#Tyre Racking

[alamaterialhandling]

How Portable Storage Racks Can Transform Your Space

In the realm of organization and tidiness, there's a silent hero often overlooked: portable storage racks. These unassuming yet highly functional pieces of equipment have the power to transform spaces in ways you might not have imagined. If it's your home, office, garage, or workshop, portable storage racks offer a versatile solution to clutter and disarray. Let's delve into how these racks can bring order and efficiency into your life while maximizing your available space.

1. Versatility at Its Finest

One of the most appealing aspects of portable storage rack is their versatility. Unlike built-in storage solutions, these racks can be easily moved and repositioned to suit your evolving needs. If you are rearranging your living room layout or reorganizing your garage, portable racks can adapt to any environment without the need for tools or extensive installation.

2. Maximizing Space Utilization

In today's fast-paced world, maximizing space utilization is key, especially in smaller homes and apartments where every square inch counts. Portable storage racks offer a vertical storage solution, allowing you to take advantage of unused vertical space. By stacking items vertically, you can free up valuable floor space, making your living areas feel more open and spacious.

3. Organization Made Easy

Say goodbye to cluttered countertops and overflowing shelves. Portable storage racks provide a designated space for items, making organization a breeze. Whether it's books, toys, kitchen essentials, or tools, these racks offer a systematic approach to storage, helping you maintain order and find items with ease. Plus, the open shelving design allows for quick visual access to your belongings, saving you time and frustration.

4. Seamless Mobility

Unlike traditional storage solutions that are fixed in place, portable storage racks offer seamless mobility. Need to rearrange your office layout for a new project? Simply wheel the racks to their new location. Planning a backyard barbecue? Transporting supplies from the kitchen to the patio is effortless with a portable rack. The ability to move these racks with minimal effort ensures that your storage solutions can adapt to your ever-changing needs.

5. Temporary Storage Solutions

Whether you're hosting a party, undergoing a home renovation, or decluttering for a garage sale, temporary storage solutions are invaluable. Portable storage racks offer the perfect solution for temporary storage needs. From storing extra dishes and glassware during a dinner party to keeping tools and equipment accessible during a renovation, these racks provide a convenient and versatile storage option that can be easily removed once your temporary needs have been met.

6. Customization Options

No two spaces are alike, which is why customization is essential when it comes to storage solutions. Portable storage racks come in a variety of sizes, shapes, and configurations to suit your specific requirements. Whether you need a compact rack for a small apartment or a multi-tiered unit for a spacious garage, there's a portable rack to fit your needs. Additionally, many racks offer adjustable shelving options, allowing you to customize the layout to accommodate items of various sizes.

7. Enhancing Productivity

A cluttered and disorganized workspace can hinder productivity and creativity. By implementing portable storage racks, you can create a more streamlined and efficient workspace. With tools, supplies, and materials neatly organized and easily accessible, you can focus on the task at hand without the distraction of clutter. Whether you're working from home or managing a busy workshop, an organized environment can enhance productivity and improve overall workflow.

8. Cost-Effective Solutions

Home organization doesn't have to break the bank. Portable storage racks offer a cost-effective solution for creating a tidy and organized space. Unlike built-in storage solutions that require professional installation and often come with a hefty price tag, portable racks are affordable and easy to assemble. Plus, their versatility means you can repurpose them for different rooms or projects, maximizing their value and longevity.

9. Eco-Friendly Option

In an era where sustainability is paramount, it's essential to consider the environmental impact of our purchasing decisions. Portable storage racks offer an eco-friendly storage solution that minimizes waste and promotes reusability. By investing in durable, long-lasting racks, you can reduce the need for disposable storage solutions and contribute to a more sustainable future.

10. Creating Aesthetically Pleasing Spaces

Beyond their practical benefits, portable storage racks can also enhance the aesthetic appeal of your space. With sleek, modern designs and a variety of finishes to choose from, these racks can complement any décor style. Whether you prefer a minimalist look or a more industrial vibe, there's a portable rack to suit your aesthetic preferences. By incorporating these racks into your space, you can achieve a harmonious balance of form and function.

Conclusion

Portable storage racks are a versatile and practical solution for organizing and optimizing space in any environment. From maximizing space utilization to enhancing productivity and creating aesthetically pleasing spaces, these racks offer a myriad of benefits that can transform your home, office, garage, or workshop. With their seamless mobility, customization options, and cost-effective nature, portable storage racks are truly a game-changer in the world of organization. So why wait? Invest in portable storage racks today and unlock the full potential of your space.

[jeepclinic-blog]

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[edeckonline]

Reliable Tyre Rack Supplier for Efficient Storage Solutions

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[mxstellatayte]

hiiii ! could you write a part 2 for the charles and the vibe fic?

YIPPEE!!

i was gonna write it anyways but now i have an excuse to do it!

warnings: this is pure filth, threesome (mmf,) p in v sex, unprotected sex (DONT DO THAT,) mirror sex, carlos is an ass guy, charles is a boobs guy tho, kinda exhibitionism?, creampie, sex under the influence kinda?, it's all consensual though!

all you wanted to do was tease charles. all you wanted to do was see how much you could tempt his resolve before it would crumble. you had no idea it would result in getting eaten out in the bathroom and then promptly realizing that carlos had heard the whole thing and had covered for you and charles.

in exchange, carlos wanted to make even on a bet that he and charles had made at the start of the 2023 season.

monaco. february 10th, 2023.

"what do you think the odds are that one of us wins a race this year?"

charles looked up from the chessboard, his eyebrows furrowing. "what do you mean?"

"i was looking at the red bull and mclaren numbers and our car splits them. we have a fighting chance this year, so do you think one of us will get a win this year?" charles moves a rook, taking one of carlos' pawns.

"it depends. if my entire radio just sounds like 'we are checking, we are checking' and i have to make my own strategy and tyre calls, maybe. if xavi learns basic engineering and communicative skills or gets replaced altogether, i'd say yeah, there's a chance."

"you wanna bet?"

"what are we betting?"

carlos hesitates, then looks up when he hears the door opening. something clatters in the closet before you can be heard cursing quietly, then rearranging the fallen shoes onto the rack. eventually, you come through the doorway to the living room, and, when you see carlos, your face lights up.

"carlos! cómo estás?" (how are you?) you walk over and lean down, kissing his cheek in greeting.

"bien. un poco nervioso para bahrain, pero el carro maneja fantástico este año. y vos?" (good. a bit nervous for bahrain, but the car drives amazing this year. what about you?) you walk over to the kitchen while he's talking and pull out ingredients to make yourself a bowl of yogurt and berries- your favorite snack to have after work before you take your pit bull out for a walk.

"i'm alright. the marketing team made a stupid mistake so i had to do some damage control that took way longer than it should have, but i know martin is going to give them absolute hell tomorrow for it, so at least it doesn't reflect badly on me." your bowl clinks on the countertop as you sit down at the island and take out your computer, your headphones that were previously resting around your neck being slipped over your ears. "i've got some emails to write for an upcoming content creator collab we're doing, so i'll be in my zone. you guys know the drill?"

charles nods. "hermit mode?"

you smile, slipping the second speaker over your ear. "hermit mode."

a few moments pass before carlos speaks again. "are you okay with betting her?"

charles' eyebrows raise. "what do you mean?"

carlos makes his move on the chessboard. "if i win more races than you this year, i get her for a night. if you win more races than me, you can use me for a night. however you want."

the thought of his teammate and closest friend getting to fuck you lights a fire inside of charles, and while he wants nothing more than to agree to the bet purely for the stakes of it, he needs to check in with you first. "can i run it by her and get back to you on that?"

carlos nods. "just get me an answer by bahrain so we can figure something else out if she doesn't want to do that."

italy. february 3rd, 2024.

you had forgotten about the bet. charles and carlos had not.

now, just minutes later, you find yourself with your back once again against the wall, but this time you're staring into carlos' eyes while he fingers you gently, your legs wrapped around his waist and charles leaning against the vanity facing both of you. your eyes unintentionally flick over carlos' shoulder to your boyfriend who is an absolute mess. he's palming himself over his slacks, and you can tell just from the flush in his face that creeps down to his neck and the way his eyebrows are pinched together that he likes what he sees. before you can eye-fuck him the way you know he likes, carlos pulls his fingers out of you and you whine, but he carries you over to the vanity and taps your ass to get you to let go. "spin around, amor. let me see that beautiful ass of yours."

this is a side of carlos that you've never seen before, and it would be a lie to say that it's not hot. without a second thought, you spin yourself around so that your back is resting against his chest and your ass rests against his crotch. "come on, hermosa. bend over." as slowly as you can, you lean forward, resting your hands on the vanity and grinding yourself against him and you swear you can feel his dick twitch inside of his own black slacks. as soon as your forearms are fully resting on the granite vanity, carlos runs his hands down your back and to the front of your legs where he pulls the scarlet fabric of your dress to gather on your left side, the slit opening so that your entire ass is exposed. "no panties?" oh. you forgot about that.

"i kept them for good measure," charles says, pulling them out of his pocket. "you want 'em? you might have to shut her up. she never stops moaning."

"i know. i heard everything. you two are lucky i was the one outside and not anyone else. now," carlos says, taking your panties from your boyfriend and shoving them in his pocket, "do you feel like returning the favor?"

the whiskey you'd downed earlier is taking its effect, and you can't help but bite your lip and nod. normally, you wouldn't be nearly as confident as you are now with someone other than your boyfriend having you in the position you're in right now, but you trust carlos and frankly, you're too turned on to care. charles is in the same room and you're both comfortable enough in your relationship that it's okay. "yes, carlos. i'll return the favor. whatever you want." as you're talking, you can hear carlos unbuckle his belt and unzip his slacks, and when there's finally one layer of fabric between the two of you, carlos reaches into his jacket packet and pulls out a condom. before he opens it, though, you pipe up, your voice embarrassingly breathy and high. "i'm clean and on the pill. don't waste it if getting me pregnant is your only concern."

"are you sure?" carlos says, glancing over at charles. your boyfriend only responds with a shrug and points his thumb at you.

"whatever she says. you're the one fucking her."

carlos doesn't waste a second setting the condom on the vanity, pulling his slacks and underwear down his thighs just enough so that it's comfortable, and pushing into you. you have to bite your lip and cover your own mouth to prevent yourself from moaning too loudly, the stretch from carlos being so different to the one you're accustomed to with charles.

when you look up, carlos' head is thrown back and his hands grip your hips so tight his knuckles are white. it might be the hottest sight you've ever seen. "carlos." your voice is whiny, and you're shocked you can even get his name out.

"hm?"

"fuck me, please."

"are you sure?" his voice lilts in the way you're used to hearing, but this time, there's something slightly different about it. maybe it's the fact that he's currently buried inside of you, his hips flush with your own, or maybe it's the fact that every time you move your head to look up at him, your cunt squeezes around him so perfectly he fears he might cum within three thrusts, but either way, you feel so, so perfect.

"positive. now please. fuck. me." slowly, carlos pulls his hips back before pushing into you, slowly increasing his pace until every time his body meets your ass, you're shoved forward slightly on the counter and your breasts bounce forward, almost falling out of the low neckline of your dress.

