#carbon fiber winding

[yqxpolymer]

High Toughness Epoxy Resin 9821A/B for Carbon Fiber High-pressure Gas Cylinders

launched 9821A/B high-toughness epoxy resin for winding molding. This product is a two-component epoxy resin system with the characteristics of moderate viscosity, long pot life and good operability. Its cast body has excellent mechanical properties, high elongation at break and good impact resistance.

9821A/B epoxy resin has excellent wettability to both carbon fiber and glass fiber, and is suitable for the production of high-toughness composite products wound with various types of fibers, such as carbon fiber high-pressure gas cylinders.

Carbon fiber composite high-pressure gas cylinders are made of carbon fiber materials and epoxy resin bodies through winding and high-temperature curing processes. Compared with metal gas cylinders, the carbon fiber material itself has better performance.

What are the advantages of high-pressure gas cylinders made of carbon fiber compared with metal gas cylinders?

Carbon fiber itself is lighter than aluminum, only about 1/4 of steel. Therefore, carbon fiber high-pressure gas cylinders weigh about 50% less than metal gas cylinders of the same volume, making them lighter to use.

The carbon fiber material itself has high strength and the compressive strength can reach more than 3000mpa, which can fully ensure the pressure stability of the carbon fiber high-pressure gas cylinder, making it safer and more reliable.

Carbon fiber high-pressure gas cylinders have excellent corrosion resistance and are resistant to acid, alkali, salt and atmospheric corrosion, making them safer to use.

During the processing of carbon fiber high-pressure gas cylinders, the carbon fiber winding process is mostly used. Under the action of tension, the carbon fiber bundles are impregnated with epoxy resin and continuously wrapped around the rotating mandrel, gradually forming a cylindrical structure. Most of the winding processes used are wet winding, in which the carbon fiber bundles are first processed in a specific dipping device, then directly wound onto the mandrel under tension control, and finally formed through curing and other processes.

The most commonly used wet winding method in the carbon fiber winding molding process has lower cost and good craftsmanship. Wet winding equipment mainly includes fiber frame, tension control equipment, dipping tank, spinning nozzle and rotating mandrel structure. The most advanced six-dimensional winding technology in the world can well control the fiber direction and realize the combination of hoop winding, spiral winding and plane winding. In actual production, a combination of helical winding and circumferential winding is often used. Circular winding can eliminate the hoop stress caused by the internal pressure of the gas cylinder, and helical winding can provide longitudinal stress and improve the overall performance of the gas cylinder.

The resin matrix of carbon fiber high-pressure gas cylinders not only needs to meet the mechanical strength and toughness requirements of the cylinder, but also because the matrix is prone to fatigue damage in a long-term inflation and deflation environment, a high-strength, fatigue-resistant resin system is needed to protect the cylinder service life. In addition to meeting the corresponding properties, the resin matrix used in wet winding molding is also required to have a lower initial viscosity at the operating temperature and a longer pot life at this temperature. Epoxy resin has the advantages of high bonding strength, small curing shrinkage, no small molecule volatiles, good process formability, heat resistance, good chemical stability, and low cost. It also has a large space for modification, is widely available in sources, is reasonably priced, and is suitable for wet winding process systems.

The resin in the composite material layer of high-pressure gas cylinders mainly uses epoxy resin. Epoxy resin is one of the commonly used thermosetting resin matrices in resin-based composite materials. It has the advantages of high bonding strength, small curing shrinkage, no small molecule volatiles, good process formability, heat resistance, good chemical stability, and low cost, and is widely used in fiber winding processes.

More information or free samples or price quotations, please contact us via email: sales@yqxpolymer.com , or voice to us at: +86-28-8411-1861.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

The new chemical process is not limited to wind turbine blades but works on many different so-called fibre-reinforced epoxy composites, including some materials that are reinforced with especially costly carbon fibres.

Thus, the process can contribute to establishing a potential circular economy in the wind turbine, aerospace, automotive and space industries, where these reinforced composites, due to their light weight and long durability, are used for load-bearing structures.

Being designed to last, the durability of the blades poses an environmental challenge. Wind turbine blades mostly end up at waste landfills when they are decommissioned, because they are extremely difficult to break down.

