Experimental Stock would come to be known as Funny Cars, largely because of the wild creations that came from the brilliant minds of racers like Tignanelli.

Tom tells the story of the birth of the UFO: “We rolled the car into Shadowoods Auto Center in Roseville, Michigan—my dad’s business—at the end of the 1965 race season in order to build it for Experimental Stock. It never left the shop until it was ready to race in the spring of 1966. My dad, brothers, Alex Richards, and I did the chassis modifications, drivetrain preparation, and paint work. We had a great relationship with the guys at Logghe Chassis shop, so they built the front straight-axle suspension. We moved the front axle forward 10 inches and the rear forward 15. The factory lightweight fenders and hood were replaced with lighter fiberglass parts from the Golden Commandos. We also replaced all the factory glass with orange Plexiglas.”

Further modifications included replacing the steel trunk floor with aluminum, installing a rare aluminum dashboard, and mounting a 3 1/2-gallon Moon spun aluminum fuel tank in the front grille. Tom built the Hemi motor with an Isky 550 Le Gerra cam, Chrysler race pistons, and the stock A990 magnesium cross-ram intake manifold with twin Holley 3116 carburetors. The aluminum cylinder heads were race-prepped by Bartley Kenyon, featuring a five-angle valve job. The Hemi was located farther back and higher in the altered-wheelbase shell. Modifications brought the total weight of the UFO from 3,400 pounds to 3,000.

The UFO emerged from Robert Tignanelli’s shop as if it had been abducted by aliens. It was unbelievably faster. During the 1966 season, Dieter Nubel would create the UFO’s signature nose piece that would enhance performance. Tom was NHRA Division 3 Points Champion in XS, and earned a C/XS National Championship in his follow-up 1967 season. Additionally, numerous class wins and eliminator victories would pile up to establish the UFO as an extremely successful race car for Tom and the entire Tignanelli family.

When Tom moved up to a Charger Funny Car in 1968, he sold the UFO as a roller to Bruce Elmer, who later sold it to Paul Janda from Canada in 1971, where it was placed in climate-controlled storage until 2014. Clark and Collene Rand purchased the car in 2014 and sent it to Adam Engelhart and the crew over at AAA Restorations in Rushford, Minnesota. The car received an impeccable restoration back to as-raced status and now serves as a rolling testament to the golden era of mid-1960s NHRA drag racing.

Reflecting on the unique opportunity he had as both a Chrysler Race Group engineer and a successful drag racer, Tom says, “I always tell this to people: There was nothing any better. I got paid to drive a car, I got overtime, and I had free run of Chrysler proving grounds. They sent me to every drag race a week early in order to be a part of testing factory cars. I had a gorgeous truck, a D700 four-door, with three or four engines in the back of the truck to assist factory racers. I serviced their transmissions, supplied spare parts. I was the keeper of the keys. I had it made!”

Tom misses every car he ever raced. Not one given to spectator status, he is currently working on building a Wedge-powered altered-wheelbase 1965 Plymouth Belvedere I post car for nostalgia drag racing. He still works seven days a week on Hemi engines, race car builds, and vintage parts upkeep, proving himself to be an unrelenting fanatic obsessed with the sport that shaped his passion for Chrysler race cars.

At a Glance

1965 A990 Belvedere I Owned by: Clark and Collene Rand, Fair Grove, MO Restored by: AAA Restorations, Rushford, MN Engine: 426ci Hemi V-8 Transmission: 727 TorqueFlite reverse-pattern manual valvebody Rearend: 8 3/4 Mopar with 4.88 gears and spool Interior: A100 seats, original UFO rollcage by Shadowoods Auto Center Wheels: 15×4 American Racing 12-spoke front, 15×10 American Racing rear Tires: 7.75-15 Goodyear nylon cord 4-ply front, 10.50-15 Goodyear Blue Streak rear Special parts: Custom nose cone, Sun tachometer and gauges

002-tignanelli-1965-plymouth-belvedere-a990-rear-three-quarter Tom Tignanelli’s job as a Chrysler Race Group engineer provided the opportunity for his father to buy this 1965 Plymouth A990 Belvedere I from Chrysler Engineering. Adam Engelhart and the team at AAA Restorations in Rushford, Minnesota, performed the incredibly accurate restoration after its current owners, Clark and Collene Rand, bought it in 2014.