"mierda, amor, tienes un coño hecho para mi," (shit, love, you have a cunt made for me,) carlos groans out, pulling your arms back and holding them with one hand while the other goes to hold you up by your neck. the restriction to your windpipe makes your head spin and the new angle has carlos' entire cock running against your g-spot with every thrust. you're able to wiggle your hands free, your left hand reaching back to tug at carlos' hair and your right goes down to rub circles around your clit, making you tighten around carlos' dick, and the combination of the pain from his hair being pulled and your cunt spasming around him makes him tip over the edge.

the feeling of carlos filling you up in turn sends you into your own orgasm, and as you cum, you look to your left, where charles jerks himself off watching you. when you make eye contact with him, though, it's the last straw and he spills into his hand with a quiet groan and his head thrown back.

the three of you catch your breaths and carlos pulls out of you gently, then shoves his cum back inside of you. the forgotten egg vibrator in charles' coat pocket is reinserted into your cunt and you whine at the overstimulation, slightly anxious that charles might tease you again, but he whispers a quiet promise in your ear that you've been good tonight, he won't turn it on anymore.

eventually, carlos slips out of the bathroom and you follow shortly after, walking back down the large hallway to return to the event. later that night, after speeches have been made, hollow promises have been spoken, and many, many bottles of expensive champagne have been toasted with, you make your way back outside, your arm linked with charles' as he calls his car to be pulled with the valet service. carlos walks up and stands next to the two of you, his car already on its way up, and turns to you.

"i'd say the bet is settled, no?"

there you have it folks :D

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Range Rover British Trans-Americas Expedition, 1971. Two original series Range Rovers were supplied by BLMC's Specialist Division for the British Trans-Americas Expedition from Anchorage, Alaska to Tierra del Fuego between December 1971 and August 1972. The expedition was led by John Blashford-Snell. Both vehicles were the LHD Swiss market specification and were modified by Rover with roof racks, bridging ladders, capstan winches, double front bumper, off-road tyres, single rear seat and stowage for vast amounts of equipment, spares and supplies.

[vicsbasement]

So, @azealiax asked for an explanation about the Monza incident (and then Singapore) in Charlos lore. I'm trying to rack my brain with all of it, and I'll just bullet point the important parts of it. If anyone needs to add anything feel free to reblog this and correct me if I'm wrong. I'm going to be talking about how the press took that Monza podium but I can't recall where the bad press came from (I think it was british) so if anyone else needs to add anything, you're free to do so!

Carlos did pole. It was amazing and the Tifosi were roaring with excitement.

During the race, Carlos' car ate the tyres because he was defending from Checo. (Who ended up passing him and he got stuck with P3) (Max P1, Checo P2, Carlos P3, Charles P4)

Ferrari pitted Charles near the end of the race, giving him priority over the pole-sitter (Carlos) which rubbed many people the wrong way (at least Carlos' fans were miffed about it)

Since Charles had better and newer rubber, he took the fight to Carlos near the end of the race.

The fighting on track was on the limit, and they almost collided a few times, but, to be honest, it was an amazing fight and at least Charles sounded like he was having a lot of fun fighting Carlos.

Carlos defended beautifully but his tyres were gone by the middle point of the fight. So he asked for team orders, which Ferrari ignored and just said "fight but no risk" (basically don't take each other out pls but let's give tifosi a show)

Carlos kept defending until the end and remained on P3, so basically he earned that podium bc he fought for it really hard.

Some announcers (and some press) said that Ferrari put the wrong car on that podium. (Implying Carlos didn't deserve it but Charles did)

Some fans (Carlos') took that fight really badly. And so did Carlos' mother, who liked a tweet about Charles having no honor.

Charles cheekily responded liking a tweet from a fan that posted a picture of his win at Monza 2019 with the caption "honor"

Still, when he got out of the car, Charles looked elated. Like, he'd never behaved like that. He was so happy, playing around, teasing Fred, answering questions about the fight and saying he had done it for the tifosi to give them a little bit of a show.

Carlos was rattled, of course, but he seemed to be fine by the end of the race and happy to had fought Charles on the limit. They both gave similar replies to the press, that it was a fun fight, on the limit, and they were never at any point near collision (which didn't seem like it from the espectator point of view but you do you, boo)

Monza is basically a Ferrari ground, so to see a Ferrari driver on the podium was mayhem. They chanted Carlos' name the entire time and were pretty damn happy about Carlos' P3 (even though some Charles-solo-stans made it seem like they weren't happy about Carlos getting that P3, but we have video proof that they were damn near about to drown out everything from the podium that didn't have anything to do with Carlos with their screams and their chants. They even chanted Carlos' name during the national anthems and drowned them out so much that the TV people had to mute the microphones to keep that from feeding into the streams)

As an add-on, Carlos' birthday was around this weekend.

The thing is that well, the whole bad press-Carlos' mom-fans reaction thing kind of rubed off on the drivers. There was some unmistakeable tension between them the week after this race. So much so, that, during the fan forum the week after (Singapore), someone had asked about liking your teammate (with the mortal enemies Esteban and Pierre right next to them) and Carlos replied that he really did like his teammate, with Charles looking visibly relieved. Of course this is mere speculation on their body language, but it was... iffy. To say the least.

Then comes Singapore. And this is the run-down of what happened:

Carlos gets pole position again

Charles decides to help defend him from Russell who was P2 (it was his own idea, nothing to do with Ferrari strategy at all) and he starts the race on soft tyres. Charles was P3, and he overtook George, getting P2 early on the race.

Max starts the race along the back because he got screwed over during Q2 I think, but the fact is, he started the race P11.

Checo started P13 and had contact with Yuki.

There was a yellow flag in which the Red Bulls didn't pit, so they had older hard tyres which made them vulnerable to the Mercedes.

The Red Bulls were able to reclaim P5 (Max) and P8 (Checo) during the race.

Charles had a fumble in the pits and was passed by the Mercedes (he was P3 and dropped to P5 because of it)

Lando managed to pass everyone and he found himself in P2

At the end of the race, Carlos decided to use a DRS strategy to keep Lando on his tail to defend himself from the Mercedes drivers, who had newer tyres. This way, Lando had to defend his position thus defending Carlos' P1 in the process.

Whenever he'd get too far ahead Lando he'd drop a few seconds time and got closer again.

Final lap: Russell clips the wall and crashes so Hamilton overtakes him.

Carlos led the entirety of the race and showed a brilliant mind and strategy defending with Norris.

It was his second ever win after the British GP in 2022

This was the only race not won by Red Bull the whole year

Fan speculation (based on a very ridiculous comment from Russell, I'm guessing after he saw Charles was on soft tyres) led everyone to believe that "Ferrari had sacrificed Leclerc". The fact is, he had a fumble in the pits and lost his P2 to Norris at some point, so he stayed behind. In any case, he seemed okay with Carlos' win, they even hugged after the race and it was actually a very cute interaction. He was, understandibly, angry that the pit timing had cost him a P2, so people were just talking about him being angry after losing to his teammate two races in a row.

You just have to take into account that some fans like to pit them against each other constantly, but they've never had any public falling out or anything that could lead anyone to believe there's bad blood between them.

In any case, this was Monza and Singapore 2023. As I said if anyone needs to add anything else from the charlos lore archives, feel free to do so.

[quartz-crow]

The Ranger (Reader x Halsin)

Modern AU! Reader x Halsin (BG3) Stranded in the middle of a dark, icy forest with nothing but a broken-down car and a dwindling phone battery, you find yourself fighting off panic and the biting cold. Just when you begin to lose hope, a giant, rugged stranger offers unexpected help. Updates to come soon! Added notes: Sorry I've been absent for way too long... Life stuff - but hey, I'm back into writing and I've got so much planned 🌿

Chapter 1

“Fuck.”. You grit your teeth as you feel your car slowly come to a trudging stop. The wind howls around you, battering the already loose car windows, creating a dreadful noise beside your head. Thankfully, your headlights remain on, but you know all too well they won’t last long with your car’s faulty battery. "Fucking piece of shit." You grumble as you reach for your coat in the passenger seat and wrap it tightly around your body. Of course—of course, this happens to me.

The stress of the day lingers, refusing to let you find peace. You had spent the last few hours walking around the forest—your chosen escape after a stressful day at work. The smell of pine and the sight of the sunset had certainly helped ease your worries… for a while. But now, as the forest's tranquillity turned into an icy, dark nightmare, you feel the blood rising to your ears once more.

As you opened the car door, the howling wind slapped you across the face. You could feel the temperature dropping rapidly. “This is dangerous” you murmured as you looked up at the last bit of light as it disappeared behind the skyline. The tall pine trees surrounding you seemed to scream as the wind whisked through their sharp branches. The darkness was almost palpable, and gods - you could feel its oppressive weight pressing down on you. After fighting against your frozen fingers, you fumbled with your phone for a few seconds, before finally managing to turn on the flashlight. To your annoyance, the weak beam of light did little to cut through the darkness…. but it was all you had. You trudged towards your car’s bonnet, every step a struggle against the biting wind.

Mechanics were never your strong suit. Hell, they weren't even your weak suit - whatever that meant… you swear the cold was making you go delirious. Racking your brain, you tried to remember a single piece of useful information from your last MOT. The frustration builds, each second feeling like an eternity as it dawns on you… Almost choking back tears, you realised just how ill-prepared you were for this situation.

Your breath shot out in quick, visible puffs, mingling with the cold air. Popping the hood open, you peered inside - but it was hard to make out anything with the flashlight's beam wavering with your shaking hand. Everything looked like a tangled mess of metal and wires to you. They may as well have been organs, or wet spaghetti for that matter. Despite trying to remain hopeful, you truly had no idea what you were looking at, let alone how to fix it. The sense of helplessness grows, feeding your frustration. The cold seeps quickly into your bones now, and you couldn’t help but curse under your breath. Your phone’s battery was draining alarmingly fast, the flashlight dimming slightly. Panic started to rise in your throat. There’s no one around, no help in sight, just you and your broken car in the middle of nowhere.

In a moment of blind range - you kicked the tyre, but it only caused pain to shoot up your leg… which only added to your aggravation of course. “Fuck!” you yell into the night, the wind swallowing your voice. Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm yourself. You knew that you needed to think clearly if you had any chance of getting help - but the cold and the dark grew relentless, gnawing at your resolve. You closed the bonnet, resigning yourself to the fact that there’s no way that you’re going to fix the car here and now. Where you stood with your broken car, deep in the forest, you quickly decided that your only option was to get back in your car… and just hope you didn’t freeze to death.

Wrapping your coat tighter around yourself, you quickly climbed back in your car. Although the car itself wasn’t warm at all, the break from the relentless winds made you sigh in relief. You checked your phone again and what you saw on the screen made your heart drop - your phone only had 2% left. With a slight whelp, you threw your phone into the glove box and slammed it shut. You promised yourself then that, even though you had no signal, your phone was strictly for emergency use only.

The darkness outside was thick, oppressive, and the usual comfort you found in the wild was replaced by an uneasy feeling that crawled up your spine. The forest that night felt different, sinister almost, and the thought of stepping back out into the cold, black void was terrifying. You tried to calm your racing heart, reminding yourself that you loved nature, that you had come here to relax… But the rational part of your mind was losing the battle against the primal fear of the dark. You shakily reclined the seat, hoping to get some rest until morning. The wind howled around you, making the car creak and groan as if it were alive. You wrapped your coat tighter and closed your eyes, trying to block out the eerie sounds of the night. Sleep, however, escaped you. Every rustle of the leaves, every snap of a twig, made your heart jump.

Minutes felt like hours as you lay there, eyes shut tight, trying to will yourself into a state of calm. The cold seeped through your coat, making you shiver uncontrollably. Your breath came in short, shallow bursts, and you could feel the beginnings of a panic attack creeping in. The darkness seemed to press down on you, making it hard to breathe… and to think. Then, in the distance, you saw it. Headlights, faint at first but growing steadily brighter, cutting through the blackness like a knife. Your heart skipped a beat and then began to race. Someone was coming. Someone or something. The forest, which had felt deserted and empty, now seemed to close in on you, each shadow hiding unknown threats.