If no solution is found, we will have accumulated 43 million tonnes of wind turbine blade waste globally by 2050.

The newly discovered process is a proof-of-concept of a recycling strategy that can be applied to the vast majority of both existing wind turbine blades and those presently in production, as well as other epoxy-based materials.

Read more.

[nitprocomposites]

Traditional Filament Winding vs. Robotic Winding

Discover the strengths and future of carbon fiber manufacturing! Our latest blog dives into traditional vs. robotic filament winding, exploring their unique advantages, applications, and innovations. Don't miss out on this insightful comparison! 

https://www.nitprocomposites.com/blog/traditional-filament-winding-vs-robotic-winding

[rohanisblog]

Global carbon fiber in wind turbine rotor blade market was valued at US$ 2,972.46 million in 2022 and is projected to attain a market valuation of US$ 5,398.89 million by 2031 at a CAGR of 7% during the forecast period 2023–2031.

[acen22]

Filament Wound Carbon Fiber Tubes- filament winding composites

[greentechspot]

Wind Power Reinvented: Exploring the Next Generation of Clean Energy

Wind energy has evolved into a frontrunner among renewable energy sources, revolutionizing the way we harness power from the natural elements. With each passing day, groundbreaking advancements push the boundaries of wind energy’s potential, paving the way for a greener and more sustainable future. Gone are the days when wind turbines stood solely on land, as the advent of offshore wind farms has…

[nasa]

Setting Sail to Travel Through Space: 5 Things to Know about our New Mission

Our Advanced Composite Solar Sail System will launch aboard Rocket Lab’s Electron rocket from the company’s Launch Complex 1 in Māhia, New Zealand no earlier than April 23, at 6 p.m. EDT. This mission will demonstrate the use of innovative materials and structures to deploy a next-generation solar sail from a CubeSat in low Earth orbit.

Here are five things to know about this upcoming mission:

1. Sailing on Sunshine

Solar sails use the pressure of sunlight for propulsion much like sailboats harness the wind, eliminating the need for rocket fuel after the spacecraft has launched. If all goes according to plan, this technology demonstration will help us test how the solar sail shape and design work in different orbits.

2. Small Package, Big Impact

The Advanced Composite Solar Sail System spacecraft is a CubeSat the size of a microwave, but when the package inside is fully unfurled, it will measure about 860 square feet (80 square meters) which is about the size of six parking spots. Once fully deployed, it will be the biggest, functional solar sail system – capable of controlled propulsion maneuvers – to be tested in space.

3. Second NASA Solar Sail in Space

If successful, the Advanced Composite Solar Sail System will be  the second NASA solar sail to deploy in space, and not only will it be much larger, but this system will also test navigation capabilities to change the spacecraft’s orbit. This will help us gather data for future missions with even larger sails.

4. BOOM: Stronger, Lighter Booms

Just like a sailboat mast supports its cloth sails, a solar sail has support beams called booms that provide structure. The Advanced Composite Solar Sail System mission’s primary objective is to deploy a new type of boom. These booms are made from flexible polymer and carbon fiber materials that are stiffer and 75% lighter than previous boom designs. They can also be flattened and rolled like a tape measure. Two booms spanning the diagonal of the square (23 feet or about 7 meters in length) could be rolled up and fit into the palm of your hand!

5. It’s a bird...it’s a plane...it’s our solar sail!

About one to two months after launch, the Advanced Composite Solar Sail System spacecraft will deploy its booms and unfurl its solar sail. Because of its large size and reflective material, the spacecraft may be visible from Earth with the naked eye if the lighting conditions and orientation are just right!

To learn more about this mission that will inform future space travel and expand our understanding of our Sun and solar system, visit https://www.nasa.gov/mission/acs3/.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[katsu28]

Kissing away their tears with lando, please and thank you!!🫶🏻

anything for you rachel my love <3 ily!

lando norris x reader, 1.6k, there's a crash but no descriptions of injury. request something from here!

“Norris is doing really well today, isn’t he?” 