003-tignanelli-1965-plymouth-belvedere-a990-side Chrysler built 101 Dodge Coronets and 101 Plymouth Belvedere I post cars with the A990 package. The cars featured lightweight steel fenders, a hood with scoop, a radiator support, and grille brackets. The package also included lightweight Corning glass. In building the UFO, the Tignanelli crew replaced the fenders and hood with fiberglass units from the Golden Commandos. The wheelbase alteration was done at Shadowoods Auto Center, the Tignanelli family business.

004-tignanelli-1965-plymouth-belvedere-a990-hemi-engine The 426 Hemi was restored and rebuilt by AAA Restorations to factory specifications. The engine features a 12.5:1 compression ratio, a 0.590-lift Comp Cams solid-lifter camshaft, Hooker headers, and a correct 1965 dual-point distributor.

005-tignanelli-1965-plymouth-belvedere-a990-hemi-engine-induction The Holley 3116 770-cfm carburetors are mounted on the factory magnesium cross-ram intake manifold that was used on all the 1965 A990 cars.

006-tignanelli-1965-plymouth-belvedere-a990-interior-overall The original rollcage is still in place, yielding 1965 vintage protection for the driver during those 130-mph jaunts.

007-tignanelli-1965-plymouth-belvedere-a990-moon-tank The Moon spun aluminum 3 1/2-gallon fuel tank is rated at 10 psi maximum fuel pressure. The tank is topped off with a traditional Moon three-bar gas cap.

008-tignanelli-1965-plymouth-belvedere-a990-trunk The weight of the huge Mopar Super Stock battery was placed over the right rear corner for optimal traction assistance. Bob’s Drag Chutes supplies the laundry for shutdown security. Since the UFO has no front brakes, the chute was a necessity.

A UFO Is Born

Photos courtesy of Tom Tignanelli 009-tignanelli-1965-plymouth-belvedere-a990-sidebar-testing Though the date is uncertain, here is the UFO testing at Motor City Dragway in Detroit.

010-tignanelli-1965-plymouth-belvedere-a990-sidebar-fiberglass-hood A young Tom Tignanelli demonstrates the lightweight fiberglass replacement hood that was partly responsible for removing 400 pounds from the car when it was converted to C/XS status.

011-tignanelli-1965-plymouth-belvedere-a990-sidebar-front-suspension The front straight axle was supplied by Logghe Chassis, sans front brakes, when built for Experimental Stock racing. Those 12-spoke American Racing wheels are still on the car.

012-tignanelli-1965-plymouth-belvedere-a990-sidebar-tignanelli-in-car Tignanelli’s work as race support for various Chrysler contract drivers netted him the benefit of free parts for his Chrysler race cars.

The post UFO Sighting: The 1967 NHRA C/XS Championship-Winning 1965 Plymouth A990 Belvedere I is Reborn appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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Rebuilding the Autolite 2100/Motorcraft 2150 carburetor

It’s been more than 30 years since the auto industry transitioned from carburetors to electronically controlled fuel injection. It’s easy to understand the reasons. Overall driveability, cold-weather starting, and fuel economy all improved with it, but the flip side was the gradual decline in hands-on experience with traditional mechanical air/fuel mixers.

Because it’s been a few decades since we’ve had to lean over engine compartments to make adjustments on our daily drivers, it’s only natural that many enthusiasts are a bit reluctant to take a screwdriver to a carburetor. And for the youngest enthusiasts, it’s a good bet they’ve had as much experience with carbs as they have adjusting the rabbit ears on a television or flipping over a 45 to hear the “B” side.

This fortysomething author admits to scant time with carbs over the years, after coming of driving age in the mid ’80s, when the smog equipment-laden used cars from the late-’70s and early ’80s would basically never run right again if a vacuum line was pulled off the carb. You just didn’t touch it. Fuel injection arrived soon thereafter and life went on without the need to tune or rebuild a carb.