You sat up quickly, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The headlights grew closer, the beam illuminating the trees and casting long, sinister shadows. Panic surged through you. What if it wasn’t someone here to help? What if it was someone dangerous? Your mind raced with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. You fumbled in the glove box for your phone, hands shaking - but you stopped yourself. If this wasn’t an emergency, you didn’t know what was, but you couldn’t waste the battery now. Not yet. You needed to see who it was first, you needed to be sure.

You could barely breathe. You felt trapped, the dark, cold forest on one side and an unknown threat on the other. The panic clawed at your chest, your vision narrowing as you struggled to stay calm. The car slowed as it neared yours, its headlights glaring, blinding you momentarily. You shielded your eyes, heart hammering in your chest. This was it. The moment of truth. You watched as a large, no, huge figure climbed out of the 4x4’s driver door. The man walked slowly towards you… And then you realised - he had an axe, or at least something axe-like, in his hand.

You screamed as your whole body shook violently. Despite the howling wind, you heard his heavy footsteps come closer and closer. Your vision began to close in on you - and before you knew it, everything went quiet.

[thap1nkblog]

[★] ᵈᵒʷⁿˡᵒᵃᵈ ᶠⁱⁿⁱˢʰᵉᵈ!

FILE PATH ↬ THAP1NKBL0G ↬ MASTERLIST ↬ [＃] P1NKYSH0TS

ᵐᵉᵗᵃᵈᵃᵗᵃ: keith powers [male!oc] x saweetie [female!oc], 18+, third person ᵈᵃᵗᵉ ᵐᵒᵈⁱᶠⁱᵉᵈ: 8/18/22 ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ: 10,937 ᵖ¹ⁿᵏʸ'ˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ: i had an idea of a spinoff/au for one of the books i was writing at the time. i wrote this in 2022, practicing writing in third person. originally posted on wattpad, lol.

❝𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐦𝐫. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧.❞

❝𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐣𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞.❞

The energy tonight was potent, thick with the seductive, sensual energy that filled the club. Blue and silver confetti, and green dollar bills rained from the sky, covering the floor while lights flashed across the club, bathing everybody in hues of blue, while the crowd swayed unpredictably like a tsunami wave. It was fierce, tugging at you as you entered, beckoning to rope you into the cesspool of sexual tension and lust that was only fueled by constantly flowing drinks, given to patrons by scantily clad bottle girls who rushed from table to table with big bottles of various alcohols, while dancers dressed in next to nothing, and even nothing at all, spun about the poles on the main stage, luring men in just like a siren’s song. 

This kind of activity wasn’t unusual for Club Crystal - but tonight was different. To those tucked away in the comfort of their homes, eyes shut peacefully away from Atlanta’s fast-paced nightlife, it was any regular Friday.  It was the end of a long work week, and the start of a shorter weekend filled with relaxing and running errands. But depending on who you asked, tonight as a special occasion, one for the history books, a complete blowout. 

Tonight was 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐥. 

Not to be confused with any fairytale, it was the fifth anniversary of the day Club Crystal officially opened its doors to the public. The Crystal Ball wasn’t just any regular Atlanta event - each year, it got bigger and better, and each year, the theatrics doubled, tripled in size. Beyond the double doors of Atlanta’s newest strip club, right on the old soil where Follies once stood, cars were doing burnouts in the parking lot, and if you paid a pretty penny, you could get what they called “A Crystal Flush” - where you and your car could come out squeaky clean - if you held onto your morals and dignity once you made it out on the other side. If you made it out on the other side. 

And in the middle of it all, surrounded by the smoke, reverberated, bass boosted music and buzzing, energizing sensation that seemed to drip and ooze from the four walls of the club was 𝐓𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧. 

And the friends that had dragged him along tonight. 

“Ooh, I love this shit!”

Sipping - or in his brother’s words - babysitting the Don Julio reposado that filled his glass, he slouched back against the couch, the black leather supporting his back, giving way for his shoulders to sink in. Terrell was like a kid in a candy store, flinging money over the balcony, the crisp, thin sheets of blue faced, hundred dollar bills slipping through his fingers, raining money down on the people below them. With the force and speed that he kept throwing, Tyree would’ve figured his arm would’ve popped out of socket by now. 

Tyree sighed, checking his phone, looking for any signs of life from his fiancee. It was probably the tenth time he had checked his phone already, and he had nothing to show for the hour that had passed aside from the picture on his lock screen that stared back at him, and wasted time. His battery was dying - his phone and his social battery, but the party around him continued on, his friends blowing through stacks of money without a care in the world. 

From where he was sitting, he could see the hosts for tonight’s event - Future and 21 Savage -  throwing racks of their own, surrounded by an entourage of security guards, who enclosed them like a human cage - dressed in all black and ready to go if something unsavory was to happen. Bottle girls dressed in black glitter leotards slid in between the security guards, bringing over bottle after bottle for Atlanta’s own royalty. 

“Oh my god, nigga she’s not gonna text you back, she’s doing her own shit.” 

RC plopped down next to him, tucking a stack of ones into the front pocket of his olive green Chrome Hearts hoodie. He peeked over Tyree’s shoulder, kissing his teeth at the blank lock screen that illuminated their faces. He attempted to pull the phone from Tyree’s hands, but Tyree tilted his wrist just out of reach from RC’s hands. 

“I’m just checking on her.”

“You in a club full of bad bitches, sitting mere feet from Future, and you worried about Michelle? Damn, Terrell was right.” 

“The fuck you mean Terrell was right, Julius?” 

Tyre scrunched his face up, which only made RC grin, practically from ear to ear. RC leaned in close so Tyree could hear him, the sounds of Future’s Freak Hoe thumping from the speakers, making it hard to hear the person next to you - let alone hear yourself think.  

“That you one pussy whipped motherfucker. You changed, nigga.” 

“I’m not listening to a nigga who’s still out here chasing hoes.” 

“At least I’m having fun. You over here checking your phone like you waiting for some STD results or some shit.” 

“You the last nigga I’m finna let talk to me like that. Didn’t you have the clap? Twice?”

“It was once! And fuck you, I told you that shit because I trusted you, you Ronnie DeVoe looking bitch.”

RC’s not-so subtle British accent rolled off his tongue, his words like daggers, piercing the surface of Tyree’s emotions. Any other time, Tyree would’ve been able to ignore it. But this time was different. He felt different. 

Tonight was supposed to be a night of celebrations, yet Tyree was stuck. Trapped. He was supposed to be happy, yet all he could think about was how time was ticking down for him. He was venturing into unknown territory - the hours counting down, leading up to the inevitable moment where he was no longer a boyfriend, a fiance. He was going to be someone’s husband. Tonight was supposed to be his last hurrah before he had to buckle down and get his mind on straight. Yet, his mind was completely elsewhere. And RC’s playful teasing wasn’t making it any better. RC didn’t know, or maybe he did, but all it did was make Tyree think about what he was walking into. 

Like he wasn’t thinking about it enough, already. 

The hours were counting down, leading up until the moment where he was going to be walking down the aisle, but the more he thought about it, the more the nagging voice in the back of his head picked at him. The more the nerves set in, the more his stomach twisted in knots, and the knot in his chest only grew larger. He didn’t know exactly why he felt like that - I mean it was natural to feel nervous right? To feel like you’d fall to pieces? 

But for some reason, Tyree couldn’t shake that it was a symptom of something bigger. Way bigger than just nerves. Bigger than just “cold feet”. Shit, he was feeling frigid. Like a sheet of ice floating in the Antarctic Ocean. Ice fucking cold. 

And he didn’t want to think about that. 

“Nigga, you still got that damn glass in your hand?” 

Leaving his spot at the balcony, Terrell sat down next to Tyree, the expensive, yet popular scent of Dior’s Sauvage cologne following behind him. Dressed to impress in a white and navy blue designer polo shirt, his brother’s heavily tattooed arms were exposed, his brother’s flashy style only amplified by the gigantic, diamond, two-tone cuban link chain around his neck, and the diamond Rolex watch that reflected the lights that flashed above them. From the moment they walked in, Terrell had all eyes on him, gathering attention from everybody they walked past, his personality and demeanor attracting them like moths to a flame. As bottled girls flooded their section with what seemed like endless rounds of drinks, they made sure to be extra nice to Terrell, his charismatic personality and the money he flashed making them swoon. 

“No, this is my-”

“Oh cut the cap nigga, you been sitting there like one of them bronze ass statues for the past hour.” 

Reaching for a drink glass of his own, Terrell poured himself a drink from the slender, tall bottle of 1942, clinking it against Tyree’s glass. 

“For a nigga who’s getting married, you sure acting like you going to a funeral instead.”

“This just isn’t my kind of scene, and you know that.” 

“So? Michelle ain’t here - the fuck is she finna do? Besides, this is your last blowout, man. You already know Michelle’s gonna keep you locked down once you tie the knot.”

Tyree watched as Terrell brought the glass to his lips, tossing back the liquid in the glass without even a second thought. He didn’t even wince as he placed the cup back down on the round, glass table, amongst all the other bottles of liquor and empty cups and glasses that took up space on the small surface, surrounding an ice bucket that sat in the middle of the table. 

But even though Terrell was putting on a larger than life, excited persona for everybody else, Tyree could see straight through it. It was in the way he was looking at him - worried, confused. Apprehensive. 

But that wasn’t new, especially from Terrell. He had been against Tyree marrying Michelle from the moment he saw the forty-thousand dollar engagement ring on her finger. 

 “I can’t believe you’re getting fucking married.”

And in all honesty - Tyree couldn’t believe he was getting married, either. It wasn’t that he had anything against getting married, no, never. He wasn’t afraid of commitment, shit, he wanted to settle down. He already did all the late night hookups, spending thousands of dollars on women he knew it wouldn’t work out with. He had been the boyfriend, the ex boyfriend, the side nigga, friends with benefits - and he was tired of the drama and mess that had came with it. And in his line of work, you needed a partner to keep your secrets. Someone that you could trust. 

But even with all of that, he never saw himself getting married so soon. It sounded good on paper. Perfect, actually. Something that would be the final puzzle pieces to his life. 

But he was only getting older, and his hand was practically forced due to the revelation that Michelle thought she was pregnant. The two of them had been talking about having kids lately, but he didn’t think she was completely serious. And with the way things were going, a better time for things didn’t seem to be stretching over the horizon for him. This was as good as it was going to get. 

But if you asked Terrell - it was a bunch of bullshit to him. He had always been critical of Michelle, even more so now that she was going to become part of the family. The two of them never really got along in the first place, so it wasn’t surprising to Tyree that Terrell was overly critical of their relationship. Michelle thought Terrell was an asshole, and she wasn’t afraid to tell him what she thought about him - which never failed to start all their arguments. And since Terrell wasn’t one to back down, he’d come in quick with telling her how she was a “stuck up, judgemental, spoon fed -” which by then Tyree would usually step in and break them up. 

“Well believe it, cause it’s happening.” 

Terrell rolled his eyes, nudging Tyree’s arm. 

“Well if you’re gonna leave me by myself, the least you could do is drink. You know how expensive all this shit was?”

“Again, I ain’t ask you to do this.”

“Fuck you. It’s a celebration for you. The least your stone cold ass could do is try to enjoy yourself.”

“I’m sick and tired of hearing y’all niggas’ mouths. Fine, whatever.” 

And with a little extra peer pressure from his brother, Tyree finished the drink in his glass, and gulped down the next shot Terrell had poured for him. He downed the next round of shots they all had prepared when Dominic rejoined the group, covered in glitter and lipgloss. And while Tyree decided against asking what mess he had gotten himself into, RC made a toast. 

 “To Tyree, that nigga is all grown up!”

And as the the dark liquor coursed through his veins, Tyree couldn’t help but find himself sucked into the enticing, sexual ambiance that radiated throughout the club, slowly tugging, perminating on his mental. His friends were right - this was his last night before he had to buckle down and fly straight. They were celebrating him, and who was he to refuse? His brother didn’t do all of this for it to go to waste, and it was all in the name of “celebration”. 

