#Dry Engine Liner

[engineliner1]

Engine Cylinder Sleeves

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A cylinder liner is a cylindrical part fitted into a diesel engine block that forms a cylindrical space in which the piston requites smoothly. One of the most crucial functional parts is the formation of an engine. Usually, Cylinder liners are made of Cast Iron, Cast Steel, Nickel, and Nickel Chrome CI. Usually, the liner will wear and tear over time and needs to be replaced. The temperature of the liner is hotter than the jacket. For higher efficiency and performance, engine sleeves or Cylinder Liners are used.

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As a Cylinder Liner Supplier in USA, we deliver high-performance products and efficient Dry Cylinder Liner and Wet Cylinder liners for military and commercial class vessels to perform rigorous operating conditions.

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[jaiautoindustries-blog]

Discover the indispensable role of cylinder liners in internal combustion engines. Explore their diverse applications and crucial functions in optimizing engine performance and longevity.

[pucksandpower]

Made with Love

Charles Leclerc x amateur baker!Reader

Summary: in which Charles would rather risk the entire paddock getting food poisoning (again) than break your heart by telling you that your baking is horrible

You hum to yourself as you pull a tray of freshly baked cupcakes out of the oven. The sweet, chocolaty aroma fills Charles’ kitchen, making your mouth water.

This batch is sure to be perfect! You’ve been practicing your baking skills for months now, determined to get it just right.

Charles wanders into the kitchen, drawn by the scent. “Mmm, something smells good in here!”

He peers over your shoulder at the tray of cupcakes. They’re a bit misshapen, with cracked tops that deflated the second they were taken out of the oven. The frosting is glopped on unevenly.

To you, they look absolutely mouthwatering. To Charles, they look … well, he loves you too much to say.

“Try one!” You urge, holding out a cupcake. Charles flashes you a hesitant smile before taking it. He peels back the liner and takes a bite. His eyes widen and he forces himself to chew and swallow.

“Well? How is it?” You ask eagerly.

Charles clears his throat. “It’s, uh, it’s great. Your best batch yet,” he lies. In truth, it’s dry and dense, with a strange bitter aftertaste. But the delight on your face makes the fib worth it.

You throw your arms around him in a hug. “Yay! I can’t wait to share them with the team this weekend.”

Charles’ stomach drops. The thought of the entire paddock pretending to enjoy your baking makes him cringe internally. But he plasters on a smile. “What a nice idea! I’m sure they’ll love them.”

The two of you arrive at the circuit and you can barely contain your excitement as you carry a large container of cupcakes into the paddock. Charles trails behind you, backpack slung over one shoulder, his other arm wrapped around your waist. He presses a quick kiss to your temple before you flit off to distribute your baked goods.

You first approach Max Verstappen, holding out a cupcake with rainbow sprinkles. “Here Max, have one!”

Max eyes the treat dubiously but accepts it with a polite smile. “Thanks Y/N, that’s really nice of you.”

You beam and turn to Charles, missing the look of apprehension on Max’s face. Charles catches Max’s eye and draws a finger across his throat in warning. Max’s eyes widen but he nods in understanding. Charles won’t let anything ruin your mood today.

You make your way through the paddock, handing cupcakes to mechanics, engineers, PR reps, reporters, team principals, and drivers. Charles hovers behind you, keeping a watchful eye on each recipient.

Daniel Ricciardo visibly gags on his first bite when you turn away. Charles glares and shakes his head sharply. Daniel rearranges his face into a smile and gives a thumbs up.

Lando Norris takes an overly large bite and Charles has to pound on his back as he chokes it down.

Esteban Ocon discreetly spits his cupcake into a napkin when you’re not looking. Charles lunges forward and grabs his arm, squeezing tightly until Esteban wheezes out “Delicious!”

You remain blissfully unaware of the chaos that falls over the paddock in your wake, oblivious to Charles’ desperate interventions. All you see are your friends and acquaintances enjoying your baking.

When you finally offer a cupcake to Charles, he takes it and eats the whole thing without hesitation. Because even if it tastes like sugary sawdust, the delight on your face makes it the best treat in the world.

“Wasn’t that fun?” You gush to Charles afterwards. “I can’t wait to try out a new recipe soon!”

Charles just kisses your frosting-smudged nose and says, “I can’t wait either, mon amour.” As long as you’re happy, he’ll choke down all the questionable cupcakes you offer. Because your smile is the only thing that matters.

***

The paddock is bustling with activity as you and Charles arrive for the next race weekend, yet another batch of fresh baked goods in hand. You’re eager to share your latest creations — classic chocolate chunk cookies. You spent hours carefully following the recipe, determined to get them just right.

As you make your rounds distributing cookies, the reactions are the usual mix of forced smiles and discreet spitting. Charles trails behind you, glaring at anyone who doesn’t immediately rave about how delicious they are. The drivers and mechanics quickly catch on, showering you with praise and shooting Charles grateful looks when he turns you away.

You finally offer a cookie to Graham, a mechanic from the Mercedes team. He takes it hesitantly, eyeing Charles standing behind you. But Graham is new to the paddock and unaware of the baked goods situation.

He takes a bite and immediately grimaces. “Ugh, these taste terrible!” He blurts out.

You gasp, stumbling back as if struck. Tears well up in your eyes. Charles is at your side in an instant, pulling you into a comforting hug. Over your shoulder, he shoots Graham a look of absolute rage.

Graham realizes his mistake too late, shame washing over his face. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean ...” he stammers. But you’re already pulling away from Charles and rushing off, sobbing.

Charles turns on Graham, eyes blazing. “How could you? All she ever wants to do is make others happy!” Graham cowers before him, other mechanics backing away nervously.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Graham says miserably.

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Charles snarls. “You stay away from her, you hear me?” Graham nods shakily. Satisfied the message is received, Charles races after you.

He finds you behind the garage, face buried in your hands. “Oh mon ange,” Charles murmurs, wrapping you in his arms. “Don’t listen to him, your cookies are perfect.”

You cling to Charles, sniffling. “I just wanted to do something nice for everyone. But I’m so horrible at baking!”

Charles tilts your chin up. “You listen to me. You have the biggest, kindest heart. It doesn’t matter if the cookies are a little, er, overdone. What matters is you put love into making them. Don’t let someone like Graham get you down.”

You smile tremulously. “Have I told you lately that you’re the best boyfriend ever?”

Charles grins. “Hmm, I don’t mind hearing it again.” Laughing through your tears, you tell him again, punctuating it with a kiss.

After ensuring you’re okay, Charles seeks out Graham. “I trust you’ll be more considerate going forward?” Graham nods meekly. “Good. But just so we’re clear, if you upset her again, you’ll be out of this paddock for good.”

The next day, the news breaks that Graham has been dismissed from the Mercedes team for “attitude issues.” You feel a bit guilty, hoping your cookies didn’t cause him to lose his job. But Charles seems strangely satisfied, so you don’t dwell on it.

From then on, Charles redoubles his efforts to protect your feelings whenever you provide baked goods. The paddock falls in line, fawning over your overly salty pretzels and dry banana bread.

The brightness of your smile makes it all worth it to Charles. Because keeping that joy and kindness shining in you is what matters most to him.

***

You step out of Charles’ Ferrari, the engine purring as he puts it in park. Taking his hand, you smile excitedly — today is another fan meetup organized by the team, and you can’t wait to connect with Charles’ supporters again.

“Are you ready, mon cœur?” Charles asks, squeezing your hand gently. His green eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks at you adoringly.

“Absolutely!” You chirp, patting the large picnic basket hanging off your arm. “I made lots of treats to share today!”

Charles grins and leans in to kiss your forehead. “I’m sure they will love everything you made, as always.”

You beam, bolstered by his encouragement as you both make your way to the event. The meetup is being held in a local park, with tents and tables set up amongst the lush green grass and towering trees. You spot a long line of fans waiting eagerly for Charles’ arrival. Most are dressed in the familiar rosso corsa of Ferrari, holding posters and memorabilia for him to sign.

“Charles! Charles!” They chant excitedly when they see him. You hang back happily, letting him have his moment with his dedicated supporters. Charles takes selfies, signs autographs, and chats animatedly in Italian, French, and English. The fans are thrilled to interact with their racing idol.

After some time, Charles waves you over. “I would like you all to meet someone very special to me,” he announces, wrapping an arm around you. The fans erupt into cheers and applause. “This is Y/N, my love.”

You blush at the attention but manage to give a little wave. “Hi everyone! I’m so happy to be here today.”

Charles addresses the crowd again. “As some of you know, Y/N loves to bake and has brought some special treats to share with you all today.”

This is met with more enthusiastic cheers. Though none of them particularly enjoy your baked goods, the fans appreciate the effort and know Charles likes to reward them for humoring you.

You open up your large picnic basket, beaming with pride. “I made my favorite oatmeal raisin cookies, some lemon squares, and my famous rocky road fudge!”