There’s now a 1969 Ford F-250 in my driveway and until recently, the old Autolite 2100 carb leaked more gas than a week’s worth of Taco Bell lunches. The puddles on the intake manifold had grown too large to ignore, and starting the engine was taking longer and longer, so I finally decided to take the plunge and rebuild my first carburetor.

The Autolite two-barrel was ubiquitous on Ford engines throughout the ’60s and early ’70s, and its essential design carried on into the ’80s as the Motorcraft 2150, which featured a variable air-bleed system (Motorcraft supplanted Autolite as Ford’s official parts brand in 1972). Ford’s four-barrel carbs, too, from the ’60s are based on the design.

Fast-forward to the project’s conclusion: It was easy and inexpensive. With only a few bucks into the rebuild kit ordered on rockauto.com and about $25 for a bucket of Gunk carb cleaner, the carb was rebuilt for less than $40 and better still, the 360 engine in the truck fired up on the first try.

The one thing we screwed up was the manual choke. We didn’t closely note its position during disassembly and regretted when installing the rebuilt carb. The engine runs just fine, but the choke adjustment isn’t quite right and we’ve been fiddling with it ever since. It’s not a problem if yours has an electric choke, but for those working with a manual choke, take some closeup pics before you pull off the carb and match the position later.

That said, it was a satisfyingly successful project—and one any enthusiast with opposable thumbs and the cognitive ability to differentiate a straight-slot screwdriver from a Philips version can achieve. If you meet that low, low threshold of mechanical ability, there’s no reason to put it off. Believe me, if I could do it, you certainly can. Quit fiddling with those rabbit ears and get out in the garage!

Removal of the carburetor is the first step and it’s a simple one: Disconnect the throttle, choke, fuel line, and vacuum lines and unbolt it from the intake manifold. You’ll want a well-lit working area and have a tray for small parts at the ready.

Dismantling the carb comes next, starting with removal of the choke mechanism. The rod from the choke to the butterfly is disconnected first. Take note of its position. There are generally two mounting provisions, one for “general” climates and the other for higher altitudes. Make sure the rod is reinstalled in the same position during reassembly.

The procedures vary slightly, depending on whether the carb has a manual or electric choke. This old girl had a manual choke, which required the removal of a small clip to release it from the carb housing. Electric-choke models have a plastic cover mounted on a housing that must be removed, along with the housing itself.

The accelerator rod comes next and is simply unclipped from its mounting position, but care must be taken to note the hole in which it was inserted on the mounting tab. It has to go back in the same hole during reassembly.

Next comes the removal of the accelerator pump, at the front of the carb, which is held on with four bolts—or in the case of this carb, three bolts and a screw.

There’s a diaphragm and spring behind the accelerator cover. Don’t damage or discard the spring because most rebuild kits don’t include a replacement. The red diaphragm will be removed later.

Now it’s time to remove the carb’s cover plate, which features four or six screws, depending on the carb model. The cover may need a little persuasion to release its grimy grip on the carb housing after the screws are removed.

There’s a gasket beneath the cover that will be replaced. Before it’s discarded, the replacement in the rebuild kit should be checked against it to ensure all the holes line up correctly.

With the gasket out of the way, the float assembly is next to be removed. A pair of needle-nose pliers is the best way to remove the wire clip that secures the rod holding the float assembly in place.

The jets come next, but a very large flat-blade screwdriver is required to span the gap at their respective centers and provide sufficient torque to loosen them. They’re brass, so it’s easy to damage them with a smaller screwdriver.

After the jets, the needle valve and seat are removed and the same caveat for removing the jets applies: a very large flat-blade screwdriver is required.

Next, the needle-nose pliers can be used to remove the rubber plug from the diaphragm in the accelerator pump housing.

The venturi assembly comes out next, simply with the removal of a single screw. The difference between this early 2100-series model and the later 2150 design is the variable air bleed mechanism is incorporated with the venturi assembly.