You’re not sure whose mouth the words come out of, but your head whips in their general direction, as do the rest of folks in the VIP box. Variations of “Shut the fuck up!” echo around the room, people grumbling to each other about those who obviously don’t know one of the biggest unspoken rules in sports. 

Whenever a player, or in this case, a driver, happens to be doing well in a match (or race), you never, ever mention that they are. You can think it, you can say it in your head, but you don’t ever say it out loud. When those words make it out into the open air, bad things happen. 

Call it stupid, call it superstition, but it’s a known sentiment in sports—Formula One especially. It’s like eating the same breakfast or listening to the same song before every race, or wearing a certain item of clothing every race day because you believe it brings you luck.

Does it actually bring you luck? Maybe, maybe not, but you do it anyway because of the possibility that it could. 

You take a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut with a prayer to whatever higher power out there is listening.

Please, please, please don’t let anything fuck up Lando’s race. 

Your prayer is futile.

You hear it before you see it on the TV—a loud crash. Tires skidding over asphalt with a deafening screech, metal grinding on metal, carbon fiber snapping off chassis and skidding across the track.

Instantly, you know there’s been a collision. Your heart leaps into your throat at the single thought that screams its way through your mind like an emergency alarm. 

Was it Lando? 

A hush falls over the track, and suddenly the only thing you can hear is the thundering of your heartbeat in your ears.

On the screen flashes an aerial shot of what you assume is the scene of the crash, but you can’t see much through the smoke and dust. The vague misshapen lump of a mangled car, a wheel rolling away from the wreckage, then—

Your heart drops out of your ass. 

The car is bright orange. And as the cloud of dust gets blown away by the strong wind on track, your eyes zero in on the unmistakable fluoro green of Lando’s helmet.

He’s not moving. 

No, no, no, no. 

Your body is in the move before your brain even realizes you’re running, sprinting through the hall, down the stairs that would take you to the McLaren garage. You’re dodging people, you’re dodging equipment and carts and everything of the sort like a pro. All the while, you feel like you can’t breathe because you don’t know if your boyfriend is okay. You don’t even know if he’s alive. 

That’s what scares you the most. 

You’re stopped by track security before you can enter through to the garage. You show the guard your pass, but he still keeps you there, muttering something into a walkie talkie that you don’t understand. 

“Come on, mate! Do you see what it says? Let me through, please!” You plead, near tears at this point. 

The frantic part of you wants to push right past this knob and find Lando yourself, but you know the only good that’ll do is get yourself thrown out, and that’s the last thing you need right now. Your best option is to play nice, despite all the worst thoughts running rampant in your mind. 

The guard takes what seems like a lifetime to look over your pass, glances up at you, then back down to the pass, but steps aside eventually, waving you into the bustling garage. You force yourself to calm down a smidge, not wanting to disturb any part of Oscar’s race. 

From there, it’s not hard to find Lando’s race engineer. Will looks less worried than you, even as he paces back and forth with his headphones still on. 

“Will!” You blurt, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the tall man. “Please tell me he’s okay.” 

“There you are! I sent someone up to the box to fetch you ages ago. Lando’s at the medical center now, he’s conscious, coherent,” Will says. You let out a sigh of barely there relief. At least he’s alive. “He was asking for you. Reckon you’ll be able to see him after the medics check him out, if you want to go wait there.” 

“Yes. Yeah, yes, thank you, Will,” You breathe, wrangling him in a quick hug before making a mad dash back through the halls towards the medical station.

You’re panting when you get there, fully aware you probably look mental to any sane person, but you don’t care. All you care about is getting to Lando. “Hi, where’s Lando Norris? McLaren driver, number 4, was brought in after the crash at turn ten?” 

The friendly looking woman at the front table smiles sympathetically. “You’re his girlfriend, aren’t you? He told us you’d be worried. Wanted us to make sure someone found you.” 

“I am, yeah. Is he—can I see him?” 

“Sorry, dear. The medic team is still doing their tests and all that. Best let them be for now, but I’ll tell you what.” She leans in like she’s about to divulge some big secret. “I’ll let Lando know you’re here. Technically, I’m not supposed to, but you both seem like you could use a little break.” 

