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pucksandpower · 7 months ago

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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.

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strawberryfairi · 2 months ago

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Synopsis🌹: After discovering a strange yet alluring red book in a boutique bookstore, you find yourself sucked into a strange world, where all of your inner most desires exist…

Pairings: Wakasa Imaushi X Musician! Black Fem 🤎 Reader (ANYONE CAN READ🧚🏾‍♀️) Content: Author AU, scifi, Musician! reader, reader is a talented nerd, smutty (slow burn) romance, tiny doses of angst, adventure, futuristic city, magic?, !!sexual tension!!, etc (just find out the rest, lol)

w.c: 3.4k💠 Released: October 5

Previous | Next… | Chapters Masterlist

A/N🧚🏾‍♀️: I think this might actually be my favorite chapter I've written so far. I had so much fun writing this part!!

C.W: None

Tags: @nixalozt

↳ (Let me know via inbox or the comment section if you would also like to be tagged here for this story🩵)

𝟐 || 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

(Alternate Reality/First Meeting Theme: Rise From the Ruins - Lost Traveler)

Your eyes snap open, and your heart pounds as a wave of disorientation washes over you. Bright neon lights assault your vision, and you instinctively squint, shielding your face with an arm. You're on your feet, standing in the middle of a sidewalk, but this is no area you recognize. The sounds, the smells, the very air around you—it's all wrong.

Around you, towering skyscrapers reach high into the sky, their surfaces beaming with neon lights and shifting holographic ads. The streets are crowded with people—some with brightly colored hair, others with cybernetic enhancements replacing limbs, eyes, even parts of their faces. Hovering cars zip by overhead, leaving behind jet trails of blue fire where their tires should be, and a low hum of machinery fills the air, blending with the pulse of strange music emanating from hidden sources all around.

Your mouth goes desert dry as you quickly realize you have no idea how you got here. It's like a dream, in the way that they just simply begin directly in the middle of a particular scene. No context, no frame of reference, just there.

"Where am I?" You whisper to yourself, taking a cautious step forward.

People move past you without so much as a side glance, their faces illuminated by the neon lights that flicker from every direction. Your heart races as you try to process the chaos around you, but everything is too much. Every sound, every flash of light, it makes your head spin.

Okay okay, think.You force yourself to take a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment to try and center yourself. You're dreaming. That has to be it. This can't be real. It's just one of those dreams where your mind knows you're in one. A lucid dream, that's it. You've never had a lucid dream before, so it's probably natural your'e freaking out like this.

But when you open your eyes, the world is still there. As real as the ground beneath your feet. And that's when you hear it.

"Unidentified citizen detected." A cold, mechanical voice announces from behind you.

You turn around abruptly, pulse quickening, and your eyes lock onto a mind boggling scene. A...midsized robot. It's floating off of the ground eye level with you, painted white and navy blue, with a neon red holographic badge that shines above its "chest". The whir of its internal engines barely audible above the noise of the street.

"Please present identification," It states, its robotic voice creepily polite.

Your breath catches in your throat. "Identification? I-I don't—..." You stumble back, mind racing. Identification? What kind of identification? What am I supposed to do?! Your hands instinctively go to the mini purse hanging from your shoulder, but of course, you had nothing. Nothing but a lipstick and lip liner in there. No wallet, no ID, nothing that made sense in this strange, futuristic place.

"Uhhh, I don't have anything," You stammer, panic rising in your chest. "I don't know how I got here, but I need—"

"Failure to present identification will result in detainment." The robot interrupts, its glowing red eyes making you anxious as it hovers closer.

Your heart pounds in your chest. You can feel the eyes of passerby's on you now, the slight glances, and low murmurs. They all seem to know exactly what's happening, but no one's bothering step in and actually help. You're on your own here...

So, you do the only thing you can think to do in this situation: run.

Without another thought, you take off bolting, weaving through people as fast as you can. Your breaths start to become uneven pants, your heels making your feet sting with every hard step.

From behind, you can hear the sound of the robot tailing you, "Halt! Unidentified citizen!"

Yeah, I think the hell not, you think to yourself, dodging a flying car that nearly grazes you as it zooms by. Your lungs begin to burn as you push yourself harder, but you still have no idea where you're actually going. Every street looks the same—slathered in neon lights, holographics, and cluttered with unfamiliar, strange faces. Your mind races, desperate for a solution, but nothing makes sense.

Suddenly, a figure emerges on what looks like a motorcycle from one of the alleys to your left, just a bit ahead of you. They pause at the opening of the sidewalk, where the alleyway leads to the main road. Directly in your way.