That’s what he was supposed to be doing, right? 

All of his worries and the barrage of thoughts about his upcoming wedding, and the pressure he was feeling seemed to fade away with a few drinks, beautiful bottle girls flooding their section with overpriced bottles of liquor, topped off with sparklers while strippers dressed in hues of pastel blues and white danced against them, money beginning to litter the floor beneath their feet. He could feel the booming, fast paced beats in his chest, the melodic tune of Lil Baby and Gunna’s Never Recover echoing throughout the club as the DJ and patrons below them recited the lyrics on time and without missing a beat. 

“Throw that fucking money! We know y’all got it!”

Turning his attention from the conversation he was having with Dominic, the DJ’s loud voice in his ears announced the next set of dancers on the stage, only catching one of their names before the horns and explosion sounds gave way to the next song in the queue.

“Shit..these bitches ain’t no fucking joke!”

As Dominic threw fistfuls of money with no rhyme or reason, Tyree found his eyes glued to the girls that twirled around the pole, the duo dressed in matching, soft blue monokinis. The strappy, barely there outfits stretched over their curves, the rhinestones that adorned the straps twinkling as the light as they spun around, their bodies gliding around the pole. His eyes followed their movements, bouncing between the two of them as they put him in a trance. Mimi, a beautiful girl with long, blonde hair in layers that framed her face, garnered his attention initially, his eyes catching the vibrant colored floral tattoo on her thigh. 

Money burned a hole in his pocket, the intensity of the flames only getting hotter as the other girl on stage caught his attention, his eyes and head following her movements as she climbed up the top of the pole.  The other girl, with caramel skin and curly, black hair that flowed over her shoulder ascended the pole with ease, the platforms of her heels flickering with white light as she contorted her body around the sleek, silver metal pole. Her hair slightly obstructed her face as she spun around upside down, approaching the bottom of the stage quickly, but stopping short before she hit the floor, dangling upside down. Her precise, but graceful movements were hypnotizing, complemented by the money flying in her direction, and hands reaching out from her from around the stage. 

“Go on, throw it. You know you want to. I know you see something you like.” 

Like a devil on his shoulder, Terrell egged him on, squeezing his shoulders as the two of them watched the mystery girl captivate her audience below. Terrell tossed his own stacks of money towards her, and soon Tyree followed suit, the bills slipping from his fingers, raining down on the people below. First went one thousand, then another, and another, free falling throughout the sky, the four men’s bankrolls blanketing the club like a flurry of rain. It just kept coming, and the more Tyree drank, the more money left his pocket - and he didn’t give a fuck where it was going. 

As far as he was concerned, he had already spent a shitload of money on a wedding - funding six college tuitions wasn’t going to put a dent in his pocket. 

“Aye, Tyree!”

Getting Tyree’s attention was Terrell and RC, who dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. The two of them were well past drunk - well at least RC was anyway, who swayed from side to side like a pendulum, slurring his words. Julius stumbled over his feet as he walked past them, bumping into Tyree on his way to the couch, where he dove face first into the cushions. One of the dancers, who he recognized as Mimi, sat down next to him, propping his face into her lap as she handed him a cup of water. 

“That nigga is done for.”

“You think? Anyways, I got someone I want you to meet.” 

He watched as Terrell waved over a beautiful dark skin girl, dressed in a similar outfit to all the other dancers Tyree had seen running around tonight. Terrell wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and the woman introduced herself as Fancy, whose voice was smooth, and sultry, with a pretty smile to match. Her burgundy red hair complimented her skin tone, and she looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on the Audemars Piguet watch that adorned Tyree’s wrist. It was almost like she was analyzing him, and even though he stood taller than her, she kept consistent eye contact with him. 

“You ready for your dance?”

“Uh, I didn’t order a dance.”

Tyree’s face twisted up in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together. Fancy kissed her teeth, rolling her eyes as she looked between the set of twins, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah you did, remember?”

“I-”

“Well someone paid five stacks for a dance - either of yall finna let that go to waste?” 

Tyree already knew that this was Terrell’s doing, judging by the stupid, slick grin across his face, and the laugh that came from him. It was just like Terrell to set him up like this - he was always getting the two of them in trouble, and this was just another one of the tricks Terrell kept up his sleeves at all times.

“Five?”

“Pocket change, really.”

Terrell shrugged, unbothered that he just spent someone’s down payment on a car in record breaking time. 

Before Tyree had time to object, Terrell was already pushing in the direction of the stairs, Fancy grabbing the front of his white Heron Preston shirt, the fabric pinched between her well manicured index finger and thumb. With Terrell following behind them, Fancy grabbed his hand, leading them through the stuffed crowd of people, packed in together like sardines, nearly taking up all the space and breathing room available. Tyree couldn’t even run if he wanted to - there was nowhere for him to go, and with the firm grip Fancy had on his hand, she definitely wasn’t going to let him get away. Not a chance.

They finally came out on the other side of the crowd at the private rooms, which was a long hallway with a set of doors fixed into the walls on either side. An LED sign hung overhead, reading “The Jewelry Store”, in bright blue, cursive letters, and underneath stood two security guards that blocked the entrance. Dressed in all black, they both stood tall, with their chests puffed out, and stoic, frigid expressions across their faces as their eyes scanned everybody that walked past them. 

One was dressed in a black shirt and vest, with a gun holstered to his hip, while the other had a well detailed scorpion tattooed on his neck, white light that briefly swept over their side of the club allowing Tyree to see the intricate shading and linework of the ink. They looked Tyree, Fancy, and Terrell up and down, giving their sole attention to Fancy who leaned up on her tip-toes to speak to them. 

While they talked, Tyree looked around, feeling a wave of uneasiness wash over him. Sure, he had been in strip clubs before, dragged along because of Terrell, but never had he done anything like this. This spelled out trouble, big trouble, and he knew that if Michelle knew what he was doing, he'd never hear the end of it. 

But deep down, way deep down inside, part of him was curious. Where this curiosity came from, he didn’t know, but it kept him from walking away, keeping his feet firmly planted in place. 

With one last, analyzing, throughout stare before unhooking the gate, the guards gave their approval to the group, one of them joining the walk as Fancy led the way down the hallway, which seemed to stretch on forever to Tyree. The music was much quieter, and subdued in this part of the club, and Tyree could hear their footsteps as Fancy brought them to their destination, her heels clacking against the concrete floor, the shimmery silver tassels on her heels shaking back and forth as she walked. 

“Here you go.”

“What?”

Pushing him towards the door, Tyree went bursting through the door, nearly sent flying into the room by Terrell. 

“Have fun. She won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Terrell-”

Tyree could feel the wind from the door closing against his face as he stood there in complete confusion, reaching for the door before it swung back into the door frame, leaving him alone in the room - or so he thought. 

“First time?” 

Caught off guard from the sudden voice as he stepped further into the room, he spun around, his eyes settling on the large mirror that was fixed to the wall. Standing in front of the mirror was the mystery woman he recognized from the stage, who fluffed out her hair, making eye contact with his reflection in the mirror. She smiled softly at Tyree, unfazed by the baffled expression that had washed over his face, trying to process what had just happened. 

“Yes? Wait - no, no!” 

Tyree shook his head, tossing his hands in front of him, unsure of why he was reassuring her, and what he was even reassuring her of in the first place. A soft laugh came from the woman, who gestured for Tyree to take a seat on the couch. Not wanting to be rude, he obliged, slinking into the soft, fabric couch beneath him, watching her step up onto the small stage in front of him. 

Michelle was going to absolutely kill him. 

The thought of Michelle finding out was sobering. How would she find out? He didn’t know, but the mere thought of that kind of confrontation sent his mind reeling. He might be able to get away with going to a strip club - you know, stretch the truth a bit about what he did for his bachelor party when she asked - but there was no way he was going to be able to spin getting a lap dance. She was going to be able to smell the club on him, he just knew it. It was practically undeniable. 

“What’s your name?”

Pulling him from his obsessive thoughts was the mystery woman, who stood leaning against the pole in front of him, her arm wrapped around the metal. He tried his hardest not to look at her, wanting to avoid the reality of his situation. He looked all over the room, grasping for anything, something but the woman standing in the middle of the room to grasp his attention. The plush, gray couch spread out across the wall, simple, black paint covering all four walls. The light above bathed the room in a soft shade of blue, while along the floor was lined with white light strips. 

And no matter where he looked, he could see her out of the corner of his eye, slowly twirling around the pole, her attention locked on him. 

“Tyree.”

Wiping his sweaty hands on the denim fabric of his khaki, Jacquemus jeans, he accepted his fate, looking at her. She smiled at him again, Tyree subconsciously taking note of her warm, inviting smile, and her sweet, calming voice. 

He didn’t know why he gave her his name, but then again, he didn’t know why he was in this room. He didn’t know why he was here, period. As the alcohol began to catch up to him, his brain was practically screaming at him to get up, to leave, to be anywhere but here, that this situation screamed trouble - yet his feet stayed firmly planted. 

He could feel his nerves peaking, rushing to the top as the room filled with an uncomfortable, awkward tension. The subtle scent of weed and perfume hung heavy in the air, while silence overtook them, neither one of them opting to say anything further. Or rather, Tyree didn’t say anything further. 

Yet, the mystery girl didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she acted like the tension didn’t even exist.  

“So Tyree, how old are you?”

Was this what all the dancers did? Ask for your personal information? What’s next, she would ask what for the last four of his social security number?

“Twenty-seven. You?”

Yet, he still surrendered an answer to her question - Tyree unable to not notice how pretty she was, or rather, a voice in the back of his head acknowledged her it. He tried to ignore the new series of thoughts springing to life in his brain, breaking eye contact with her to reel his focus back in. 

“Twenty-four, but my birthday is in two weeks. I’m a Cancer. What about you?” 

“You believe in that zodiac stuff?”

“Yeah. When’s your birthday?”

She waited patiently for his answer as she twirled about the pole, the flashing white lights in her shoes beckoning for his attention. Even with his back pressed firmly against the couch, he could see the details of her outfit as she moved, giving him a full 360 view of how her outfit clung to her curves, stretching out over his hips, the thong seemingly swallowed between her ass cheeks. He wasn’t supposed to be noticing these details, and he swallowed hard, feeling his throat go dry. 

Just keep talking, Tyree. It’ll be over in no time. 

“August twenty-second.”

As if they weren’t already close enough, stifled by the stuffy, thick, tensioned air between them, she stepped down from the stage, standing in front of him. His heart thumped with each movement she made, his pace quickening as she leaned over, placing his hands on his knees, bringing her face close to his. He felt the smallest of shocks by her unexpected movements, glancing down at her hands. 

He didn’t know how, but her nails were the exact same shade of her outfit, adorned with gems and jewels, twinkling in the overhead light. Her long, manicured nails stretched over her fingers, gently grazing his knees. 

“Of course you’re a Virgo. I bet you’re a real critical person, huh? Always think you know better than everybody else?”

She spoke softly, almost whispering, ending her sentence with the same, nerve inducing smile she kept giving him. He rolled his eyes, knowing that she was right - but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that. 

“But isn’t that everyone?”

“I don’t know, is it?”

The two of them fell silent, but the tension before them had seemed to disappear, melting away in the matter of a few questions. In their silence, Tyree was finally able to get a good look at her, his eyes dropping to her lips, which were covered in a pink, glittery shade of lipgloss that made her plump lips stand out. Body glitter decorated her exposed, honey colored skin, and he noticed the beauty mark on her shoulder. Thoughts about how soft she looked slowly took over his mind, his eyes wandering down to her cleavage, before he realized what he was doing. 