The fans try not to visibly cringe, lining up politely with plates held out. You happily distribute your overly dry, burnt cookies and gooey, cloying fudge. The lemon squares are mushy and saccharine. But the fans accept it all with smiles and encouragement.

“Mmm, delicious!” One teenage girl forces out through a mouthful of your fudge.

An older man gives you a thumbs up as he chokes down a cookie, eyes watering. “So good!”

You beam, pleased that they enjoy your baking so much. As you chat with each person, you don’t notice Charles discreetly handing out autographed photos, caps, and other prized memorabilia to reward the fans for their efforts.

After you’ve handed out all your baked goods, Charles suggests a stroll through the park gardens. As you walk hand-in-hand admiring the flowers, he says softly, “You have such a big heart, Y/N. The way you care so much about connecting with the fans means the world to me.”

You squeeze his hand gratefully. “It’s the least I can do — they support you in everything, so I want to support them too.”

Charles stops and turns to you, his expression tender. “You are amazing, truly. I’m the luckiest man in the world.” He leans in and kisses you sweetly. Your heart flutters just like the first time your lips met.

When you return from your walk, the event is winding down. You say goodbye to the fans, who thank you profusely for the treats and making their day so special. You tell them you can’t wait to bake for them again soon!

After the last fan leaves, it’s just you and Charles. The late afternoon sun casts golden light on the empty picnic tables.

“Did you have fun, mon amour?” Charles asks, caressing your cheek.

“The best time!” You say enthusiastically. “I just love baking for your wonderful fans and seeing how it makes them smile.”

Charles’ eyes are full of love. He kisses the top of your head. “As long as it makes you happy, that’s all that matters to me.”

You snuggle into his chest happily. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“I don’t think so,” Charles teases. “Why don’t you remind me again?”

You grin up at him. “I’ll tell you over dinner … I have a new donut recipe I want to try out.”

Charles fights down a grimace as he reminds himself that your love is more than worth suffering through another dreadful dessert. “I can’t wait!”

***

“Mate, you have to stop her before she poisons someone,” Max whispers urgently to Charles as you step out of the room.

Charles furrows his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Your girlfriend. Her baking. It’s … it’s just terrible. I’m sorry, but it has to be said.”

Charles lets out a dismissive chuckle. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Max raises his eyebrows incredulously. “I chipped a tooth on her brownie last week!”

Charles rubs the back of his neck awkwardly as he avoids making eye contact.

“Look, I get that you don’t want to upset her,” Max continues, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “But we can’t keep lying and pretending it’s good! One of these days, someone is going to end up in the hospital.”

Charles sighs deeply, running a hand through his tousled hair. “What do you want me to do? If I tell her the truth, she’ll be devastated.”

You return to the room then, a bright smile on your face as you carry a plate of freshly baked apple tarts. “Who wants one?”

Max cringes almost imperceptibly while Charles shoots him a warning look. “They look great, ma belle!” He says with forced enthusiasm, taking one and bringing it to his lips.

The apple filling is gelatinous and tastes faintly of soap. Charles forces himself to swallow it with a strained smile. Max quickly declines when you offer him one.

Later that evening, Charles finds Max alone outside his apartment building. “I need your help,” he admits defeatedly.

Max looks at him expectantly.

“With Y/N’s baking … how do I get her to stop without completely crushing her?”

His friend contemplates this for a moment. “Well … you could try convincing her to take up a new hobby instead?”

Charles shakes his head. “I’ve suggested that before, but she’s dead set on baking. It’s her biggest passion.”

“Okay, then you’ll have to take a different approach.” Max strokes his chin thoughtfully. “What if … you told her a bunch of us were going vegan or something, so she couldn’t bake for us anymore?”

Charles raises an eyebrow at the suggestion, but then slowly nods. “You know, that could actually work …”

The next day, you eagerly bring a fresh batch of blueberry muffins to the paddock to share with everyone. Charles takes a deep breath before pulling you aside gently.

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” He starts, trying to keep his expression neutral.

You blink up at him curiously. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Well …” He clears his throat. “I was talking to the guys and … Lewis has actually convinced a bunch of them to go vegan. Lando, Max …”

He lists off a dozen more names, watching as realization dawns on your face. Your shoulders slump slightly.

“Oh … I see.” You glance down at the muffins in your hands. “I guess that means I can’t really bake for them anymore.”

Charles feels a pang of guilt at the disappointment in your eyes. But then, your expression brightens again.

“I’ll just have to start baking vegan treats instead!” You declare happily. “This is so exciting, I’ve been wanting to experiment with more plant-based ingredients!”

Charles’s shoulders tense as the plan epically backfires. Of course you’d take this as an opportunity to bake even more.

Over the next few weeks, you gleefully embrace the vegan baking lifestyle. Charles has to smother his laughter when Max nearly chokes biting into one of your “chewy” vegan brownies. Lando spits out a mouthful of your gritty vegan chocolate cake when you’re not looking.

You, however, remain blissfully unaware of how dreadful your creations are. No matter how many hints Charles tries to drop, the problem only seems to be getting worse.

One evening, you set a plate of fresh-from-the-oven vegan peanut butter cookies on the coffee table, plopping down on the couch next to Charles with a proud grin.

“Try one!” You insist, picking a cookie up and holding it in front of his lips.

Charles hesitates for just a second too long. Your face falls and he scrambles to take a bite, barely suppressing a wince as he chews on what feels like a solid lump of chalk mixed with peanut shavings. He forces himself to swallow it down with an enthusiastic grin.

“Wow, these are incredible!” He lies through his teeth. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

You perk up immediately, the dejected look vanishing. “You really think so? I tried a new recipe I found online.”

“Definitely a winner,” Charles affirms, trying his best to sound convincing. “We should bring some to the paddock for everyone to try.”

Your eyes light up at the suggestion and guilt twists in Charles’s gut. The last thing he wants is for the other drivers to have to suffer through these … confections. But he could never be the one to shatter your baking dreams.

The next day at the track, you eagerly pass around the plate of peanut butter hockey pucks to the drivers and crew. Charles discreetly pulls Max aside with a pained look.

“Please, I’m begging you …” he murmurs under his breath. “Just smile and nod, no matter how bad they are.”

Max grimaces as he takes an experimental bite of one of the cookies, his expression doing little to mask his revulsion. But he meets Charles’s pleading gaze and forces out a strangled, “Mmm … great!”

One by one, the others follow suit — fake smiles and strained praises as they choke down your baked atrocities. You remain obliviously pleased, unaware of their suffering.

Over the next few weeks, the vegan baking experiments only seem to get worse and worse. The paddock has become a silent circle of culinary martyrs — all sworn to an unspoken code to preserve your feelings at all costs.

You proudly present a tray of charcoal-colored muffins that leave the entire garage coughing from the plume of burnt flour. “Tried a new recipe for dark chocolate avocado muffins!” You explain brightly.

“Can’t wait to dig in,” Lando is close to crying, his eyes already watering.

Charles has to bite back a laugh as Max takes a heroic bite, barely managing to keep it together. He pats the Dutchman on the back firmly as the poor guy fights back a gag reflex.

“Two more words about her baking and you’ll be racing with three wheels next season,” he warns Carlos in a low mutter after witnessing the Spaniard nearly vomit up a slice of your “moist” vegan zucchini bread.

The sheer willpower it takes for the entire crew to maintain the facade is almost impressive. Technique and strategy meetings have now become immense displays of unspoken fortitude — everyone driven by the simple goal of not letting you catch on that your baked goods are, in fact, completely inedible.

Charles has started bringing backup protein bars and shakes to every race just to make sure nobody accidentally lapses into baked good-induced delirium.

He really has no idea how much longer this can possibly be sustained. But he also has no idea how to safely extract the situation without demolishing your passion and self-confidence in the process.

For now, his main objective is to ensure your bright smile and cheerfulness remain unchanged — no matter how many mouths he has to personally silence to make that happen.

At the end of the day, having you by his side, radiating that infectious joy and following your heart’s desire, is worth enduring all the subpar vegan muffins in the world.

He’ll take a bite of your latest abomination with an adoring grin, because that’s what partners who truly love each other do — they support each other through the good, the bad, and the burnt-to-a-crisp.

***

It’s the start of a new season, and Charles has been racking his brain for a solution to the ongoing baking saga. As much as he loves indulging your passion, the charade is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. The entire paddock is at their wits’ end trying to choke down your vegan torture devices week after week.

That’s when he has an idea — one he hopes will be a win-win for everyone involved.

“Surprise!” He says with an excited grin, presenting you with the envelopes. “I got us signed up for this baking course. I thought it could be fun for us to take some classes together!”

You’re beaming as you throw your arms around his neck. “That’s such a thoughtful idea! I would love nothing more.”

Of course, Charles being Charles is hardly fully forthright about his motivations. “To be honest, I’m the one who really needs the help,” he fibs sheepishly. “We all know I’m a disaster in the kitchen. But with your talents guiding me, maybe there’s hope!”