You let out a small yelp as you clumsily skid to a stop, but end up just crashing right into the person. Reflexively their arm grabs you, catching you by your waist before you can really hurt yourself. You hang there, thrown over his arm.

"Need a hand, sweetheart?" His voice is low, teasing as if the entire situation is amusing to him.

You stare up at him wide eyed and panting. But then, as your eyes meet his, you feel your breath hitch.

The man holding onto you is...impossibly beautiful. His shoulder-length hair is pulled back in a loose half-up, half-down style, the top half dyed a striking shade of purple, while the lower strands gleam blonde in the city's neon glow. His striking lavender-colored eyes are framed by long, dark lashes that gaze down at you with a half-lidded, cool—almost sultry intensity.

Your eyes drift over to the earring dangling from his left ear, catching the light as it sways gently. And damn, he's got tattoos too. They're roses, with pretty intricate designs crawling up both arms and disappearing beneath his shirt, then peeking out around his low collar, hinting at even more ink across his chest.

For a brief moment, you actually forget where you are and your current situation, your mind completely consumed by the strong magnetic pull of this man. You stutter an incoherent sentence, thoughts a jumbled mess while your eyes continue to roam over him, caught in the intensity of the moment. But the distant mechanical whir of the cyber police snaps you back to reality.

"I—I'm being chased! There's a robot—"

"I can see that." He says casually, glancing back where you had been running. The robot is closing in fast, its red eyes glowing brighter as it hones in on you. "Looks like you got yourself in a little trouble."

"A little?!" Your voice cracks with desperation. Ok, he's gorgeous but you don't have time for his chill, cool boy attitude. You need more urgency. "I gotta get up outta here!"

He grins. "I can help you with that." Without another word, he sets you down over his lap, an embarrassing position. His grip is firm but not painful, and his leg raises from the ground to the bike as he starts to rev the engine.

"Wait wait, hold on! I can't—I don't do bikes!" You cry out, shaking your head frantically. Quickly your hands struggle to reach down to the hem of your short, silver dress, trying to pull it down enough to where you don't flash both him and anyone else coming by.

"You don't have a choice." He says before the bike shoots forward past the robot officer. The roar of the engine drowns out the high pitched scream you let out.

The chase begins.

The city is a blur around you, neon signs, holographs, and towering buildings fly by as the motorcycle rockets through the busy streets. You grip tightly on the man's shirt, heart pounding in your chest as a mix of fear, and admittedly, excitement courses through your veins. You can hear the mechanical sounding police sirens of the cyber cops from behind, but this man doesn't seem even a little bit concerned.

He weaves effortlessly through traffic, cutting sharp corners down narrow alleyways. It's like he's used to this, like he's done this plenty of times before. You have never felt such a rush before—the danger, the thrill, the stranger you're currently clinging to with no idea where he's headed.

The robotic voice of the cyber police bots echoes behind you again. "Unidentified citizen, halt immediately. You are in violation of city law 375-B. Submit for processing."

You look behind you, letting out a deep gasp as you spot not just the one, but six other cyber-police bots dashing after you two, their red lights flashing ominously in the night. "We're gonna get caught!" You holler anxiously.

The man scoffs out a laugh, his voice steady and unbothered. "We're fine."

He revs the engine again, picking up speed as he tears down the street, dodging past hover-cars and otherworldly pedestrians who barely have enough time to jump out of the way. You feel your heart pounding wildly in your ears as he jets down a long, open road that starts to lead out of the heart of the city.

The cyber cops, however, are relentless. They summon for reinforcements, and more drones whir loudly from above, scanning the streets below for the both of you with beaming night suns. (Night sun: High intensity search light).

Just then, the commanding voices of the cyber police bots change its targeted focus, speaking in creepily perfect unison, "Citizen 0843-77, you are wanted for multiple offenses. Including illegal racing, tampering with city surveillance systems, and evading arrest. Pull over immediately!"

"What?!" Your eyes widen, jaw nearly hitting the floor. First of all, not only did they just put his business on straight blast with his citizen number, but they even went and aired out a whole entire list of criminal offenses! That's why he's so unbothered! And that's why he's zooming through these streets like he's used to running from cops!

The man chuckles, the kind of reckless laughter that makes your heart skip a beat. "What, you think you're the only one who's good at gettin' into trouble?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, your body can't help the surging rush of adrenaline—and honestly attraction—that came with his carefree attitude. It's like he thrives on chaos. And now, crazily enough, it's starting to rub off on you.