A lurking, ruminating thought in the back of his head kept questioning if she was as soft as she looked, tempting, beckoning him to make the move. He couldn’t shake it loose, the thought holding on for dear life, taunting him as she invaded his personal space - not that he was complaining. That’s all he had to do, right? She wouldn’t mind, right? They were already this close - 

But what about Michelle? 

Michelle - his beautiful fiancee. The one he was about to get married to. The girl of his dreams. His best friend. 

He kept trying to jog his memory of her - visualize her face in his head, yet that all became a distant memory as the woman before him climbed into his lap. His common sense begged him to get up and go - take him as far as his legs could take go, but yet again, his feet stayed firmly planted, another side of Tyree taking over, one that was fully falling into the trance that seemed to be taking hold of him. 

Taking his larger hands in her delicate ones, she placed them on her waist, the voice in the back of his head finally getting its answer. 

She was soft. Real soft. 

And she smells good. Real good. 

But pushing to the forefront of his mind was his fiance, Tyree unable to control the word salad that spilled out of his mouth. 

“I’m getting married in two days.”

He licked his lips nervously, his eyes searching her face for a response. He was sure she had her fair share of men that came through that were in his position. “Celebrating” their marriages by spending their last few moments gawking over other women, as if a ring and some vows were supposed to prevent a wandering eye. Tyree couldn’t help but wonder if that made her think about him differently. He wasn’t sure why he was so concerned about her opinion in the first place, but maybe it wasn’t really about her opinion, as much as it was about his. He couldn’t shake the lingering, overwhelming feeling that he was a bad person. He knew that he didn’t belong here, that this wasn’t his scene, that situations like this only invited drama, like his relationship wasn’t already rocky enough. 

His engagement ring catches his eye, the black, titanium band wrapped around his left ring finger, inset with matching black diamonds. It felt like only yesterday when Michelle and him were picking out rings, yet here he was, with his hand resting against a stranger’s asscheek. One that he only exchanged names with moments ago. 

But if she did have any ill feelings to what Tyree had admitted, he couldn’t tell, judging by her blank, unbothered expression. He half expected her to scold him, to get up and tell him to get his ass out of here, to ask him what the hell he was doing here. But she did none of that.

She just..continued their conversation, not missing a beat, breezing past his announcement like he had just told her that the sky was blue. 

“Marriage is a big commitment,”

She told him as she guided his hands along her body, the pads of his fingers sliding along the curve of her waist as she moved her body to the beat of the music. She maintained eye contact with him, Tyree opting to focus on her almond shaped, dark brown eyes, instead of how smooth her skin felt against his hands. Fuck. 

“You ready for that?” 

“I don’t know, it seems like the right thing to do.”

That was a loaded question - yet it wasn’t one that he hadn’t asked himself a thousand times before. In fact, it was all he thought about recently. In between planning an elaborate wedding, picking out cakes and decorations and finalizing guests lists, the deep seated feeling of reluctance continued to set in. He thought that by now he’d be over it, able to push past it. But as the hours ticked on - the worse he felt. He wasn’t able to shake it off. 

“But is that what you wanna do?” 

But that’s because the feeling wasn’t going anywhere. No matter how bad he wanted it to. No matter how many times he forced himself to smile through fittings for his tuxedo, or the countless times he had looked through venues and talked to planners, and put down all these deposits. The feeling in his chest only continued to grow, threatening to consume him if he didn’t do anything about it. 

And her innocent, well meaning question only answered his worst fears. Planted the seeds of feelings he had buried deep down, had convinced himself that he didn’t mean it. That it was just a phase. 

Dropping his hands to his sides, he sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. He couldn’t hide from the truth anymore, and the fact that he was in this situation confirmed everything. He was drunk, unhappy, and lonely, feeling more connected to the pretty girl sitting in his lap than the girl he had known since they were teenagers. And he was beating himself up for feeling that way. 

Michelle and him were the perfect love story. They were supposed to work out. They were supposed to be together forever, and live happily ever after. 

But he couldn’t fake it any more. Even though he really wanted to. 

But he couldn’t break things off. Not now. It was too late. For fuck’s sake, they were about to get married in less than seventy-two hours! It wouldn’t be the right thing to do. 

But what about how he felt?

That was something he hadn’t given much thought to until she had asked. 

“You know, you’re the first guy I’ve seen who feels bad about it.”

He leaned his head back up, meeting the sad expression on her face. 

“About what?”

His words slurred together, the syllables falling against each other due to the alcohol that washed over him, along with his feelings. It was like a wave crashing against the shore, the feelings he had pushed away, compartmentalized in the depths of his brain were rushing in with full force, ready to wipe out everything in its wake. It oozed out of him, out of his thoughts, dripping from his words. 

“About not being in love with a girl who loves them. Most guys don’t care.” 

“Or does that mean I’m an even worse piece of shit?”

He tilted his head back, feeling tears sting the back of his eyes. Tyree wasn’t one for crying, and he wasn’t about to cry now. Not here. Not now. And damn sure not in front of a stranger - regardless of how sweet she seemed to be. He wasn’t going to be one of those cliche niggas who poured their heart out to a stripper, when they really needed a therapist. Not that he needed a therapist, either.

He felt a gentle hand reach at his face, her fingers caressing the side of his face, gingerly tilting his head back down to make him look at her. 

“You’re not a bad guy, but sometimes you gotta live for yourself. Not for what someone else wants you to do.”

She spoke as if she had been in a position like that before - but the pessimist in Tyree made him wonder if she was being genuine, telling him that her wisdom had only come from the amount of guys who had probably told her the same thing before. She had no real reason to be nice to him - aside for money, yet something was telling him that she meant that for real, and was only trying to empathize with him. But then again, she was getting paid five grand for this “dance”. 

She was getting paid to be nice. 

But he didn’t want to think about that. What was he thinking? He didn’t mean any of that. Of course he loved Michelle. He wouldn’t stick around if he didn’t. If the feelings between them weren’t genuine. If their relationship didn’t mean anything to him. Michelle was the only woman he felt close to, that he could trust with anything. It was just cold feet. Everybody felt that way before they got married, right? 

And to avoid answering that, he did what he knew best.

Deflect. 

“Why are you here? You don’t seem like the kind of girl who would be in a place with this.”

She grinned, like she knew he was only asking about her so that it would take the heat off of himself. She didn’t call him out on it, and he was grateful. He was desperate to talk about anything else. 

“And what kind of girl do you think I am?”

He wasn’t expecting her to flip it back on him, though. 

“I don’t know, I’m just talking-” 

He stammed over her his words, falling flat on his attempt to get out the hot seat.

“I don’t know, you’re just being nicer than you have to be to me.” 

“You must think I’m paying for school or something. That’s what all you guys think, right?”

Tyree shook his head, squirming underneath her, which clearly amused her. She took her teasing a step further, continuing to playfully pick at him.

“You got a fantasy about saving a girl from the club? That turns you on?”

“N-No, I was just-”

She burst into laughter, interrupting his messy explanation, tossing her head back. She swept her hair over her shoulder, almost doubling over with laughter, the sound of her laugh just barely echoing in the room. She was laughing so hard she almost fell out of his lap, Tyree’s hands instinctively pulling her against him before she fell to the floor. The quick motion caused her to grind against the seat of his pants, a jolt of electricity running from his fingertips throughout his body. 

Her laughter stopped almost instantly, a heavy blanket of tension falling over the both of them. It lingered in the air, almost stifling the breaths Tyree took. Did she feel it too?

There was no denying it - he was definitely attracted to her. 

If Tyree wasn’t already in the middle of it - he was definitely approaching the danger zone. And the alarm bells that were firing off in his head were telling him that. Unfortunately, the sound of them was only subdued by the alcohol in his system, the same alcohol that was filling his mind with inappropriate thoughts. Thoughts about the pretty girl in his lap, when he should’ve been thinking about his future wife. 

But the thought of Michelle is so far away with this girl in his face. 

“I’m just a regular stripper,”

She leaned in close, her breath tickling his neck. She spoke in a soft whisper, pressing her body against his, the scent of her vanilla and brown sugar perfume filling his nose, her hand caressing the back of his neck, her fingers dragging along the chain around his neck.  

“But I do think you’re kinda cute.”

Her soft voice against his skin made him twitch in his pants, something deep, deep down within him stirring awake. She guided his hands over her hips and ass, his hands lingering in that position as she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning in close to him. 

The inappropriate thoughts only continued in his mind, this time stepping to the very front, ruminating over the endless possibilities that seemed to race through his mind. She smelled so good, and her skin felt so good, he couldn’t help but hopelessly wonder what if she felt even better. His mind poked and prodded him with suggestive thoughts, fantasies forming in the back of his mind - wondering what she looked like without the outfit. What she sounded like. Even better - what she sounded like saying his name. 

It was just the two of them in this room - they could do anything. They had enough time to do whatever they wanted, and nobody would ever know. Not Terrell, not the security guard, and damn sure not Michelle. It could be their little secret. That wasn’t so bad, right?

Their faces inched closer to one another, Tyree’s breath catching in his chest, while the sexual tension between them bubbled over, approaching a crescendo. Could she feel it too? Or was he just crazy? 

But he’d never get the answer to that question. 

Loud, forceful knocking on the door cut straight through their moment, and she pulled away, Tyree exhaling sharply. 

“Time’s up.”

Tyree felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders when she stood up. His breathing returned to normal, the pressure that was building in his chest seeming to disappear as he snapped out of her trance. When he stood up, he swayed slightly from side to side, trying to gain his bearings. The room was spinning, his head was spinning, and so was his stomach. Why’d he drink so much?

As if she noticed, she took his hand, guiding him out of the room and back down the lengthy hallway. With each wobbly, drunken step he took, he tried to match her decisive, smaller steps. The music was pounding, reverberating through his body, almost like a breath of fresh air from whatever situation he had gotten - or almost got himself into in that room. 

He wandered over to the bar, not noticing that the mystery woman had left his side until his brother appeared in his face, sliding a cup of water in his direction. 

Any other time he might’ve been relieved to see Terrell, but after the shit he pulled, he didn’t even want to look at him. It was like looking into a mirror - a mirror that reflected his fuck ups and bad decisions right back at him, and reflected his own stupidity. Fortunately, it wasn’t like Tyree could see his face clearly, anyways - his head was swirling. Swirling with alcohol induced confusion, beating him up about his even more confused perceptions about Michelle, and his attraction to a scantily clad stranger - who represented temptation thinly veiled behind invasive questions and well intentioned advice. 

He couldn’t believe he actually considered cheating on Michelle. His future wife. The woman he had been with and pined over on and off since he was eighteen. His family. The future mother of his kids. 

Even if it was just a kiss - how far could it have really gone? He wanted to lie to himself, tell himself that he was stronger than that, better than that. He wasn’t a cheater. He didn’t want to throw away his relationship for just a moment of weakness. A moment of pleasure. If he was so strong, why couldn’t he stop replaying that blimp in time? Why couldn’t he ignore that feeling of her breath on his neck, the way her fingers lightly danced across the back of his neck? The way her voice sounded like a melody in his ears? 

What was he doing? What was wrong with him? He was going to marry Michelle and that was it. He was going to fix things. Fly straight and erase this night, and her, from his mind. He loved Michelle. He wanted to be with her - he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her - even though that seemed like a long, fucking time. Then what was the issue? Why was he so hung up on some girl he didn’t even know? He didn’t even know her name!

Because - he didn’t really want to get married. 

Hell, he didn’t want to have kids now. Not where he was at in his life. Not with what he did with his life. He didn’t want to bring a child into this world with the dirt he did. It would be putting too much at risk. 

More importantly, he wasn’t happy. 

“You alright man?”

Terrell shook his shoulders, his face flushing with worry, while the array of lights overhead bathed his face in hues of blue and purple. Tyree weaseled out of his grasp, putting some distance between them, nodding his head. 