Over the next few weeks, you and Charles diligently show up for your baking classes. The instructor walks you through fundamentals like properly measuring ingredients, controlling oven temperatures, and mastering technical skills. Slowly but surely, your creations start emerging looking (and smelling) better and better.

One evening, you return home with a fresh tray of beautifully baked chocolate chip cookies — the first delicacy you’ve felt confident enough to bake since the lessons. You present them to Charles with bated breath.

He takes one tentative bite, his eyes widening in surprise. These are actually ... edible! More than edible — they are legitimately delicious! The dough-to-chip ratio is perfect, the texture is chewy but not dry or crumbly. He quickly stuffs two more into his mouth with an appreciative moan.

“Ma belle … these are incredible!” He gasps out between bites.

You clap your hands over your mouth, eyes shining with glee. “Oh my gosh, you really think so? I was so nervous!”

“Are you kidding? I could eat this entire tray all by myself!”

The two of you dissolve into celebratory laughter and hugs, the sweet taste of success quite literally on your tongues.

“I think it’s time for the real taste test,” you declare one day, rolling up your sleeves as you start prepping an array of fresh baked goods. “We’re taking these bad boys to the paddock!”

The next race weekend, you stride in carrying bakery boxes of your fresh chocolate chip cookies as well as some decadent fudge brownies.

“Fresh out of the oven!” You announce proudly, setting them down with a bright grin. “Who’s hungry?”

For a long beat, nobody moves. The drivers exchange wary glances, their self-preservation instincts kicking in as they recall the many baking debacles of the past. Lando bravely reaches for a brownie first, his face scrunched up preemptively-

Only to blink in surprise as the rich, fudgy flavor hits his taste buds. His eyes widen comically as he takes another bite. “Bloody hell ... this is actually good!”

The words seem to shatter the suspended tension. Soon the entire paddock is swarming the trays, devouring the fresh baked goods with delight. Charles watches on in disbelief, his own taste buds experiencing flavors he didn’t even know were possible from your former creations.

He sees Max take a bite of one of the cookies, freezing in place as his eyes slip closed with an expression of pure bliss. When they open again, Charles is alarmed to see they’re glistening with unshed tears.

The Dutchman wordlessly holds up the cookie, gazing at Charles reverently as a lone tear trails down his cheek. Then, to everyone’s astonishment, he brings the baked good to his lips and takes another sensual bite, savoring it like it’s the first good thing he’s ever tasted.

From then on, it’s like a switch has been flipped. The paddock that once dreaded your baking now seemingly can’t get enough of it. Every race weekend, they await your fresh creations with unrestrained enthusiasm, like kids on a sugar bender.

Charles has lost count of how many times he’s caught drivers and crew sneaking off to wherever you’re prepping the latest batch, nostrils flaring as they try to scout out that heavenly aroma.

It’s gotten to the point where Max’s performance coach has had to implement strict rules about his treat consumption to prevent indulgences from derailing his season.

“Easy there, Max!” Rupert calls in a booming tone, swooping in to physically restrain the Dutchman as he makes a mad dash toward where you’re unpacking that week’s fresh delivery. “You know you have a limit on those.”

Max strains against his performance coach’s grip, eyes zeroing in on the platter of goodies being unloaded with unrestrained longing. “I don’t care, she brought triple chocolate cookie dough brownies this time! Let me go!”

Rupert grunts in exertion, struggling to keep his driver in check. “This is for your own good! Think of your diet!”

“That’s irrelevant!” Max practically snarls, pupils blown wide like an addict suffering from withdrawals. “Do you have any idea how long I waited to have real baked goods again?”

It’s a battle of wills and metabolism that quickly becomes a weekly sight. Charles can’t help but chuckle fondly as he watches Max and Rupert’s familiar tug-of-war happen like clockwork every Sunday.

As much as he’d love to intervene, he knows better than to come between Max and your heavenly baked creations. He’s just thrilled that this baking journey took such a delicious turn — both for your invigorated culinary passion and for the safety of everyone’s tastebuds.

Honestly, he’ll take the sight of a feverish Max drooling over freshly baked goods any day over having to choke down burnt muffins and brittle biscuits. This is the sweet upgrade everyone had been dreaming about.

The true recipe for happiness was sticking by each other’s side through all those halfbaked stumbles.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Nichols N1A, 2023. A project by a former McLaren designer to create a Can‑Am inspired road car styled after the McLaren M1A, the first sportscar designed and built by Bruce McLaren’s racing team. An initial run of 17 launch-spec cars will feature a dry-sump 7.0-litre-develop of the GM LS3. These new blocks have been bored out to their new 427ci capacity with steel liners and upgraded pistons, producing around 660PS. Each of these engines will be built by Langford Performance Engineering, a company that has produced F1 engines. All models will come with a six-speed manual gearbox. The graphene-infused carbon-fibre bodywork covering an aluminium and carbon-fibre chassis means very light 900kg weight and a 710PS per tonne power-to-weight ratio. Prices have yet to be confirmed but are said to be in the region of £450,000

[hirocimacruiser]

JUN R33 Skyline GTR at Bonneville.

JUN Suka did it 375km/h!

49th Bonneville Speed ​​Week

Enjoying the pleasure on the salt was Susumu Koyama, managing director and driver of JUN Auto Mechanics. A new record was a given, and with the goal of beating the 260 miles set six years ago with a 300ZX, he brought his 1,200 horsepower R33 Skyline GT-R, which he started building in May. The fastest challenge on Lake Bonneville, Utah, USA will be held for one week starting August 16th. As expected, the GT-R broke the class record with an average speed of 233.217 miles per hour. Photos&Report/Shogo NAKAO ●Interview cooperation/Travel Alice 06-341-1201

JUN is Bonneville's home run king.

When he first came here in 1990, he failed with a 300ZX, but the following year he used the same machine to hit a bullet liner of 260.809 mph and 419 km/h. In 1993, I brought an R32GT-R, but it rained.

The tournament was canceled due to standing water. Moving to Dry Lake in El Mirage, California, he set a class record of 194.961 mph and 313 km/h on a 2 km straight short course.

The aim this time is F/BGCC class. In the blown gas competition coupe, supercharged gasoline engine category below 3L, the previous record of 219.107mp/h was set by Thunderbird last year. First of all, Managing Director Koyama. The road surface was extremely rough due to the previous week's thunderstorm.

Even though I said, "I won't run straight," I ran 221 miles. Qualify now.

Normally, after this, I would run the 7-mile course in reverse and record the average value of the two runs, but on the evening of August 17th, when I qualified, it rained heavily and the course was closed until the afternoon of the 19th.

The rainwater did not dry up after the 3rd mile mark, making it an unusual record run in the same direction for 223 miles. At this point, I have achieved a class record. ``When I was a sophomore, there wasn't a big bench.

It was estimated that it had 1000 horsepower. This time, we have 1,200 horsepower, so according to calculations we should be able to cover over 260 miles,'' said Mr. Yoshida, the JUN public relations officer, with a red-hot face.

``The car was bouncing around so much,'' he says, so he loaded eight 18-kilogram salt bags into the trunk, for a total of 144 kg, aiming for even more speed.

However, the rain on the 17th did not dry up quickly and there were sloppy and slippery conditions.

Daijiro Inada, who is well-known for OPT magazine, rides the boat and pulls it an average of 233 miles.

On the second and final day, Managing Director Koyama aimed for a homer with the bases loaded by removing the salt bags and using thicker tires and maximum boost pressure, but he could not beat Daijiro.

I ended up spinning around in circles.

The members of JUN looked a little disappointed.

PIC CAPTIONS

The weight of the vehicle is 1500kg. It had been converted from a 4WD to a 2WD, but apparently ``a 4WD would have been better on this road surface.''

Traction was improved by placing 144 kg of salt bags next to the gas tank in the trunk.

A twin-turbo engine with 1200 horsepower measured on the bench. Great, you have a bench.

On the road this time, he was not able to tell how the aerodynamics were compared to the Z.

[cuffmeinblack]

9 with Leander for those one liners?

Overdrive

Leander Prewett x f!reader

“Come on, please, do it.”

Tags: explicit | masturbation | fingering | teasing | modern AU

1.2k words

A/n: Absolute YES from me. Thank you for the prompt 🫶

You ran your fingers over the thick, hard shaft, gripping the head firmly with a slow swipe of your thumb. He was watching, attention rapt. You'd didn’t even need to be facing him to know that his breath had shallowed, his hands had gripped the side of the seat so tight that his knuckles were white. You sensed his stillness, the tension that made his entire body rigid. You'd been teasing Leander all day, and not once had you touched him. Roughly shoving the gear stick into a higher gear, you heard a quiet groan from the seat next to you. The sound sent a pulse through your core, but your face remained impassive.