You let out a loud "Oh shit!" as he turns around a tight corner, the bike tipping dangerously close to the ground before he righted it again, speeding down a dimly lit alley. Your stomach flips as the narrow walls flew by your face in a colorful blur.

You look out again. The cyber cops are still chasing behind, but their movements have slowed. Then, they hesitate at the edge of the city, their glowing red eyes flickering as if unsure how to proceed. The night suns, after a couple of seconds, turn off as well, and it feels strangely symbolic of a battle victory.

"They stopped following us." You breathe out in disbelief.

The man nods, finally easing off the throttle as the city lights fade into the distance behind you. "They can't follow us out here. 'S outside their jurisdiction."

After what feels like an eternity, the bike slows, and he comes to a stop at the edge of a long-abandoned overpass. The once-bustling infrastructure now crumbling and overtaken by unfamiliar nature. The neon glow of the city still lit the sky behind you, casting an eerie light over the desolate area. All kinds of plants crawl up the sides of ruined buildings, and what's left of the streets are eerily silent. Dead.

Your heart is still racing as he turns the vehicle off, and you stumble off the bike, legs visibly shaking.

You turn towards the man, who's already chilled out leaning against his bike, watching you with that same unserious grin. "You okay?" He asks as he holds back a chuckle, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You narrow your eyes at him, chest heaving. "It's not funny; hell no I'm not ok! I have no idea where the hell I'm at, or how I got here, and we were just chased by a bunch of freakin' robots like it's the damn apocalypse! And who even are you?! Are you, like, deadass a criminal?!"

Finally, he chuckles, running a hand through his wind tousled hair. "A thanks would'a been nice. I'm Wakasa. By the city's standards I'm definitely a criminal, and as for where you are...well, that's a little more complicated."

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. "What do you mean complicated?"

Wakasa shrugs with a grin. "You're in Neon City, sweetheart. It's a small planet in galaxy KE-411. Not exactly your usual vacation spot, I'm guessing."

You stared at him, jaw dropped and mind reeling. "A pla-...it's a what?! This city is a whole planet?!"

"Yep." He popped the 'p' with a smirk. "All this is Neon City." He says, gesturing around lazily with a hand.

You let out a disbelieving laugh, hands shaking as you rub them along your temples. "Hell no. No no no, that—this can't be real. I gotta be dreaming! I'm dreaming for sure, you're-...you're not real—"

"Trust me Doll, I'm very real." He muses. "But hey, look on the bright side. You're here now. Might as well enjoy it." He adds with an infuriatingly nonchalant shrug.

"Enjoy it?!" You gape at him. "I'm a fugitive on a whole 'nother freaking planet! The only thing I'm trynna enjoy is me getting the hell up outta here!"

"Hey, suit yourself." He raises his hands in surrender, pushing off of his bike and swinging one leg over it, "Good luck gettin' home."

"Wait!" You call out instantly. "W-Where're you going?! You just gon' leave me out here?!" You scrunch your face up in appall.

"Thought you said you don't do bikes?" He raises a brow teasingly. Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

"Well...I'm willing to do bikes if it means I'm not alone." You reply sheepishly.

"Come on." He nods his head towards the bike. Your face lights up with relief, quickly scurrying over and hopping on the black motorcycle behind him.

"You know, you still haven't told me your name yet." He says, just as he starts the engine of his bike.

"Oh yeah, you're right. My mind's all over the place, sorry. I'm Y/N." You ramble, shaking your head at yourself.

He repeats your name, nodding a little before he says, "That was kind'a a cool way to meet, huh?"

You think it over for a second, replaying the extremely hectic, action-packed way in which the two of you happened to meet each other just a bit ago. "Yeah, I-..I guess that was kinda cool." You shrug, chuckling lightly.

The motorcycle slows to a stop once again, and you look around at the deserted area in mild confusion.

"We're here," He announces, cutting the engine.

You blink, still a little disoriented. "Here...?"

It's like a field of nothingness out here. There's small patches of grass scattered all around, but other than that it's just debris from old buildings, roads, and such.

Wakasa smirks as he gets off the bike, holding out a hand to help you down. "This is the underground. No one'll find you out here—not the drones, or the city officials. We're completely off the grid."

You hesitate for a moment before taking his hand, your fingers still trembling from the adrenaline of the night, stepping off of the bike and looking around once more at the ghostly surroundings.

Wakasa guides you over to what looks like a run-down bunker, hidden from view by the tall, overgrown greenery. A single, faintly glowing neon red sign hangs above the heavy, rusted door: "The Underground".