“I’m good, I just need some fresh air.”

He doubted Terrell could hear him over the music, but he assumed Terrell got the hint when he didn’t follow him outside. 

Greeting him as he pushed through the set of black, double doors at the entrance was the muggy, humid air of Atlanta’s nightlife. Planes flew overhead in the sky, the stars obstructed from the bright, white and yellow toned lights that decorated nearly every building and street corner around the club. The line outside was still long - people still packing in, hoping to get a taste of the party inside, itching to cross the threshold into endless fantasy. The parking lot was full, folks posted up near their cars, some of them taking pictures while others played dice games or shared liquor from bottles they knew they couldn’t bring inside. 

Overhead was the sign for Club Crystal, the striking bright blue sticking out like an eyesore among the other buildings surrounding them. 

Tyree exhaled, leaning against the wall, pulling out his phone.

It was three fifteen exactly, and the club was scheduled to close in about forty minutes. He was surprised his phone was even still on - the battery on five percent, hanging on by a thread, much like how he was feeling himself at this moment. 

Even fresh air couldn’t shake the feeling Tyree harbored in his chest, his heart beating rhythmically to his breaths as he contemplated his next move.

There was only one move to do, honestly. 

And he was dreading taking the first step. 

In the back of his mind, way deep down - which was inching closer to the front little by little, taking giant leaps - he knew that the dancer was right. You can’t live your life for others. You can’t go along with someone else’s plans just because they love you. It would be selfish of him to continue a life with Michelle that he wasn’t happy with, just because it made her happy. Her happiness meant a lot to him, so why didn’t it make him happy?

But he didn’t want to hurt Michelle. 

And even though she would hate him, he knew she’d hate him even more if he followed through and couldn’t keep up the facade. It would absolutely crush her, and the thought of having to “fake it to make it” was going to crush him too. It was too late to get his deposits back and refunds for everything he had paid for already, but he had the money to not have to worry about that. And even though he’d never get that back, it was never too late to get peace of mind for his decisions and needs. 

Staring down at the text message thread between him and Michelle, his fingers hovered over the keyboard. The last time they had talked was hours ago, right before they went their separate ways for their parties. Cutesy, sugary-sweet exchanges of “I love yous” flooded in between their regular conversations, with Michelle’s last message telling him to have fun, but not too much fun. 

Tyree wasn’t one to be dumbfounded, or just draw blank - but for the first time in a while, he didn’t know what to say. For once, the overworking, clanking and crashing together gears that symbolized his brain were paralyzed, like someone threw a wrench dead center in the middle of it all. 

“You think that wing place will be open?” 

“It’s Friday, it might be.”

“I’d rather have Waffle House - they got them big ass chicken wings at that spot! It be making me feel like I’m really eating an animal.” 

“That’s cause it's..really a chicken, Mimi.” 

“I know, but baby chicks are so cute..I feel so bad for eating their parents.” 

Tyree looked up briefly from his phone as the three women exited through the doors next to him, engrossed in their conversation about what they were looking to eat. Dressed in sweatsuits and carrying stuffed, duffle bags on their shoulders, a security guard came out trailing behind them, escorting them through the parking lot. Tyree recognized two of them as Fancy and Mimi, watching them as the security guard pushed past drunk party-goers who stood outside, hoping to make a move on them, hollering a variety of obscenities. 

Although their faces were relatively familiar, the third woman was who he recognized the most. 

And here she was, approaching him from across the parking lot. 

Separating from her group, she dragged her feet beneath her, adjusting the pink bag on her shoulder. She walked slowly, walking through the line of cars that were trying to get out of the parking lot, and he noticed she kept constantly looking back and forth with almost each step. Almost like she was looking for someone, something. 

Tyree could feel his heart quicken in his chest, and by the time they were face to face, he felt like it was about to jump out of his chest and fall flat onto the ground between them. His hands were clammy, sweating, and he tightened his grip on his phone, finding himself anticipating her words, feeling himself slowly falling into that trance. The temptation. 

“You okay?”

Was all she said, keeping the distance between the two of them. Her demeanor had shifted, and he noticed she looked withdrawn, shrunken into herself, completely different from the woman who seemed to be in control of the situation between them not too long ago. Dressed casually, the black, cropped tank top and brown flared sweatpants were a stark contrast from her previous outfit, having exchanged her tall, platform heels for plain, black Crocs. Her hair framed the soft, beautiful features of her face, her arms and chest sparkling with shimmery, body glitter. 

“I don’t know,” 

He sighed, trying to shake loose the knot forming in his chest. 

He just had to take the first step.

Nothing major, right?

But the first step was always the hardest step. 

“But shit, I will be.”

Sending off a quick message to Michelle, telling her that they needed to talk, he locked his phone and pushed it back into the front pocket of his jeans. He gave his full attention to the woman before him, who tilted his head at him, her eyes analyzing him, seeing the slightest hint of a pitying, sympathetic look tugging at her features. They were quiet, taking each other in, an uneasy, weighted tension inching in between their lack of conversation. 

It was clear she didn’t know what to say, and neither did he, but it seemed like she understood what he meant without him having to explain it further.

She looked over her shoulder, at the black, Dodge Durango where her friends were waiting, hanging out of the window. They had been watching their exchange for the past few minutes, and the driver flashed their lights, signaling for her to hurry things up. She looked back at him, something lingering in her eyes, like she had something to say, but was unable to piece it together. 

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” 

She sighed, adjusting the bag on her shoulder again, looking him over, like she was savoring the moment between them.

“Well good night, Tyree.” 

“Yeah, good night-”

“Yaya.”

He nodded, finally able to put a face to the name. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he didn’t expect it to be so simple. So easy, slipping from her lips smoothly. He found himself repeating it in his mind, bouncing back and forth between the two syllables like a metronome. 

“Good night, Yaya.”

Smiling at him, she spun on her heel, and with a slight bounce in her step and a subtle switch of her hips, she headed back to her friends. 

But something in Tyree wasn’t just going to let her walk away so easily. 

And Yaya only made it halfway across the parking lot before Tyree’s own footsteps trailed behind her, the last bit of liquid courage flushing through his bloodstream. 

“Yaya!”

“Hm?”

She stopped in place, watching as he closed the distance between them. He towered over her smaller frame, and she looked up at him, a ready listener for whatever he decided to say next.

“Can I get your number?”

“Ain’t you finna get married?”

Yaya knitted her eyebrows together, her face scrunching up in disbelief. She crossed her arms over her chest, cocking her head sideways, the stern, stiff look she gave Tyree leaving him to pick up the pieces of the waning courage he once had. He could feel himself sobering up by the second - kicking himself for his forwardness. 

“I uh..”

Rolling her eyes at him, she turned back around, starting to walk away from him. Yet, Tyree followed, calling her name again. 

“It’s Amaiyah.”

“Huh?”

She shook her head, her arms still crossed over her chest. They stood a few feet away from each other, and Tyree could see the security guard that stood at the hood of the car, eyeing him. It was the same security guard from earlier, with the scorpion tattoo. Time was ticking, and if Tyree was going to make a move, he needed to do so sooner rather than later. And judging from the expression written across her face, Tyree’s time was about to run out at any moment. 

“My name. I’m not a stripper twenty-four seven. Call me Amaiyah.”

Uh-mai-yuh. His brain savored it, just like it did with her dancer name. Pretty name for a pretty girl. It suited her. 

“It suits you.”

Come on, Tyree. You got to have something way better than that. 

“Why should I give you my number?”

Amaiyah stepped towards him, Tyree trying to figure out what to say before he was staring down at her face again. 

And he couldn’t come up with shit.

She snickered, knowing she had caught him off guard, staring up into his eyes again. She stared long and hard too, like she was trying to get a clear read on him, debating if he was well worth the risk. And for the first time in a long time, Tyree felt like a high schooler, the look in her eyes reminding him of how a parent would over analyze someone coming over to take their daughter on a date. 

But then her eyes softened, and a wave of relief flushed over him. He passed her checklist. Good. 

She held her hand out, and he didn’t hesitate to slip his unlocked phone into her hand. He watched patiently as typed her number in, adding herself to his short list of contacts. The bright light from his phone reflected in her face, and she locked it back before she handed it to him, pushing it into his hand. 

“Figure your shit out and then come see me again.”

“How am I supposed to know the next time you work?”

The cynic in him told him that it was just a ploy to get him back in the club, back in that cesspool of sexual tension and lust, clouded with free flowing alcoholic drinks. She thought he was a sucker - that she’d get him to spend every last dollar he had on her-

“I work every Wednesday through Saturday,”

She broke his rapid train of thought, bursting the bubble of negative thoughts that tried to balloon up. 

“Don’t text me if you change your mind. I’m not a homewrecker.”

He nodded, listening intently as her subtle accent popped at the end of her words. She sounded like she was from out of town, her accent covered by a thin blanket of that familiar, southern, Atlanta twang. Her face was serious, and her words told him she meant business. 

And Tyree was all about his business. 

With an unspoken understanding between them, and a feminine wave, she turned on her heel, heading back towards her ride. Fancy and Mimi eyed him as Amaiyah climbed into the SUV, and he could hear them teasing her, their voices being drowned out by the low rumble of the engine, the car’s headlights shining against his legs.  

With her number in his phone, and a confident pep in his step, he headed back in the direction of the club. People spilled out from the doors as people filtered in, stumbling over their own feet as they walked. One woman nearly fell to her knees, but caught herself just as a fountain of throw up spilled out from her. Gross.

As people avoided the woman - who had to throw up again - Tyree scanned the crowd for his friends, meeting them halfway as he saw them split off from the people wandering out to their cars. Leading the group was Terrell, with RC and Dominic following close behind, Dominic practically being dragged out by RC, who was holding him up. 

“I was wondering where you went.”

Terrell wrapped his arms around Tyree’s shoulders, the two of them watching RC struggle to help Dominic stand on his own two feet. RC had since sobered up - but Tyree could tell he was still pretty drunk, judging by the way he staggered back and forth. If a relatively strong gust of wind came through, Dominic would’ve ended up right on the ground.

 It wasn’t a surprise to Tyree that Dominic was wasted - that was typically his thing whenever they all went out. Dominic was the only grown ass man he knew that would purposely go past his limit and end up blackout drunk. This was no exception, in fact, the fact that tonight was so special only gave Dominic even more of a reason to get that drunk. 

“Who’s that?”

RC pointed past Tyree, which made Terrell turn his head to look behind his brother. He knew RC was referring to Amaiyah and her friends in the car behind them, and he could still hear the rumble of the car, and see the headlights that shined straight in their direction. Tyree shook his head, waving his question off, keeping the events of tonight close to his chest. It was already tossed in the metaphorical lockbox in his head, wiped clean from the rest of his brain. He played into the facade, however, glancing over his shoulder briefly. 

“I don’t know. Nice car though.”

“Can we get food? I’m fucking starving.” 

Domonic spoke through his slurred speech, the words coming out all at once, sounding like his mouth was filled with water. He groaned as RC shifted his weight, Julius rolling his eyes as he dragged Domonic in the direction of the car. They joined the crowd of people, walking to Terrell’s forest green Lamborghini Urus at the far end of the parking lot. 

Behind them, the Durango eased around them, cutting into the flow of cars that were formed in a line to leave. It rolled to a stop in front of the twins, the Toyota and several other cars behind them beginning to honk as the line halted. Tyree and Terrell exchanged glances, the limousine style window tints reflecting their image right back at them. The driver side window rolled down slowly, revealing the driver to be a brown skin man with face tattoos, an ankh tattooed under his right eye. He looked them up and down before leaning back, Tyree realizing that Fancy was in the passenger seat. She leaned forward across her seat, her eyes locked on Terrell, a smirk stretched across her face. 