There were several ways you enjoyed spending long drives with your boyfriend; listening to music; discussing hobbies; or catching up on gossip. Though entirely unintentionally, today you'd found yourself strung tighter than a piano chord and Leander even more so as he sat next to you in the passenger seat. It had started when your skirt had inched higher and higher on your legs whilst shuffling to get comfortable, the black lace of your lingerie peeking below the hem. He'd blatantly stared, sliding a large hand on your thigh which was met with a slap on the wrist for distracting the driver. He whined about that, and unwittingly made his torture the most enticing game for the long journey.

Whilst your skin was off-limits, there were other ways to drive him wild. His own lap was quite empty, apart from the raging hard-on that sat temptingly close to your hand. You could practically feel the heat coming off his skin through the fabric of his shorts, so much so that the air conditioning seemed to struggle in the face of your combined desire. Your own thighs flushed pink as you shuffled again to relieve some of the agonising tension, the seam of black lace pressing against your swollen clit. Your foot twitched on the accelerator, revving the engine. Fuck.

If Leander had noticed he didn't say a thing, too focused on your wandering hand. You felt the firm muscles of his thigh underneath your palm, the musky scent you knew all too well wafting under your nose in the stale, circulating air. It was enough to make you salivate, and slide your hand a little higher, fingertips grazing something hard.

“Come on, please, do it.”

His voice was no more than a husky whimper. You chanced a look at him, taking your eyes off the endless expanse of motorway as he swallowed and licked his plump lips, suddenly looking parched.

“Do what?” you asked, the picture of innocence, if you didn't count your pebbled nipples and half-exposed underwear.

“Touch me, please.”

Gods, he could be so whiny. It made you chuckle, imagining his begging eyes, huge brown circles around dilated pupils. Like a puppy begging for treats.

“Touch you…here?” 

You slid your hand onto the thick bulge laying almost sideways across his hip, squeezing gently with a lopsided grin on your face. This was utterly stupid, despite the road being almost clear ahead. Dangerous. You were pretty sure you required the blood in your head to be able to pay attention to the road but your body had other ideas, diverting it south to pool between your legs in an agonising ache. It was hard to keep under the speed limit when Leander's cock twitched in your hand and your imagination ran wild, reminiscing how he felt when buried deep inside you.

“I can't whilst I'm driving, Lee,” you said, exhaling heavily and turning up the air conditioning. The cold blasted your face, drying the sweat on your forehead.

He shuffled in his seat, a low moan escaping his throat that set your body ablaze once again. The sound of a zip, another shuffle, his head flung back against the headrest and back arched, barely visible in your periphery. He moaned again, silky smooth and almost breathless, amongst the wet slap of skin on slickened skin.

“Are you…Lee, are you touching yourself?”

You meant to sound incredulous but your voice dripped with unbridled lust. You glanced sideways, and yes, his shorts were pulled down and his perfect cock stood at full attention, wrapped in slender fingers that worked slowly up and down. His hips bucked as he caught your eye, fucking his hand with reckless abandon, his gaze dropping to the swell of your breasts, the enticing peek of lingerie.

“Fucking hell…,” you muttered.

“This is your fault…”

His answer was strained amongst more whimpering moans as he stroked himself closer to the edge. Unable to keep his hands to himself, he slid his fingers across bare expanse of thigh, smooth skin meeting even smoother skin. He was hot, but you were hotter, practically burning from his touch. Your legs opened involuntarily, still fixated on the slapping of his hand and the road ahead. The car veered a little left as he pressed two fingers over your clit, a great shudder of pleasure rippling through your body.

“More…fuck, Lee…”

You were the one begging now, unable to resist his voice, his cock, his absolute, unabashed desperation for you. It was what made sex with him so completely mind-blowing. He just couldn't get enough, and neither could you. His fingers were working the fabric of your underwear aside, and the first brush of fingertips on your bare nub had you gripping the steering wheel for dear life. There was absolutely no way you could drive in this state, particularly when he dipped those digits inside you and moaned louder than the roar of the engine when met with the pool of arousal.

“You're so wet…so fucking wet…”

You gasped his name as he started winding those tight little circles, a little sloppy due to his distraction and the increasingly furious pace of his other hand. You daren't look away from the road, but you caught a glimpse of his cock, cum beaded at the tip and ready to blow. Tighter your fingers curled into the leather as he brought you to your own climax, breath growing heavy and laboured. You had half a mind to pull over on the hard shoulder and climb into his lap, take him all and let him spill inside you as the cars raced by alongside. But it was too late…you were so close. A roll of your hips delivered the release you desperately sought, at the same time Leander made a fucking mess of your car.

“That's it gorgeous, come on my fingers,” he whispered, his voice breaking at the end as he spilled his load.

You were in utter shambles, head pounding and willing your vision not to dull with the intensity of your orgasm. The waves of pleasure expelled gasping moans from your mouth, sighs that filled the car with Leander's own as he slumped back against the passenger seat a dishevelled mess. It took a terrifying minute for your body to start to calm and your fingers released the deathgrip on the steering wheel. You were going a hundred miles per hour. Your foot eased off the accelerator as you both sat in silence, and you didn't doubt that Leander had a dopey grin on his face now.

“You know when we get to the hotel I'm going to fuck you senseless,” he said.

“I look forward to it.”

[your-resident-boat-person]

What is it about the RMS Olympic that makes it stand out from other ocean liners?

For me it's a lot of things. I'm going to start with a weird one. Her engines.

The RMS Mauretania was the biggest ship in the world until the Olympic was completed in 1911, and the fastest until 1927. She was designed for speed first and foremost. She had 4 propellers powered by steam turbines, which were the new hot thing at the time. Cunard built 2 "test ships," the Carmania and the Caronia. Carmania had steam turbines, and Caronia had traditional triple expansion steam engines. Carmania was faster, so Cunard used turbines. Mauretania had a top speed (at the time) of about 27.75 knots. Which is impressive. However, her service speed, the speed she went at when she crossed the ocean, was 23.69 knots. Mauretania was designed for speed. This was an impressive speed. The fastest way to cross the ocean for 20 years.

Meanwhile, Olympic was built with comfort in mind. Steam turbines were a relatively new technology and not well understood. Ships that had them had really bad vibration issues, and White Star didn't care about speed. They weren't looking to compete with Cunard on that front. So, they equipped the Olympic with traditional triple expansion steam engines. However, after the steam was exhausted from the final cylinder, it was redirected into a low-pressure turbine. This strange combination engine system gave the Olympic 3 Propellers. Without the turbine, she probably wouldn't have gone above 18 knots. But with that little extra push, her top speed became competitive with Cunard. Her top speed was 21.75 knots. So even without the new fancy turbines, she was effectively only 2 knots slower. But that's not the impressive part about all of this.

In a single day, the Mauretania burned on average 1,000 tons of coal to go 23.69 knots. Meanwhile, Olympic, with her weird engine Mish mash, only consumed 650 tons in a day. And she was only 2 knots slower! And with the turbine propeller right behind her (comparatively) large rudder, she was a really good turner for a ship of her size. I just love the engineering here.

Anyway, that's only one reason I love her so much. Her career was another great thing about her. After Titanic sank, White Star refitted Olympic to make her even safer (she was objectively the safest ship in the world both before and after this refit) and White Star pulled the biggest PR comeback in history. Her return to service in 1913 was widely celebrated. During World War 1, she served as a troop ship, and she is the only Ocean Liner to have ever sunk enemy tonnage in either World Wars. A German U-Boat was trying to torpedo her, but because she could turn so well, they were actually able to swing her around, ram the U-Boat and sink it! She also survived a separate torpedo attack because it failed to detonate when it struck. After the war, when they put her in dry dock, they found the hole. They didn't even know they were hit! The double hull contained the flooding. After the war, she returned to passenger service and became extremely popular with the rich and famous, earning herself the nickname of "the movie star liner." By the 1930s, White Star's new flagship, the Majestic, was having some extreme problems. She was a German ship given to them as compensation for the loss of Britannic. She began having some electrical problems that caused frequent fires, and her hull plates were tearing. Even though she was 10,000 tons bigger than Olympic, and she was a newer and safer ship, Olympic was still in fantastic shape, suffering from none of these problems.

Next, is her interiors. I love the Edwardian wood paneling. Ships before Olympic like the Adriatic are a bit too sparse for my taste, and ships like the Aquitania just don't look comfortable to me. Her interiors are gorgeous, but it's kind of imposing. I wouldn't want to sit on the furniture or get close to the walls. It's like a work of art, but that doesn't make her comfortable. I have the same problem with the Normandie. Beautiful, but not comfortable. People nowadays forget that you actually had to live inside these ships for about a week at a time. We can only look. Occupying these interiors is very different. Meanwhile, I feel like the Olympic gets that perfect balance between looking gorgeous, but not being imposing. I can imagine myself sitting comfortably on a chair in the grand staircase and watching the people go by. I like the pseudo art deco of the Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, and Mauretania 2, but I just prefer the Edwardian decor of the Olympic.