“Thank you,” You say shakily, inhaling a wavering breath. “Thank you so much.” 

“Of course, dear. You just sit tight over here, alright?” 

That’s exactly what you do. You sit in the metal folding chair and you wait. 

Nearly an hour passes and you’re still no closer to seeing Lando than you already were. The race is nearing its end, and you don’t want to bother the nice lady who’d already bent the rules for you once, but you’re almost at your wits end.

You’ve got your head in your hands when you hear your name called. It’s the lady again, telling you you’re able to go see Lando now. You're not sure what to expect when you make your way into the station, but you've gone through so many possibilities in your head you feel like you've adequately prepared yourself for almost anything.

Lando is sitting on the edge of the gurney when you walk into the room, legs swinging aimlessly as he secures his watch around his wrist. 

He’s okay. He’s sweaty and covered in dust and dirt and looks like hell, but he’s okay. 

You’re not sure why that realization, the one you’ve been waiting for this whole time, is the final crack in the dam. Lando’s eyes snap to you at the same time you rush forward, jumping off the bed with a tiny grimace and crossing the cramped room to bring you against his chest. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” He soothes, holding your sobbing frame tight. You’ve got two fists twisted into the lapels of his racing suit, clutching at it like you're afraid he’ll slip right through your fingers. “I’m alright, love. I’m fine, I promise.” 

“I heard you—I saw—” You can’t even get the words out through the tears streaming freely down your face. 

“I know. Fuck, I know, I’m so sorry.” 

You feel his lips press against your tear soaked cheeks, kissing all over your face until your breathing levels out. Even when you do stop hyperventilating, Lando continues to litter gentle pecks all around, finally stopping with one long, lingering kiss to your forehead. 

You’re finally able to release your death grip on the front of his suit, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles as if it wasn’t already completely a mess. 

On instinct, one of your hands slides over his fireproofs, splaying over his chest right where his heart is. It beats strongly under your palm, if not a little faster when you look him in the eyes. It helps, but it does little to get rid of the knotted ball of fear that’s been sitting right on your chest this entire time. But hey, at least you’re not crying anymore. 

“There’s my girl,” He hums, swiping the pad of his thumb under your eyes gently to rid you of any stray tear tracks. His free hand comes to blanket yours where it remains on his chest, fingers curing over your own. “Hi there. Are you alright?” 

“Fuck me, I’m a mess,” You say, sniffling. “I should be the one checking on you and here I am crying like a baby. How are you? Are you hurt, what did the medics say?” You size him up for any outward injuries, patting around his suit gently. Your hand presses against his torso and he winces a little bit at the sudden pressure, but tuts at the wide eyed look you give him. 

“I’m fine, darling. Few bruised ribs and bumps from impact but otherwise a clean bill of health. Don’t even need to go to the hospital.”

“Thank god,” You sigh, slumping forward against his chest in relief. “That was so fucking scary.” 

“Yeah, no kidding,” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. His nose presses into your hair, inhaling as deep as he can without pain twinging in his sides. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.” 

You shake your head firmly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

“Me too.” 

“How’s the car?” 

Lando grimaces, shaking his head. “Totaled. Not great.” 

“Is Zak mad?” 

“He’s definitely not happy, but I reckon he’s more relieved I’m okay.” 

“That makes two of us.” You hug him again, careful of his bruised ribs. “I would’ve hit him with your front wing if he was more worried about the damn car.” 

Lando lets out a snort of high pitched laughter, though it does sound a little nervous. He knows you're serious. “Babe, you can’t just whack my boss with a broken off piece of the car.” 

“Would you stop me?” 

“I’d feel obligated to or else I might be fired.” 

“But would you?” 

“Let’s just put a pin in that for now.”

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[aquarelliwrites]

All Caught Up

SHIP: Max Verstappen x driver!Reader PROMPT: “I got you three gifts for Christmas. Since I wasn’t there for Valentine’s Day or your birthday-” “We weren’t even dating then!” CONTENT WARNINGS: slight alcohol consumption in the last scene, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n

3.1k

You sigh, the door shutting behind you with a soft click. Another one, and it locks. The keys get tossed unceremoniously into the decorative tray right next to the entrance, and your shoes get toed off soon after that. 