“Bye Terrell.” 

A goofy smile danced across Terrell’s face, a smile Tyree had seen one too many times. He didn’t even have to ask to understand the picture being painted in front of him, and he shook his head at his brother’s antics. 

“Bye Fancy..”

With their goodbyes exchanged, the driver rolled the window back up, giving the two of them an acknowledging nod. He sped forward, disregarding the people honking behind him, swerving around a group of people walking across the parking lot. The Durango cut to the front of the line, Tyree watching as it pulled out onto the street, heading in the opposite direction of the club, the crackle of the car’s engine fading out into the distance.

“So,”

Terrell turned to him, a sly grin replacing the smile on his face. He could already tell what he was thinking, and Tyree refused to give into the excited, expectant look in his brother’s eyes. Tyree wasn’t saying a word. What happened tonight was between him, Amaiayah, and what happened in the private room inside Club Crystal. And that’s exactly how he wanted to keep it - private. 

Too bad Terrell was already one step ahead of him. 

“You get her number? Don’t lie to me, nigga.”

Tyree couldn’t fight the smile he had, and Terrell grinned, shaking him back and forth, laughing. And knowing he was caught, Tyree unlocked his phone to show him proof. The screen opened right back up to Amaiyah’s contact information, where she left her name with a pink heart next to it.

“Yeah, I did-”

With newfound confidence and all the cockiness in the world, he handed the phone to Terrell, only for his face to fall flat when Terrell burst out in laughter, practically doubling over onto the ground. 

“What? The fuck are you-”

Snatching the phone back, Tyree looked over the screen, trying to figure out what was so damn funny all of a sudden. Terrell was still laughing, wrapping his arms around his stomach as deep laughs escaped from his chest, ones that left him gasping for air and unable to form a clear sentence. 

Then he saw it - right there - staring back at him, were the nine digits of Amaiyah’s phone number. Not the normal, required ten. 

“Looks like she got you-”

“You got makeup on your shirt.”

Stopping Terrell’s laughter in his tracks, Tyree pointed at the big makeup stain on the front of his shirt. Terrell’s face dropped, pulling at the hem of his shirt, getting a clear look at the well defined makeup stain. He kissed his teeth, sighing harshly, and threw his hands up into the air, Tyree half expecting him to start throwing a tantrum. 

“Fuck, this shirt was Prada!” 

“And now it’s nada.”

“Nigga, fuck you!”

[gayf1hoe]

Part 1

Today is the day. The day I put on the Mercedes race suit. I have reached my dream of being a F1 driver. The feelings that are mustering within me are strange and almost alien to me, whilst I have raced in front of people before in F3 and F2 and felt the mix of anxiety, excitement and eagerness, these feelings seem to be culminating more and more as time passes. Toto approaches me, he has a look of pure anticipation, "M/N" he exclaims with a sense of understanding I need a distraction "How are you feeling" he asks with a genuine tone of concern - however in that moment the interrogative question doesn't resonate with me and I question 'Is this guy for real?' Can't he see how I am?'. Not wanting to cause pandemonium and panic for him before the race I reply with a simple "fine".

Toto guides me towards the garage where my car awaits, whilst there has been a major transition period into F1, it hits me like a kick to the stomach, this is really happening, I am handed my helmet and place it over my head, I climb over into my car, I murmur to myself "stay calm, don't panic" repeatedly, I zone out trying to remember all of the practice runs we have done. I am quickly snatched out my thoughts by:

" And M/N Radio check"

"Yep, copy - all clear"

And then, my car starts, my heart is pulsating more than ever, as I emerge into the pit lane and make my way to the rack to form up in P7 I see a sea of people, the 408,000 people who are at the Silverstone Grand Prix cheering in unison, excited for the first Grand Prix of the season.

I arrive at the track and look to my left and see Lando who is in P6, however my engineer quickly brings me out of my train of thought "OK M/N the rest of the grid has nearly formed up, be ready and focus". The lights go out for the formation lap and all goes well and I am content with myself. Then we are back at the start, however this wait is more agonising than previously. My eyes glued to beaming red lights waiting for them to extinguish, the second they did I felt an instant kick of adrenaline that gave a sense of pure ecstasy.

After completing 32 out of the 52 laps I am sat in P2, I see a beaming red Ferrari in my rear view:

"Who's behind me?" I ask

" M/N that is Leclerc behind you, the gap is 0.7 seconds"

I pedantically accelerate trying to pull away and create a gap , however it is to no avail he, he edges closer and closer we enter turn 3 and he gets way to close and clips me causing me to veer of the track, I manage to get back on track but soon I realise I have damage, I take my pure anger and direct it at the undeserving ears of my engineer and whilst I am known for my furious radio communications, so much so I was known as "The F2 Yuki Tsunoda", not for my height but my rage, I regret my emotions coming through that strong.

"FOR FUCKS SAKE THAT FUCKING DICK HE FUCKING GOT TOO CLOSE AND PUSHED ME OF THE TRACK AND MY FUCKING TYRE IS FUCKED I NEED TO BOX.... PRICK"

Growing up around British engineers clearly was shown by my colourful vocabulary.

"OK M/N Clam down, its OK, so box box"

I box and come back on to the track now I am in P10, miraculously by lap 50 I am sat in P3, I edge my foot on the accelerator more and more trying to close the gap, when I hear "And M/N that is Leclerc ahead, the gap is 0.9 seconds try and keep it clean", it is at this moment I see Charles diving towards Max to try and take P1, I see this as my opportunity to take P1. The two are preoccupied fighting for P1 so much so that they cant see me coming along the left side as we enter turn 18 they stay on the outside whilst I take the inside line, I frantically accelerate when I hear my engineer go "THAT'S P1 KEEP THIS UP AND YOU WILL BE A GRAND PRIX WINNER".

We now enter the final lap of the British Grand Prix and somehow in the midst of all my racing thoughts I still somehow manage to get a glance in my rear view mirror and see Charles still attempting to overtake however as we enter turn 18 and are zooming down the straight my dream becomes a reality.

"M/N YOU ARE A LEGEND YOUR FIRST EVER RACE AND YOUR FIRST EVER GRAND PRIX WIN" My engineer booms down the radio but it is soon reciprocated by me

"HOLY SHIT... DID YOU SEE WHAT WE JUST DID... WE JUST FUCKING WON THE FIRST RACE OF THE SEASON... THANK YOU, THANK YOU SO MUCH", I am in total disbelief and am perplexed at what had just happened as I pull into park at the number 1, I am only too eager to get out of the car that served me so well, I rush over to my team who stand their awaiting me, I jump on my race engineer and Toto and wrap my arms around them, as I hug each member individually, I make my way to the cool down room and see ... him ... Charles Leclerc standing there almost as if he was preempting me entering

[blubushie]

Wolf Creek 2 script... analysis thingo

Warning, this is gonna contain spoilers for the TV series, and the movie, and the books, and what all have you. So read at your own discretion.

Also I'm gonna hang a bit of shit on Greg McLean in this in the typical friendly Aussie ribbing fashion. Yeah yeah I know Aaron Sterns also co-wrote the script, but between Greg, and Aaron (who also co-wrote Origins), and Brett McBean (who co-wrote Desolation Game), the only common denominator between the movies, the telly series, and the books is Greg. So you're the one copping shit, mate.

Also this is gonna be bloody long and will probably take a day or so for me to finish going through, so check the reblogs ay.

I wrote up a whole thing about this and then it got deleted cuz I closed the tab so I'm kinda pissed about that but anyway-

This number is actually closer to 38,000 average per year, but 98% of missing people in Australia are found in the first three months--these are "short term missing persons". Long-term missing persons are much rarer.

Additionally this number is massively skewed. These aren't people just disappearing into the outback. Australian national policy is that ANY MINOR in state care MUST be reported missing when they miss curfew. In 2023, 55,000 people were reported missing. Of them, 37,000 were children, 99% of which were found within one week of being reported as missing. This means that 67% of missing Australians are missing children found within a week.

I'm only mentioning this because I'm a former missing Australian child, and I think these statistics being included in the title sequences is funny given how they're taken so out of context. Ooooo spooky scary outback serial killer? Nah just teenagers going AWOL.

Model confirmation.

Greg does this often--spells shit incorrectly (usually with American spelling). It's tyres, mate. Fucken Melbu- [I am taken out back and shot like a lame horse]

Taking a moment away from hanging shit on M-lburnians to praise Greg for his prose. Genuinely--I love the prose in this script and how skilled he is at getting the image in his head across to his actors to replicate.

-1 for not calling it a gunbox. But +1 for being Like That about the knife.

The feigned innocence gets me. (I mean, to be fair, he IS innocent here of what they're about to drag him about--just ignore the dead chick in the meatlocker in the back of the rig.)

It's arse, you git. We aren't Americans.

I just wanna giggle about this because a lot of time when people picture sociopaths in media, it's "wanton disrespect for the law". Which really isn't the case. It's more "respectful of the law so long as it suits us" and Mick reflects this. He knows wanton disrespect of it would draw attention. Bloke's careful.

Also Greg spelt "arsed" here properly. So he knows.

Had a perfect opportunity to introduce international audiences to "bogan" and blew it. Shame, Greg. Shame.

This would've been the FIRST thing out of a cop's mouth when they rapped the window, not waffling beforehand.

[tap tap, motioning to roll the window down] "G'arvo, licence, registration, proof of insurance." Followed by noticing the rifle racked on the window and "Licence for that too. You have any other weapons?" and THEN they start checking your shit.

Sauce have been pulled over by police a few times, usually for a blow in the bag. (I am also careful.)

I didn't get to see what darts he smokes and I'm gonna whinge about this forever. I bet it's Winfields. Fucken bet. Bloke's smoke.

That escalated quickly. (Greg's edge is showing.) Also they'd have asked about the rifle a LOT sooner.

"An evil not quite human." Iunno maybe this is just the disorders in me speaking but after that shit I'd fucken shoot 'em too. That's very human actually I reckon.

Also at one point in this scene Greg calls a windscreen "windshield". There's something in M-lbourne's water. I'm not gonna keep screencapping mistakes like that but I will keep bitching about them. He misspells "metres" too as "meters".

I'm glad we have this moment in the show, when he tells the Kiwi--forget his name, soz mate--to dig. And then starts monologuing to him about how much he hates Kiwis (funny callback to Cutter from Origins--aw, Mick, look who still holds a grudge). But I'll be arsed if this isn't a great sequence, and I'm slightly bummed we didn't get it.

[im-not-batman]

ummmmm, Ronance cars AU??? (I am so intrigued)

This one is so silly i love it! It's exactly what it says on the tin. I havent got anything coherent written for it but i have bullet points and lots of notes. So here you go! I apologise in advance, i write these usually when im high or jacked up on inspiration so theyre always a bit chaotic lmao

Crack treated dead seriously - based on art by @logicallyserial (i think their art is steddie though, and i coopted it for ronance purposes)

~Robin is a famous F1/Nascar/Stock racer who is driving cross country because she wanted to drive her super fancy car instead of getting a plane. She is speeding and then her tyre pops on a stone or something and she loses control of the car crashing into smthn and is stranded in Radiator Springs (Hawkins).

~Steve is Mater and fixes the car up

~Dustin has to be there like, legally , but idfk who he'd beeeee

~Joyce is Doc because bad bitch etc etc

~Hop is the Sheriff (sidenote are there Doc Hudson x Sherriff shippers out there??)

~Nancy is Sally obv - she runs the motel in town with her family but Nancy is the one usually working. Things play out like in the animated masterpiece Cars (2003), Nancy convinces Joyce that Robin should pay to fix the road or at least do some community service. She ends up thirsting over sweaty road worker robin because lbr who wouldnt.