Next is her exterior. She's not my favorite in this regard, that title goes to the SS United States. But the Olympic is still gorgeous. I like the height to width ratio of her funnels, I think they're a good size relative to the rest of her. For an example of funnels I don't like, I think the Normandies funnels are way too thick and tall. The Olympics superstructure is appealing and isn't too tall. The rounded bridge atop the flatter lower decks has just an incredible effect. The Big 4 had the bridge separate from the rest of the superstructure, and it looked kinda goofy to me. Olympic is just all around really good in this regard. Not the best, but really good.

I think it's such a shame that she's been reduced to "Titanic's sister." She was so much more than that. I can talk about the Olympic for hours, but this post is too long already.

[prodbyblush]

happy new year pretty blush!!!! hope you got angpao❤️ can i request lil drabbles or headcanons of niragi and chishiya with some freak of an inventor and engineer crush? like she's constantly holed up in her lab making bots and explosives and guns and even makes them special little things like cutesy grenades that dont look like grenades ??

ｎｏｗ ｌｏａｄｉｎｇ …

▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ 100%

ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

・❥・ requested

an: belated happy new year to you too, anony! sadly i did not get angpao because it's me who's giving away angpao's now : ( for context, angpao's are those red envelopes filled with money. usually elders give those to their grandkids but since i'm an adult already i guess i don't qualify anymore. tragic i know. but hey i'm not that old!

ps. in general sense, reader here is a weapon engineer.

→ fem!reader

Chishiya:

• the conversations are to die for. call it an aphrodisiac but the flow of questions and responses are so smooth that the two of you wouldn't notice that time kept ticking. because that's how engrossed he is on learning about the latest news on weaponry and it's purposes. • when his co workers knew that he is dating an engineer, the immediate response he gets is "oh they're boring" but it's actually the opposite! • so much knowledge leaking! chishiya's getting ideas on how to craft weapons from various items if he finds himself in dire situations. • knows how much ambition you have for yourself and honestly he's rooting for your success. • admires your logical and calm nature. his rotating shift can be a hassle but he's thankful than you can understand him. to compensate for it, he'll ask you to come to his office to eat and catch up! • when the time comes and you're working on a project that disables you two from meeting up, chishiya will ask if there is anything he can help you with. you're not only bonding together but he's also helping you out! • having a hard time reviewing a complex topic or subject? no worries! he's helping you review by asking you questions and creating flash cards. • he has a bit of trouble figuring out the acronyms you use on him but in the later days, he's already memorized them as well. • nurtures and babies you when you fail or get a passable remark on your test.

Niragi:

• since the boy-girl ratio in an engineering class is askewed, he is hawk eyed every time he is in your campus. on the lookout for any guy that gets too friendly to you. • likes how you always have logical reasoning and thinking in various situations. as someone who doesn't use his logical, you two balance each other perfectly. • finds it hot when you lead him. it doesn't matter who wears the pants in the relationship. • unlike chishiya, niragi is accustomed to the acronyms. sometimes, you two even use it while talking. • "what time is your EOD?", "oh your weekend is TBD?", "i'm currently working on an MMOG" • is patient with you. he knows you deal with existential crises, so he hears out everything that you tell him. • just want to have movie and pizza for a date? he's totally okay with it! it may be a lowkey effort but since he's spending time with you, it's perfect already. • two smart people having the most sarcastic comebacks, witty one liners and dry sense of humor dating? yes. • he's "gravitionally" pulled by your knowledge. knowledge is sexy, right? • he is on his toes as you leave him with his curiosity. he needs it to be satiated by you.

TAGS: @retrospacealien @chishiya-of-diamonds @ang3liclov3ly @kenqki @shadowheads-shitshow @lunoxxy @supercoffeeblogs

[gravesung]

quick and dirty bios for the unseen's inner circle (the sanctum)!

bc i just remembered sage and fletch are the only unseen creatures i actually have bios for.

*note — by default, these descriptions apply to the unseen as they are in shelter island. some details are subject to change based on verse. *note 2 — each member of the sanctum has a self-chosen tarot card that's left behind as a "calling card" at a particular job they claim responsibility for. in place of a stolen bounty, on top of a body, etc.

acheron ??? (he/him) — the poisoner

the emperor

dilf

calm, collected, honest but in a kind way. pretty emotionally intelligent.

as a rule, never pries into other people's business. lane = stayed in.

has a son who's in college rn! on good terms with his ex-wife.

ex-safecracker/bank robber

he makes poisons! has a little lab and everything

occasionally fletch will pull him out of retirement and make him go crack a safe. he complains about his knees

norah suman (she/her) — the engineer

the sun

lesbiab

has had a secret crush on seph for a couple years. designed her arms from the ground up, and the first point of contact when something goes wrong or seph needs a redesign/upgrade

dry humor, very blunt and often sarcastic

eyebrow piercing

habit of chopping off her hair when she's sad

makes the gadgets. makes explosives, modifies weapons, invents new shit, always thinking about new ways to do stuff. engineering as an art and a science at the same time.

also an up-and-coming tattoo artist!

orion aisa (he/they) — the forger

the moon

seph's twin brother

not a great fighter, hates using guns

eyepatch over his right eye. fletch took it when he and seph tried to escape as teenagers, along with ripping seph's arms off, which is a very normal and cool and chill reaction to have

trans lad. top surgery, took testosterone for a few years but then stopped. pretty satisfied with where he's at right now

excellent painter

suffers from hand tremors, though they fade when he paints

hector dionísio (he/him) — the muscle

the wheel of fortune

unpredictable and violent. unhinged.

will be having a drink with you and then at a hair-trigger provocation, he'll just turn around and start kicking the shit out of someone

scarily good fighter, way too fast for his muscular build

no one knows why fletch trusts him to be in the inner circle and not rat on them

unexpectedly very reliable as a teammate. he does his job very well

fixated on seph in a "constantly riling her so that she'll fight him whenever he wants" way

fixated on edith in a "why can't i land a hit on you. come here" way

pit fighter. so far undefeated

cody shimura (he/him) — the accountant

justice

the most guy ever

he's so tired.

retired hedge fund manager, went into crime because he did some digging, realized the finance industry was already in fletch's pocket anyway, and his ability to stealthily uncover those secrets impressed fletch enough to hire him on.

tries to be a plant dad but he keeps killing them

surprisingly well-trained with a gun

occasionally pulls out the most scathing one-liners in the quietest and calmest voice imaginable

sage / VECTOR (she/her) — the driver

the world

technomancer (arcane hacker)

pokemon superfan

harvard dropout

a pretty normal person, generally, probably the least traumatized out of the crew

can summon cars / motorcycles made of, essentially, compressed/hardened demon souls sourced straight from hell

also has normal, non-summonable cars / motorcycles that she likes to augment and fix up with norah's help

has a giant fluffy dog named Baby

fucking Maniac behind the wheel. the dog's name is a reference to baby driver for a reason.

if she knew about @tewwor's vector alias, she would make them matching shirts

edith winter (she/they) — the thief

the hermit

sneaky. quiet. wow shocker

fey changeling who's lived on earth their whole life, but is in contact with the human child they replaced

raised by wolves a gang, sort of collectively alongside her parents. it takes a village yaknow. they all had a hand in training her to be the insanely skilled thief she is — edith was probably the most valuable piece on their board, even at a young age

said gang was absorbed by the unseen and scattered across the world for resisting said absorption. one of edith's parents was killed in the conflict, the other was sent across the world but she doesn't know where

no one knows if they're bitter about it or not. they don't talk about it

acheron taught her how to crack safes

caro vitale / deadfall (he/him) — the fence

the hanged man

owner of the black stag, a bar and antique shop just at the northern edge of the city where metropolis meets highway meets forest.

can sell anything to anyone

no one knows a single thing about this man except for the fact that he's fluent in italian. he WILL lie if you ask him anything else. caro vitale is also not his real name

he got that thang on him (a club)

tattoos everywhere

ishal king (they/them) — the doctor

death

fae nephilim (an angel fucked an archfey and produced a very strange kid), exiled from the autumn court for death crimes before going into the human medical field as a surgeon.

nearly got arrested for experimenting with nephilim blood (their own, but whatever guys), faked their death, joined the unseen. now works happily and privately for fletch in their silly little lab.

mushroom garden

medicinal plant expert alongside their knowledge of modern medicine

ominous positivity

anah tannar (she/her) — the spy

the devil

you know her! you love her! she's probably broken your heart!