Removal of the venturi assembly reveals a small rod known as the “weight” and a check ball beneath it.

The carb will likely have to be flipped over to dislodge and remove the tiny check ball, but care must be taken because there’s not a replacement in the rebuild kit. In other words: Don’t lose it!

On the bottom of the carburetor, the mixture screws must be removed. Note the number of turns required to remove them, so they can be reinstalled with the same number. That will provide a more accurate baseline for tuning adjustments after the carb is reinstalled.

In front of the mixture screws is a cover for the power valve (visible in the previous photo). It must be removed and the power valve itself removed. This step concludes the carb’s disassembly.

It’s time so soak the carb and all the removed metal parts in carburetor cleaner. Letting it all soak overnight is a good idea. It’s nasty stuff, so gloves must be used when handling it and make sure the area is ventilated. Position the carburetor body so that the throttle blades are open during soaking and the more stubborn areas of grime can be brushed with an old toothbrush or wire brush periodically.

Here are the contents of the rebuild kit, which we ordered online for less than $20. Like most kits, it includes gaskets and other components to suit a variety of different models within the carburetor’s family, making it all the more important to retain the old parts and gaskets and match them to the new ones.

After using compressed air—use aerosol-type cans if you don’t have a home compressor—to blow out all the carb’s passages, reassembly commences with the installation of the kit’s new power valve and gasket. In fact, the entire reassembly process is essentially the reverse of disassembly, meaning the mixture screws would come next. For the sake of space, we won’t show the reinstallation of every component depicted in the disassembly phase.

The new rubber plug for the accelerator pump diaphragm must be gently installed. The nipple on the backside of the plug, which holds it in place, is very susceptible to breaking, which will bring the project to an immediate halt.

Needle and seat assembly components are included with the rebuild kit to be used with the original float. Here, the new needle and clip is shown installed on the float, ready to be inserted on the seat. Use needle-nose pliers again to slip the clip around the top of the seat into its retaining groove.

The far end of the float should be 7/16 inch from the top of the fuel bowl. A gauge is included with the kit for measurement. To check it, place a finger on the float at the needle and seat, but apply no pressure and measure the distance. If the spec isn’t correct, gently bend the tab on the float where the needle valve is held in place to alter the float’s height. Gently!

The rest of the reassembly is straightforward and as mentioned above, essentially the reverse of disassembly. There are unique steps involved in setting up the electric choke, but since this carb didn’t have one, we can’t show them. There are, however, several online resources that demonstrate the steps. A quick Web search will pull them up.

A carb-to-manifold gasket is included with the kit and should be used when returning the carb to the engine. Don’t reuse the old one. Check and re-check all the connections during the reinstallation and don’t forget items such as vacuum lines and the throttle return spring.

After the engine has warmed up, the idle mixture can be tuned with those two screws at the front of the carb. Turn the screws inward, a quarter turn at a time, until the engine rpm starts to drop. Then, turn them each back out a quarter of a turn. It’s best to do it with engine under load, so turn on the headlamps and have a helper put the transmission in drive and hold the brake.

The rebuilt carb fired up on the first try and with the mixture screws already close to the mark during reassembly, there was very little fine-tuning to do. We found it necessary to lean out the mixture a bit, which delivered a noticeable bump in performance and it will save gas, too. We’re still fiddling with the optimal choke setting, however, but as it stands it doesn’t affect performance and once the engine has warmed up for only a couple of minutes, it runs beautifully. Our only regret is we didn’t do this project sooner.

Decoding Autolite/Motorcraft Carburetor Codes

Deciphering the carburetor code on an Autolite/Motorcraft carburetor comes down to understanding Ford’s parts identification convention. For the Autolite 2100 carburetor used for our rebuild project, it carried two lines of code: C8TF Z as the primary part number and B 9D 2 as the build date. Here’s how they break down:

C = The decade (’60s) 8 = The year (1968) T = Model application (light/medium truck, Bronco) F = Engineering group (General Parts) Z = Design revision indicator

The build date code decodes this way:

B = Design change 9 = The year (1969) D = The month (April) 2 = Day of the month (2nd)

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