~ stobin bonding moments! (Is cow tipping a thing people actually do?? Ask Crispy) steve teaches robin to drive backwards like in the animated masterpiece Cars (2003)

~Robin's big race is against Henry/vecna/one – who is all gross and sexist about her being the first woman since the sport became co-ed – and Eddie who is an ex champion, is super lobely but wants to retire because he's racking up injuries.

~Will is Ramon

~I guess that makes Mike Flo even though I will NOt write Byler

~Argyle is obviously the stoner Camper so Jon is the Army guy?

~ Lucas is Luigi!!! Max is the forklift guy I canny remember his name!!!! Gordo??

~EL IS RED EL IS RED EL IS RED

~ In the end everyone comes to Robin's big race à la the animated masterpiece Cars (2003) and Robin makes her base camp Hawkins for the rest of her career, she and Nancy fall in LOOoooOove etc etc

(mayhaps some circumstantial steddie towards the end. Robin tells Eddie that Hawkins is a pretty cute town to retire in if you ignore most of it lol. Eddie is intrigued and visits, meets hot mechanic steve)

Send me an ask with which of my WIPs from This Post you wanna hear about!

[edeckonline]

The logistics and storage industries consider portable racks to be invaluable. Because they can be stacked and are made of sturdy materials, they are ideal for usage in commercial settings like warehouses and supermarkets. Read more...

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Safari GT-R, 1990 (2024), by Adam LZ. The YouTuber has taken an R32 generation Skyline GT-R and given it a custom suspension lift, off-road modifications and an upgraded powertrain. In addition to the long travel suspension there are Nitto Nomad Grappler tyres (215/65R17) and 17-inch wheels. The Nismo-branded roof rack and integrated lights have been cut into the Skyline's roof while there's a custom bash bar with extra lights at the front. The RB26 24 valve DOHC straight 6 has been enhanced with a Garrett GTX3576 Gen 2 turbocharger and a tweaked ECU by Monster Performance to produced 500hp

watch a video here

[diabolus1exmachina]

Aston Martin One-77 (property — before being seized by Swiss authorities — of the son of the leader of one of the most corrupt governments in Central Africa)

In keeping with its tradition of producing limited edition, hand crafted exotica for the wealthy aficionado, best exemplified by the DB4 GT Zagato of the 1960s, Aston Martin previewed its proposed One-77 'hypercar' at the 2008 Paris Motor Show. 'The finished One-77 made its official debut in April 2009 at the Concorso d'Eleganza Ville d'Este, held on the shores of Lake Como in Italy, winning the 'Award for Concept Cars and Prototypes'. Designed by Marek Reichman, it was the fastest and most powerful Aston Martin ever built, with a top speed of 220mph, and also the most expensive, carrying a price tag of £1,150,000. Hailed by its maker as "possibly the world's most desirable automotive art form", the One-77 with its long bonnet and short tail was every inch the classically proportioned Gran Turismo, combing muscular pugnacity and feline grace in equal measure. A two-seater closed coupé, the One-77 featured advanced technology in the form of an immensely rigid and lightweight carbon fibre monocoque chassis, which carried a seamless body traditionally handcrafted in aluminium. Made from a single sheet of aluminium, each front wing was said to take one craftsman three weeks to produce.  Other state-of-the-art features included bi-xenon headlamps with integrated LED side lights and direction indicators, LED rear lamps (fog and reverse), carbon fibre front splitters, carbon fibre rear diffuser, and active aerodynamics with deployable spoiler. Providing the horsepower needed to breach the magic 200mph barrier was a stretched (to 7.3 litres) version of Aston Martin's existing 48-valve V12 engine. Extensively reworked by Cosworth Engineering, it produced 750bhp and 553lb/ft of torque, and was the world's most powerful normally aspirated road-car engine at the time of the One-77's introduction. Cosworth's extensive re-engineering included fitting dry-sump lubrication, which enabled the V12 to be carried 100mm lower in the One-77's chassis than in that of the DB9. Like the V8 in the One-77's Vantage sister car, the V12 engine was mounted towards the centre of the chassis, well aft of the front axle line in the interests of optimum weight distribution, to which end the six-speed automatic/manual transmission was located at the rear in the form of an integrated transaxle. Power was transmitted to the limited-slip differential by a carbon fibre prop shaft encased in a magnesium alloy torque tube, reaching the road surface via 20" forged alloy wheels - 7-spoke or 10-spoke - shod with Pirelli P Zero Corsa tyres.

Unusually for a road car, the One-77's all-independent suspension featured pushrod actuation of the adjustable mono-tube dampers, a system more commonly found in modern competition cars. There were double wishbones at all four corners: the front incorporating anti-dive geometry, and the rear anti-squat and anti-lift. The suspension was also electrically adjustable for both ride height and rate change.

The rack and pinion was power assisted, delivering 3.0 turns lock-to-lock, while the steering column was adjustable for both tilt and reach. Braking was supplied by carbon ceramic discs all round, gripped by six-piston callipers at the front, four-piston callipers at the rear. Dynamic Stability Control (DSC), Anti-lock Braking System (ABS), Electronic Brakeforce Distribution (EBD), Emergency Brake Assist (EBA), and traction control were all incorporated in the interests of controllability and safety. Releasing the driver's door, which swings out and arcs upwards, the One-77's fortunate owner would be confronted by a leather-trimmed sports steering wheel, electrically adjustable lightweight memory seats, and dual-stage driver/passenger front airbags. Other interior features included automatic temperature control, a trip computer, and touch-sensitive map-reading LED lights. Powerfold exterior memory mirrors came as standard, while front/rear parking cameras were an option. Number '35' of the 77 built, this EU model has a legend engraved on the door sill stating that it was 'Hand built in England for Theodore N'Guema Obiang Mangue'. Finished in red with red-piped cream interior, the car is offered with Equatorial Guinea registration papers.

[suzie-shooter]

Barcelona 2023 F2 Feature Race - James Blair commentary highlights (I'd completely forgotten I was halfway through this one, but I guess better late than never, so...)

Obviously the boys both racing abroad today, so just my sole self.

Getting a replay of Novalak's outrageous move round the outside at T1 yesterday, how good was that.

I'll try and make a bit more of an effort to be educational today rather than just talk about myself, but if we do get a few dull moments then we'll delve into some shenanigans.

Somebody's first time watching F2 apparently. Well, you're in the right place because the way I commentate it may as well be my first time watching F2 as well.

[Clem]'s feeling pretty confident actually, after his exploits yesterday, so that's good, that's good, we like that from Clemogio.

Somebody's father still hasn't realised that this isn't the real commentary which is quite funny. Probably has now.

Also - I'll note a shot of tequila - today we will get some tyre deg playing a big factor in how this shit turns out.

And Novalak's had a fucking nightmare of a start, he's in P21 [...] this isn't looking good folks, this is looking sub-optimal, to put it lightly, and it looks like it's probably the case that Hadjar's come together with Clem [...] yep, puncture by Hadjar, 'bravo' is the word from Novalak, so there'll be some sore arses there I'm sure. Well that's a fucker, team, no two ways about it.

Juan is jetting straight to Le Mans at the conclusion of this race, to get in the car and do a session in the LMP2 for Prema.

So Clem is 59 seconds off the back of the PHM cars...it's going to be a long afternoon.

'Tell us about Monaco' - yeah, I'll need to rack my brain on that one, see if I can think of some stories that no-one's going to be upset with me for telling.

Basically we ended up - Marcus was a bit of a hero, he hooked up a connection with somebody who runs a company called - actually I won't drop them in it - runs a company that does sort of lots of VIP entertainment, all that kind of stuff and the contact reached out to me and was like can you get some drivers to come on our yacht? And I went - sure. And so - that's the short version of the story. And so I was a bit confused, because I was thinking well right, you know, if you've got a yacht why do you want like me and my degenerate mates to show up and entertain people?

I realised quite quickly that all of the other drivers were probably resting and chilling out and I was in a rare position of knowing the right people who don't do that sort of thing on a race weekend.

Massive amounts of imposter syndrome, I had absolutely no right to be on a superyacht watching the Moncao grand prix but when these things come up you've just got to...take them with both hands, be happy it happened.

Armstrong got in trouble for that last year, spinning the wheels up on the stand. He actually basically ripped one of his Hitech mechanic's hands off. Don't know if I'm allowed to talk about this...he couldn't work for like nine months. Not off, it didn't like come off, he like broke a lot of bones in the guy's hand, it was grim. Poor guy couldn't work for fucking months, don't know why I'm laughing. I think Marcus bought him more than a few cases of beer after that.

Richard Verschoor is very tall. I think he's just a touch taller than me.

That was reminiscent of Marcus Armstrong at Monza last year, pitzilla we called that incident, where he broke about 7 different rules within the space of - 14 seconds? If that. I think you're meant to go through at 80 kilometers an hour and he crossed the stripe at something like 137. Oh, I love that child.

He's really going to take his trousers down and flop it on the table here for want of a better expression, Ollie Bearman.

Time penalty there for Isaac Hadjar for that Frenchman on Frenchman action that we didn't get to see on lap 1.

It's a Formula 2 feature race win, nobody said that they come easy. Armstrong tried for three years and couldn't make it work...He should have been pole yesterday, I was fucking furious about that.

I can't do prime/option I get confused [...] give me hard or soft! That's what she said.

Doohan has made a move on the Porch chair.

Someone else who's not having a good time is Clement Novalak. God, he's going to get so steamed tonight.

There's whispers of a cold wind blowing into London carrying a certain Mr Marcus Armstrong in the next couple of days after Detroit.

The chat predominantly on the upswing for Dennis Hauger aka Patrick Swayze and hey look fair enough he's a hot dude but an honourable mention at least for Victor Martins, I mean he's pretty hot.

Patrick Swayze almost sort of flirting with the back end of Cordeel there.

What else happened in Monaco? I met Mitch Evans. Made a dick of myself. I got so drunk, I got so drunk on Friday night and I actually kind've spooked myself [...] I was drinking rose on the pier next to the F2 paddock, having a wonderful time - and then I woke up in Menton feeling like I'd been shot.

There's a joke there to be made and strung together I'm sure - Scooby Dooby Doohan - there you go, that's what it is.

[Ollie Bearman] treating those tyres how he would like to be treated.

And [Hadjar's] no stranger to being a pain in the arse.

Get that in your smoothie, see how it changes the flavour. To continue that analysis it could get juicy between those two.

Clem's having just a good a race as Jak Crawford from a mathematical point of view. That's a really positive way to look at it. Maybe an overly positive.

Ferrari's got to really be starting to get a bit of a boner about Ollie Bearman, I know I am.

As Clement Novalak pumps in the fastest lap of the race! Have that on your tapas menu you son of a bitch, how good!

And it's gonna be Clemogio who's going to get Hadjar at the line for a fine how do you do, eat that you fuckin' [mouths cunt]

And also, I will say, a thoroughly thoroughly nice bloke, Enzo Fittipaldi, I've had a couple of chats with him, he is a really really really nice guy.

We were talking about boners earlier on in the stream there and Mercedes is really going to have start getting a little bit stiffer about Frederik Vesti.

[about driver celebrations] I always said this to Armstrong but unfortunately he doesn't win often enough.

And also a shout for Victor Martins who bounced back after his disappointment last week. Also a thoroughly nice bloke, I spent a bit of time with him in Clement Novalak's hotel room after the Australian grand prix, that's not as weird as it sounds.

In the meantime I'm going to enjoy watching the podium celebrations and probably cry emotionally on the floor watching Bearman take his trophy.

[jabbubab]

Broke: Alex Albon is superb at tyre management and can make them go further

Woke: Alex Albon is so racked with millennial social anxiety he doesn't want to inconvenience his pit crew and also doesn't want to complain about his tyres being shit in case he upsets anyone