local celebrity influencer

resident honeypot for any woman-attracted target

prefers to be flashy and stand out, but also insanely good at blending in and being invisible when need be

serial dater. never lets anyone too close, but loves to have a web of one-way connections to people who think they're her best friend or favorite ex, and/or owe her a favor (she has a book of debts)

a genuinely compassionate person underneath it all, she just leaned hard into her manipulative side after being used one too many times

persephone aisa (they/she) — the assassin

judgement

first lieutenant/right hand to amari fletch, and thus second-in-command to the unseen itself

sharpshooter, beat-upper, gunfighter, knife-swinger. if john wick can do it, so can they

cold, aggressive, hostile. deadly as fuck. if you follow this blog you probably came from hers so i won't go into too much detail SJDKHJKSD

amari fletch (they/he) — the leader

the tower (also the name they're publicly known by)

i swear they're not secretly thousands of years old i swearrrrr (yes they are) (they cheated death in a game of dice and bear the mark of cain for it)

think gus fring, netflix wilson fisk, silco — that type of person

spidery motherfucker, aka has connections eeeeverywhere. so many judges, cops, government officials in their pocket.

for the most part, fletch is satisfied with the world the way that it is. the unseen profits nicely, they have as much power as they need, and no one fucks with them (if they even know it exists)

if someone does fuck with him and his, however, he will not hesitate to make a violent and chaotic example of them for the rest of the world to see.

calm and levelheaded 99% of the time. 1% of the time, off-the-wall destructive

will take risks if they can see a benefit and the consequence of failure won't fuck up their plans.

extremely powerful in a fight (is not human) with enough raw strength to fully charge straight through a building wall by wall if they wanted to. but they don't. lmao

seph is their protegé (????) (i genuinely don't have a term for their relationship it's so fucked up and hard to describe), & they are very very possessive about it

[sparkarrestor]

Troublesome Coaches Part 1: James’s Special

Written By: SparkArrester

James the Red Engine wouldn’t stop being a nuisance. He was growing discontented with his goods trains and local passenger runs, and wanted to do more “important work”. He made the other engines very clear on his frustrations.

“I’m sick of these slow trains!”, He would say, “I want to fly down the line with a prestigious service. It's been far too long since I pulled the express, and how can I be admired when I’m stuck hauling silly trucks?”.

Gordon, who was trying to sleep, was fed up with James’ constant moaning. He suddenly had a devious plan to pay him out.

“Well James, if you're so desperately wanting an important train…”, He trailed off as he caught James’ attention, “You can take Godred’s Morning Glory tomorrow.” James smiled happily. “A Boat Train, and an all-Pullman one at that!”, He exclaimed, “That would be lovely! I ought to get rested for tomorrow!”. Without another word, he promptly fell asleep. Gordon merely chuckled and looked forward to the morning off.

Godred’s Morning Glory was a very important train indeed. It was a boat train, starting at the Big Station and ran non-stop to the mainland.  It was full of important people who traveled from other places far away, and the return train, The Tidmouth Belle, was just as, if not more important, as it had to connect with the ocean liner, and it couldn’t afford to wait. Better still, the train used the very fancy, lavish Pullman coaches. They were built, ran, and maintained to the highest order, and were the cream of crop, and even got a special livery compared to other Pullmans. Sadly, however, this would have an effect on many of them for the worse, as James would soon find out! Duck was busy elsewhere, so James had to shunt the train and take it to the liner terminal himself. He was so excited, he didn’t mind, but his mood changed when he saw the coaches eye him with malice.

“You must be delusional if you think that you’re taking us out”, Spat the Observation Coach, as the others murmured in agreement, “We Pullman’s require only the best, not some pretender goods engine…”

“Oi, now see here-!”

“I think that is my job”, Cut in the Observation Coach, “I am the Observation Coach, I observe all, and I can tell that you are not fit for us, now go back to that field where you belong and get a better engine to take us out! Oh, and by the way, you may refer to me as Oleander, now chop chop!”.

James grew crosser and crosser and wanted to bump the coaches, but he knew that the Fat Controller and the Pullman Car Company would be angry, so he simply shunted the coaches towards the Liner Terminal. The Pullman’s simply muttered to themselves, and made a plan.

The run started well at first. The passengers were very taken by him, the rails were dry and clear, and people waved at him when he passed. He was enjoying himself immensely, but that was soon to change. The coaches began to heckle him and make the run very difficult. Eventually, they got to Gordon Hill, and the coaches enacted their plan. James slipped and strained, but the train came to a halt halfway up the train.

“We told you that you couldn’t pull us!”, laughed the coaches, while Oleander simply smirked. James just gnashed his teeth and seethed. Edward was sent to assist.

“Good luck James!”, He called as the train crested the hill.

“I’m going to need more than luck…”, Grumbled James, as he picked up speed and tried to make up for lost time.

They arrived at the big station on the mainland 5 minutes late, though the passengers seemed too caught up in their own business to even notice. James quickly went to the sheds as the coaches were taken away, grumbling all the while.

“Silly coaches, silly train, you’d think they would be more behaved…”, muttered James as he got prepared for the return train. The run was hardly better than the first, and the coaches were still bent on making James’s life harder than it already was. At last, he arrived back to the Big Station, on time, but thoroughly worn out. He said nothing as he uncoupled and went to the sheds, and he angrily fell asleep as soon as his fire was dropped. Gordon could only chuckle. 

“Better him than me…”, He murmured, as he also fell asleep. 

[connectparanormal]

Ghosts of the Queen Mary

Retired ocean liner Queen Mary is famous for her many ghost stories, in addition to her history and majesty. She is currently permanently based in Long Beach, California. This magnificent vessel, which first set sail in 1936, served as a luxury liner and later as a troopship during World War II. The Queen Mary has grown in popularity among paranormal aficionados over the years, with many considering her to be among the most haunted locations on Earth. One of Queen Mary's most well-known ghosts is a young sailor who perished in the engine room. According to rumors, his spirit still resides near Door 13, the location of his crushing during a standard exercise. He is known as "Half-Hatch Harry." Visitors to this area report feeling abrupt temperature drops, seeing shadowy figures, and hearing strange knocks.

Even though it's empty now, the first-class swimming pool is nevertheless the center of paranormal activity. Despite the lack of water, both guests and staff have reported seeing enigmatic wet footprints appear on the deck. Here, guests frequently report seeing and hearing the spirit of a little child named Jackie. Witnesses report hearing her laugh and making splashing noises, despite the pool being dry for decades. The ship's magnificent ballroom has witnessed the soul of a woman wearing a white evening gown drifting across the floor. People often refer to this apparition as the "Lady in White," believing her to be a past passenger who met an unfortunate end and now haunts the ship's luxurious areas for eternity. The faint strains of 1930s music accompany her presence, further enhancing the eerie, nostalgic atmosphere. Probably the most notorious spot on the Queen Mary is cabin B340. For a long time, authorities kept this area off-limits to visitors due to its well-known paranormal activity. Unusual occurrences in B340 include lights flickering mysteriously, bedsheets disappearing, and taps activating on their own. Guests who dare to stay in this cabin frequently talk of sleepless evenings full of unexplained noises and a general feeling of discomfort.

Rumor has it that children's ghosts haunt the former nursery, another terrifying spot on the ship. The now-empty room echoed with the sounds of babies weeping and lighthearted laughter. Some have even reported seeing the spectral image of a young child clutching her teddy bear while gazing through the porthole. Even if some people don't believe in ghost stories or think they're just the product of people's wild imaginations, many people who have personally witnessed paranormal activity on board the Queen Mary continue to believe in the ship's infamous reputation. The Queen Mary is an intriguing site for history fans and ghost hunters alike, since the stories of its spirit inhabitants add an intriguing dimension to its already rich past, whether or not one believes in ghosts.

[jonfucius]

Great Star Trek Rewatch - The Original Series S2

Originally posted on Twitter 26 October 2020 - 2 December 2020

Star Trek: The Original Series Season 2 is up next in my Great Star Trek Rewatch. As with ENT, DSC, STX, and TOS Season 1, mini-reviews will document my progress.

Amok Time: After 29 episodes and some contradictory continuity, we finally get the first concrete details on Mr. Spock and the Vulcan species. A classic fight scene rounds out a strong start to Season 2. 8/10

Who Mourns for Adonais?: A decent early Season 2 entry. The giant green space hand is iconic, but the meat of the story rises above. Thanks to this episode, it became tradition that chief engineers on the starships Enterprise can't catch a break in the romance department. 7/10

The Changeling: A dry run of sorts for the superior Star Trek: The Motion Picture. The second time Kirk talks a computer to death, and it's a slow burn to the climax. 6/10

Mirror, Mirror: One of the most enduring concepts across Trek's 50+ year history is the Mirror Universe. This is still one of the best Mirror Universe tales, simply for its originality and focus. 9/10

The Apple: A Prime Directive debate and some red shirt massacres forms the crux of this otherwise forgettable episode. Definitely not one I'd revist on a whim. Not terrible, just mediocre. 5/10

The Doomsday Machine: This one and "Balance of Terror" jockey back and forth for #1 on my list of the best TOS episodes. William Windom's performance is superb, the titular device is scary (I hid behind the sofa when I watched this one as a kid), and the score is iconic. 10/10

Catspaw: Star Trek and Halloween don't go very well together. Even though this has an ostensibly scientific explanation, it still reeks of magic and sorcery. It is goofy, that's why it gets 4/10.