You swallow hard, mind racing. You had been running on sheer panic this whole time, but now...now there's a strange allure to all the danger, the unpredictability of this place. The neon city had felt overwhelming and suffocating, but here in the shadows—or the underground rather—everything feels raw. Real.

Wakasa leads you to the door and knocks in a rhythmic pattern—three short knocks, a pause, then two more. A small, mechanical green eye slides open above the door, scanning them both before letting out a low whir. The door creaks open, and the two of you step inside.

The interior of The Underground is nothing like you could have ever imagined. The nightclub is dark, save for the faint glow of scattered, mismatched neon lights, casting all kinds of shadows across the cavernous space. A low, synthetic beat murmurs from deep within the walls, vibrating through the floor beneath your feet. Smoke hangs in the air, swirling lazily like fog as the dim lights catch it in neon pinks and purples, and greens. The room has an ethereal quality, like something out of a dream.

The bodies packed tightly on the dance floor move together as if they share some kind of secret knowledge you'll never know. Lost in the foreign music and flashing lights. Everyone looks so confident, so sure of themselves, and here you are—spending the whole night... just shook, for lack of better words. You find yourself oddly fascinated.

Everything about this place—from the gritty, broken-down aesthetic outside to the futuristic, slight boho-meets-retro feel of the inside, to the people who seem to fully embody the space, calls to you. It's the complete opposite of everything you've ever known. But instead of feeling lost, left out, or even intimidated, you rather feel...invited.

Wakasa smirks down at you, noticing your awestruck reaction. "A little different from your usual night out, huh?"

You scoff out a laugh, "Very different."

"Come on." He says, leading you further into the club with a hand on your lower back. "Let's grab a drink. The more relaxed you are, the better."

You approach the bar—a long, marble-like counter, behind which stood a half human male bartender with mechanical arms and glowing lime green eyes. Wakasa calmly orders you both drinks as you blatantly stare from the bartender to the other "people" in the vicinity. For some of them, it's hard to tell wether they're actually human, half human, or just a straight up robot.

For other's, like the bartender, it's obvious. The people here didn't really match the look of Neon City's citizens. They're edgy, harder, rebel-like people who maybe don't actually belong to the city above ground. And yet, they have this je ne sais quoi about them, a quiet confidence that draws you in like a moth to a flame.

Wakasa smirks as the bartender comes back and sets two glowing drinks before you two, giving him a short "Thanks". The liquid inside shimmers a bright, electric blue, casting a faint glow that dances across the metal bar.

"This one's for you," He says, pushing the glass toward you. "'S called Bliss."

You raise an eyebrow, eyeing the drink with both curiosity and hesitation. "Bliss?"

"Yeah," Wakasa nods, amusement flickering in his eyes. "It's...well, let's just say it makes things more simple."

When your drinks arrived, you can't help furrowing your brows at the glass, your gaze scrutinizing as you swish it around. "Ok, but like...what is it? Why is it glowing?" You ask skeptically.

"Just try it. It's good; goes down real easy. Promise." He assures cooly.

You immediately note the way he deliberately did not answer the actual question, being what the drink is. You watch him take a long sip of his own, waiting for any crazy reactions. Yet it never comes.

If this were any other situation, you wouldn't dare take a drink from a man you didn't know, but this entire situation is different, technically. The memories of this wild evening flicker through your mind as you continue to slowly swirl the blue liquid around in the glass.

Wether you remember exactly how you got here or not, you're here now, and maybe this really is exactly what you need. A nice break from the constant, monotonous grind of working on music and slaving away at your officially finished record label internship.

From the endless rejection emails, the constant cycle of disappointment after someone you put your trust in fails you, from the pressure you constantly put on yourself. This nightclub, this scene—it's so far removed from your world. Removed from your cramped bedroom that you've made into your home studio, electric keyboards taking up way too much space, notes app filled with unfinished lyrics, and neighbors arguments picking up through your studio quality mic you saved two and a half months just to afford.

So, fuck it. You allow the glow of the blue liquid to lure you into temptation.

Hesitating for only a moment, you take a tiny little sip, bracing yourself for some kind of strong burn or sour taste. But that proves to be for nothing. The drink is cool and sweet—floral almost, and it sends a sensual shiver down your spine. Warmth blooms in your chest, spreading outwards like liquid sunshine. Instantly you feel your nerves begin to relax, your racing thoughts slowing down as the pulse of the club's music seeps into your bones.

You feel good. Really, really good.