I, Mudd: This one starts slow but turns into a classic comedy by the end. Carmel is back as Mudd, though the portrayal of his wife is problematic at best. 7/10

Metamorphosis: This poignant love story with a solid sci-fi hook just clicks for me. It’s not the best but it just works. 9/10

Journey to Babel: Season 2 is definitely Spock-focused, and those episodes have not disappointed. This is a classic for good reason: action, pathos, humor, world-building. 10/10

Friday’s Child: Tonal problems keep this one from joining the ranks of the true classics. It’s serviceable but dreadfully slow in the middle. The Capellans are a fascinating race, it’s too bad we don’t see them again. 6/10

The Deadly Years: Impressive 60s aging makeup aside, this one doesn’t do much for me. The old age jokes are stereotypes, though the use of elderly actors in the first act is ingenious. And a rare bit of serialization with a callback to “The Corbomjte Maneuver” is welcome. 6/10

Obsession: Kirk gets some backstory and dimension in a tight, tense script. This is a well-paced acting showcase for Shatner. 9/10

Wolf in the Fold: This would have made for an excellent Halloween episode. A gaseous/energy being is easier to believe than the “Catspaw” transmuter, oddly enough. The line about women being easier to scare, and the Kara dance, are typical ugly 60s sexism, unfortunately. 7/10

The Trouble with Tribbles: A fuzzy thing happens on the way to Sherman’s Planet. A classic that thoroughly earns the title, it’s endlessly rewatchable and filled to the brim with classic gags, one-liners, and scenes for the entire cast. 10/10

The Gamesters of Triskelion: Angelique Pettyjohn’s look is iconic, but not much else about this episode is. A huge letdown after the preceding episode. 5/10

A Piece of the Action: An excellent palate cleanser after the preceding dud. Really wish we could follow up on the Iotians some day. I forgot how funny this episode is. 9/10

The Immunity Syndrome: Season 2 giveth, and Season 2 taketh away. The concept of a spaceborne lifeform is compelling, but this is otherwise a dog of a show. 4/10

A Private Little War: when the show tackles the Vietnam allegory, it sings. When it focuses on Nona, it falters under the weight of 60s’ sexism and bigotry. 7/10

Return to Tomorrow: A different take on the non-corporeal beings trope that hangs around TOS like an albatross, this one is more nuanced and subtle than most. Come for Nimoy’s delightful villain performance, stay for the poignant denouement. 8/10

Patterns of Force: An examination of how easy it is for a society to fall in love with fascism misses the mark by claiming power and not racism was the animus of Nazism, much like Confederate apologists claim the Civil War was about rights and not slavery. 0/10

By Any Other Name: The Kelvans’ powers are frightening, but it’s an episode I just can’t get excited about, except for Scotty drinking one under the table. 6/10

The Omega Glory: Gene, your über-patriotism is showing. Another late Season 2 letdown. 3/10

The Ultimate Computer: TOS has a serious distrust of powerful computers/AI that fades somewhat in the later series. Daystrom is a tragic figure, and the horror of the murder of the Excalibur’s crew is effectively conveyed. 8/10

Bread and Circuses: The social commentary is on point, but two parallel Earth stories in three weeks is somewhat tiresome. Still, an entertaining yarn. 7/10

Assignment: Earth: I’m ambivalent on this back door pilot. I like the Gary Seven character, and I normally enjoy time travel stories, but it just doesn’t do a whole lot for me. It’s not excellent, it’s not bad, it just is. 6/10

And with that, Season 2 of TOS comes to an end in my Great Star Trek Rewatch. Final score: 6.77/10. Highest score(s): "The Doomsday Machine," "Journey to Babel," "The Trouble with Tribbles." Lowest score(s): "Patterns of Force"

[tmwwriting]

Title: Make a heaven of hell Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI) Chapter: 1/3 Word Count: 8.8K Tags/Warnings: Lucas Grey x female reader. No use of Y/N. Smut. Porn with plot (lots of plot). Bleak. Angst. Hurt No Comfort. Grimdark. Seedy strip club. Vixen Club from Hitman: Absolution x1000. General gross vibes. Hostile work environment. Illegal activities. Set during Lucas's mercenary years. Reader is a dancer. Both damaged and unhinged in their own ways (how can this go wrong?) Unhealthy relationships. Friends with benefits. Threats of violence. Threats of gender-based violence. Background/implied/referenced violence. Implied/Referenced Prostitution. Minor Original Character(s). Death of Minor Original Character(s). Undernegotiated Everything. Voyeurism. Exhibitionism. Dry humping. Fingering. Oral sex. PIV sex. CNC. Stranger sex. Unprotected sex. Semi-public sex. Rough sex. Hard kinks. Consensual but NOT safe or sane. Dark fic. Ambiguous/Open Ending. Dead dove: do not eat. A/N: Gonna have to keep writing fics set in Grey's merc years just so I can keep making hostile work environment jokes. And shout out to John Milton's 400 year old poem for the fic & chapter titles.

AO3: (X)

It's a familiar rhythm. Terms. Conditions. No hard feelings.

(Pretty songbirds belong in pretty cages, and running out the clock only works if you're the winning side.)

chapter i. in the lowest deep a lower deep

The other girls notice him first. There's a possessive tenor to their stories, the way the words curl in their mouths in a haughty bestowing, interrupted only as they part for you; you rush to the counter, wincing and clutching your bag, slotting between them and a chorus of "welcome back" before they continue, the giggling and chattering so fever-pitched you fear for the structural integrity of their vocal cords.

On a normal night you'd drop everything to get in on the gossip, kick up your feet and settle in, warm yourself by the campfire of other peoples' trivialities. But there's no time, the last bits of sand trickling down the top of the hourglass, the grit of it sinking between your teeth, even though you've broken every traffic law in the book in your efforts to get here faster. (And no doubt irreparably ruining your relationship with the scrap heap you call a car.) You've both made it though, so all's well that ends well, no matter how much the engine wails at you in protest. Stupid thing.

"And the one always in the corner, don't forget him!"

"The blonde?"

"No, no, the dark one across from him, the good-looking one. I think he—"

You'd sigh—the impatient exhale of coming in mid-story—if it wouldn't fuck up your painstaking, halting attempts at a cat eye. No matter how you angle yourself or your hand (sharp inhales when you lift your arm and move something painful behind your ribs), every flick of the gel pen leaves you more and more uneven in an odd seesaw of black ink. Cocking your head in the mirror and staring in stunned disbelief only brings the mess into further focus: definitely more Marcel Marceau than Sophia Loren, and it only gets worse. This liner clearly hates you and wants you dead—perhaps from all the times you've dropped it on grimy bathroom floors—and it's five seconds away from being javelined across the room before Maria finally takes pity on your increasingly frustrated strokes. She deftly slips the offending pen from your hand as she sits you down and goes to work fixing your face.

"Have you seen him yet?" She asks you, practically humming, so close the brightness of her aches to look at. "He's usually with a few others, at least these past couple of nights. They all look military to me, but Susy says no, too wild."

"That, and they sound British," Susy says, shrugging her shoulders and swinging her manicured feet from her perch on the countertop. Cigarette ashes gather below. You can see the No Smoking sign in the reflection of a mirror—an old joke and sour, pungent punch line. "D'you think we're being invaded by the British Army?"

This causes a cascade from the others:

"You've clearly never worked a club near a barracks—"

"Practically French, the way you'd surrender—"

"Horizontal collaboration, was it?"

"Taking your Chanel obsession a little far—"

The argument escalates without any input from you, with much maligning of various nationalities, Maria insisting that some of the men are actually American, and Susy rebutting that her handsome one, at least, is British.

"If they tip well, I don't care if they're the FBI or MI5," is all the answer you give when they turn to you as the tie breaker, kicking off another round of giggling about how good the men would look in suits, and whether they'd keep their weapons on them during sex. You do sigh, then, but not all the chirping that follows is useless, and you tuck away the tidbits of information that filter through: who stacks dances, who asks for extras, who tips well or not at all, and then more speculation about the glowering dreamboat who spoke only just enough for the girls to ascertain his accent. There's a pang of conscience from somewhere deep inside, stashed out of sight in the dark recesses of some boarded-up ruin—hunting your friends' regulars is a little low, but. . . Maybe these new guys do have money, and maybe one of them will be careless enough that you'll be able to buy yourself something nice this weekend.

It depends on the group, whether this becomes a windfall for the club or a complete shit show. Complete shit show is the safer bet—odds so short no bookie would take you up on it. These guys don't sound military, but you need to see for yourself. Experience is the best teacher: you get all kinds here, the allure of such a lively, colorful watering hole bringing everyone in from their arid planes of existence, and by now you have a pretty solid idea of what to expect from a guy just by the look of him.