#strawberryfairi🧚🏾‍♀️#The Book of Desires🌹#Wakasa Imaushi #Wakasa x black fem reader #Wakasa x fem reader #wakasa x reader #black female writer #black female reader #wakasa smut #chapter 2 #desire #fantasy #authors au #bipoc writers #wakasa imaushi x reader smut

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carsthatnevermadeitetc · 1 year ago

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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

#Nichols #Nichols N1A #McLaren M1A #replica #sports car #mid-engine #LS3 V8 #427ci V8 #lightweight #retro style #Can-Am #prototype #new cars

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hirocimacruiser · 6 months ago

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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.

#JUN #JUN R33 GTR #R33 GTR #Bonneville R33 GTR #Bonneville #Skyline GTR #R33 Skyline

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cuffmeinblack · 10 months ago

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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.”

#leander prewett #leander prewett x reader #leander prewett smut

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your-resident-boat-person · 10 months ago

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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.

#ocean liner #ocean liners #oceanliner #rms titanic #titanic #cunard #rms queen mary #rms olympic #olympic #ss normandie #rms majestic #ss united states #world war 1 #rms mauretania #mauretania

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prodbyblush · 2 years ago

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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 ??

ｎｏｗｌｏａｄｉｎｇ …

▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ 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

#imawa no kuni no arisu #imawa no kuni no alice #alice in boderland x reader #alice in borderland #aib x reader #aib x male reader #chishiya fluff #chishiya shuntaro #aib chishiya #chishiya alice in borderland #shuntaro chishiya #chishiya x y/n #chishiya x reader #niragi suguru #suguru niragi #aib niragi #niragi alice in borderland #niragi x reader #niragi x y/n

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scotianostra · 24 days ago

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November 6th 1919 saw the birth of the comedian and actor Chic Murray.

Charles Thomas McKinnon Murray was born in Greenock on the south bank of the River Clyde. After leaving school at the age of 14, he started work as an apprentice engineer in Kincaids Shipyard in Greenock in 1934. Meanwhile he was using his talents as an entertainer with amateur groups such as “The Whinhillbillies” and “Chic and His Chicks”.

Chic married Maidie Dickson and then formed a successful double act with her, their mixture of jokes and songs going down well with theatre audiences and, eventually, on television. Billed as “Maidie and Murray” or the “The Tall Droll with the Small Doll”

Chic subsequently forged a successful solo career, ending up with a BBC Scotland series called “Chic’s Chat”. He also acted in films such as Casino Royale, and appeared as the headmaster in the 1980 Scottish film, Gregory’s Girl. In 1984 he played the Liverpool Football Club manager Bill Shankly in the musical play You’ll Never Walk Alone.

Chic Murray died in Edinburgh in 1985 at the age of sixty-five. He is widely regarded to have been one of the most influential Scottish comedians of the 20th Century.

Here are some of the best examples of his razor-sharp jokes and one-liners.

My father was a simple man; my mother was a simple woman; you see the result standing in front of you, a simpleton.

It’s a small world, but I wouldn’t want to have to paint it.

After I told my wife that black underwear turned me on, she didn't wash my Y-fronts for a month.

She had been married so often she bought a drip-dry wedding dress.

We were so poor; the ultimate luxury in our house at the time was ashtrays without advertisements.

The police stopped me when I was out in my car. They told me it was a spot check. I admitted to two pimples and a boil.

I met this cowboy with a brown paper hat, paper waistcoat and paper trousers. He was wanted for rustling.

I dreamt I was forced to eat 25lb of marshmallows. When I woke up, my pillow was missing.

A Scot is a man who keeps the Sabbath, and everything else he can lay his hands on.

If something’s neither here nor there, where the hell is it?

If it weren’t for marriage, husband and wives would have to fight with strangers.

It was raining cats and dogs, and I fell in a poodle.

I felt as out of place as a left-handed violinist in a crowded string section.

#scotland #scottish #history #comedian #actor #entertainer

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gravesung-moving · 4 months ago

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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 lovers, reversed

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

#muse drop.#fletch meta.#unseen meta.#the sanctum meta.#sage meta.#acheron meta.#anah meta.#etc etc

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sparkarrestor · 1 year ago

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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.

#ttte #ttte james #ttte gordon #ttte fic #Troublesome Coaches #Spark Writes #thanks to sudriantraveler for giving me some ideas!#General RWS Stuff

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connectparanormal · 5 months ago

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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.

#queen mary #ghost #ghosts and hauntings #ghost art #paranormal

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jonfucius · 1 year ago

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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"

#star trek #star trek tos #great star trek rewatch

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tmwwriting · 8 months ago

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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.

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#hitman #hitman fanfiction #lucas grey #lucas grey x reader #dark fic #x reader #x female reader #fic: heaven

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