Most are boring. Faceless. Excruciatingly normal. Just looking for an escape from the suburban nightmare of their daily lives, bitching and moaning as though someone's holding a gun to their head, making them work that shitty job or cave to a girlfriend's demands for marriage and babies and a white picket fence. They treat dancers like therapists, even in the champagne rooms (a real therapist would be a lot cheaper—they wouldn't have to tip those). If the guys are regulars, you know their kids' birthdays and the drama with their coworkers. Good, boring, decent take home. Things get spicier when the Delgados and Morenos start arguing over turf, as though there's not multiple routes to traffic narcotics from one side of the globe to the other; oh no, they need this little corner of the world, the bastards. Every decrepit, pot-holed street in the city will overflow with their violence, always catching more than one dancer in the floodwaters that spill over into the club. Doesn't help that management will dam the doors open for them. You try and stay far away if any happen to saunter in—bad news all around. 

Mercenaries, though. . . hit or miss. Some will tip well for a dance or two, and some are like the men from the cartels. They'll take what they want, and your menace of a boss won't care as long as they empty their wallets in the process. You try not to think of the girls who have gone missing over the years. 

There's a reason this place doesn't offer health insurance.

Continue reading on AO3.

[someonestolemyshoes]

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip? hehehehe

hehehehehehe have a snippet from a very self indulgent bokuaka wip (apologies I have no levihan to offer u but thank you for providing the perfect opportunity to throw some of this into the void)

(ask meme)

--

Passengers on the well deck below were watching with interest and seemingly little concern. Many were pointing and even laughing as the liner, huge in its own right but dwarfed next to Titanic, slipped through the narrow channel. 

There was nothing they could do, Keiji knew. Even if they dampened the boilers now and killed the engines, the propellers needed time to spool down—time they did not have. The current they created dragged New York ever closer, and all they could do from the deck of both ships, from the dock, from the surrounding tug boats, was watch as it came. 

“It’s gonna hit,” Shouyou said breathlessly. He had thrown himself against the railing beside Keiji, and stared at the approaching vessel, wide eyed and pale faced. “Oh hell, it’s really gonna hit.” 

Keiji said nothing, because he couldn’t see a way in which Shouyou could be wrong. The two ships were on a certain collision course, and Keiji knew from experience that a vessel so large had limited manoeuvrability. If an obstacle came suddenly into her path, there’d be no way to avoid ploughing straight into it. 

Down in the water below, one of the tugs had revved loudly to life. The captain aboard it, with more wits about him than Keiji could dream of having in this moment, had abandoned his post at Titanic’s port side and moved behind the New York, where a tug line had been hastily attached. The tug's engine revved under full steam, and Keiji watched, breath held, as the drifting New York began to slow. 

“Come on,” Keiji hissed, “come on. Come on.” 

Achingly slowly, Titanic’s momentum decreased to nothing. Thick black smoke bloomed from the tugboats funnel, but her efforts were paying off - the tug line creaked and groaned, but held fast, and New York drew to a stop so close to their ships side, Keiji thought he might be able to reach out and touch it. 

He barely drew a full breath until the other ship was tugged out from between the two larger liners - with barely a hair's breadth between them - and secured further around the bend. For her part, Titanic backed slowly into deeper water, before she was cleared to continue her journey. 

Hinata let out a shaky laugh. 

“Close one, huh?” 

Close one was an understatement. Their journey had almost come to a screeching halt before it could even begin. 

Hinata nudged him with an elbow. 

“At least we got our bad luck out of the way early, right? It’ll be smooth sailing from here all the way to New York.” 

Hinata smiled, though it looked uncertain. His eyes scanned Keiji’s face, and Keiji had the distinct impression that Hinata was waiting for Keiji to agree. His mouth was dry and his jaw locked closed—Keiji could find nothing to say. He couldn’t even nod his head.  Keiji was not a natural liar. And rather than feeling like Titanic had expended her bad luck for the duration of her voyage, Keiji felt, with a certainty so frighteningly absolute, that the worst was yet to come.

[pxmun]

Star of the ocean ends on a bitter note.

Olympic is over the moon when she finds out that Gordon sees her as a mother. For the first time in a while Olympic feels genuinely happy.

Gordon gets confronted by a fellow express engine and is challenged to a shunt-off. If Gordon wins the big engines will leave Gordon and his small engine friends alone. During the challenge, Gordon sees that he is beating his competition by a long shot. This causes the young engine to become cocky and accidentally ends up ramming his train into his narrow gauge engine friend Delma.

Delma is severely damaged and the crew at the Belfast steam works don't when or if she can be repaired. Sheldon becomes enraged and has a fight with Gordon. He blames the big engine for letting his pride get the better of him. Gordon argues that it was an accident and tells Sheldon that he was only trying to help his friends. Gordon tells Sheldon that his (Gordon's) mentor professor Winslow was right; little engines don't appreciate what others do for them, with that the two young engines friendship ends.

Olympic's passenger ship and best friend Nomadic heard the whole fight and tells Olympic what had happened once the ocean liner returns to port. Olympic is devastated by the news, she comes to sad conclusion that the docks are bad for Gordon and she must send him away for the young big engine's sake.

Nomadic tells Olympic she overheard the passengers talking about a railroad controller from an island called Sodor. She tells Olympic that this Sir Topham Hatt is looking for an A1 Pacific for his railway. Nomadic goes on to say that the passengers all had positive things to say about this Fat Controller, but Olympic wants to meet him personally, just to be sure.

So, the next day, White Star invite Sir Topham Hatt to the docks to chat with Olympic. The Fat Controller is a gentleman and gives a very polite greeting to Olympic, why he even feels honored to be meeting such a famous ocean liner.

Olympic tells Sir Topham Hatt that she knows he is looking for a Pacific. Olympic says she has a young Pacific, but Olympic wants to be sure that the young engine will be going to a good home. Sir Topham Hatt fully agrees and Olympic begins her interview.

In the end she agrees to hand Gordon over to the North Western Railway, but only on the condition that Sir Topham Hatt takes proper care of the young engine and helps Gordon to become a good engine. Sir Topham Hatt agrees.

Olympic tells Gordon the news, but the young engine is devastated. He thinks Olympic doesn't love him anymore because what he has done. Gordon apologizes profusely, begging Olympic not to send him away and that he promises to be good. Olympic comforts her son, assuring him that she loves him very much, it's just that sometimes love has to hurt in order to help and better those one loves.

Gordon asks if he'll ever see Olympic again. Olympic tells Gordon the truth and that she isn't sure if they will, but she tells him that even if they never meet again, she'll always keep him in her heart and will never forget Gordon. Gordon promises not to forget her either.

The two spend Gordon's last night at the docks by each other’s sides, promising not to leave the other until it was time for Gordon to go to Sodor.

Baby mine, don't you cry Baby mine, dry your eyes Rest your head close to my heart Never to part, baby of mine Little one when you play Don't you mind what they say Let those eyes sparkle and shine Never a tear, baby of mine If they knew sweet little you They'd end up loving you too All those same people who scold you What they'd give just for The right to hold you From your head to your toes You're not much, goodness knows But you're so precious to me Cute as can be, baby of mine - by: Frank Churchill (music), Ned Washington (lyrics),

[chrisframeofficial]

What’s under the waterline on a cruise ship?

I often get asked questions about the design of cruise ships and ocean liners. One of the most common is “what’s under the waterline” - or variants of that question.

There’s a lot going on below the waterline on a ship. Most of the large mechanical spaces for the engine room can be found here.

This can include the diesels (or on ships of old, the steam turbines). Newer ships may have gas turbines, LNG engines or even a hybrid power plant.

If the ship is propeller driven you’ll also find the propulsion motors here, as well as the long tunnels for the propeller shafts to run through and exit the ship.

For ships that use podded propulsion, the access points to enter the giant pods are found in the engine room space.

If a ship has bow thrusters and stern thrusters they’ll be located below the waterline. And all ships with stabilisers have them stored here. These items all need to be below the water to work. You can actually identify the location of these from the surface by looking for special markings on the hull. To learn what they look like, check out my explainer video here:

Additionally much of the water treatment facility is located below decks. Sewage treatment plants can be found here, along with a separate desalination plant on most modern cruise ships - to generate drinking water.

Aside from mechanical items, there’s a lot of other interesting areas below decks.

These include the massive store rooms that house all the food and drinks for the voyage. Ships have dry stores, cold stores and freezers to keep all the perishable food fresh. Corridors and lifts link these areas with the kitchens and restaurants.

You can also find crew recreation areas and sometimes even passenger facilities below the water line. This can include fitness centres and pools (especially on older ships) where there isn’t the need for windows.

Above: On the builders model of Aurora you can see the stabilisers extended and the ships keel.

On a sadder note, the ship’s morgue is usually located below the waterline. This is quite often situated just below the medical centre - which you’ll notice is on one or the lowest accessible decks on passenger ships.

Most cruise ships will also feature a main crew corridor which is generally located near or below the waterline.

This gives crew quick access to move from the forward to aft areas of a ship, bypassing the busy passenger areas.