What a way to spend Valentine’s Day, huh? A transcontinental flight from Nice to Luton of all places, then waiting around for nearly an hour for your luggage to find itself on the revolving conveyor belt in front of you. Then, as if the universe itself had it out for you, the thin metal frame holding your umbrella together twists out of shape under the onslaught of wind - leaving you fuming in the cold rain for 45 minutes before your Uber arrives. The guy is apologetic, of course, and the traffic isn’t his fault, so you try your best to smile and reassure him it’s alright. Following that, you spend the half-hour drive to Milton Keynes attempting to warm up even slightly in your soaked coat.

Really, that whole monologue was a long way of saying the pre-RB20-launch meeting was cold, rainy and miserable in many ways. There were a couple of positive sides to it, though, you think as you unpack your bag in the hallway - your coworkers, both the ones who’d stay in the factory and who’d join you in the paddock, were all delightful and friendly, congratulating you on the promotion. The car itself looked fantastic - all smooth carbon fiber wrapped around the innards of the car like a silk sheet, covered in sponsor logos, sharp nose already pointing to another successful season for the team. 

And Max. He was… also there.

The dark and lonely flat seems to mock you at the very thought.

Well, no, that’s a rude way of putting it. Your most famous coworker was as kind as anyone else you’d met before and during that day. You’d already met before, when you became a reserve driver for the team the year before. Your first meeting face to face was nothing but pleasant, and you quickly found you both had a similar sense of humor.

You’re half-worried the kettle won't work after several months of abandonment. It turns on on the first try. You breathe a sigh of relief.

The problem arose in the fact that this grayscale day around you was eclipsed by his presence - as if he was the only object in full Technicolor - as soon as you’d noticed him. His smile was downright infectious, for one, and you honestly could have sworn your hand trembled when you clasped his in greeting.

“Hi, it’s great to meet you again.” He lit up the room with that smile, at least in your eyes. “Christian and the team have only sung your praises for the past few days.”

A softer sigh escapes you when you remember it, and your response: “Oh really? That’s good to hear - they haven’t exposed my worst secrets to you yet.”

“Your worst secrets?” He looked confused while you were busy taking off your coat.

“Yeah, you know,” you grinned, “that I’m secretly a terrible driver who has autopilot installed on her car, or that I’m awfully annoying. So they don’t scare you off, you know?”

To you, his laugh sounded like silver bells, and spring awakening in your chest, and a golden spark blooming into fireworks inside you, and every cliche thing you’ve ever read about in books. You had heard it in recorded interviews and distantly at parties you both got invited to, obviously, but the attraction fully hit you now that you were standing face to face.

Oh, attraction. That’s what it was. You hum and sit down on the couch, your teacup still scalding your fingertips. It's quiet everywhere but your thoughts. Actually, no, if you strain very hard, you might hear your downstairs neighbor's TV.

You couldn’t even fathom how headlines nicknamed him the rain of this cursed place, having spent half the meeting subtly glancing his way, and the other half trying to think of ways to look at him that weren’t… how should you put it? Outright creepy?

Hours later, you both stood in the car park under his umbrella - he’d insisted, and you really couldn’t bring yourself to say no. 

“What a Valentine’s Day, huh?” You chuckled, warming your hands in your pockets. He looked towards you - fuck, his eyes were beautiful - and shrugged.

“Never was a fan, really.”

“Me neither. I’ve never had anyone stick around long enough to celebrate properly.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Any plans, then?”

“Not really. They set me up with a flat here back in December, so I’m just heading there for the night. Might get real freaky and order pizza, or something crazy like that.”

“Ooh, don’t go too wild.” He chuckled, and you joined heartily.

The LED headlights of your Uber bathed you both in white light, and you stepped out from under the umbrella. “Thanks for everything, Max. I’m looking forward to this season.”

“Yeah, no problem.” The pitter-patter of raindrops against concrete nearly drowned out his reply as you walked towards the car. He lingered for a moment, gazing at your retreating silhouette through the sheets of rain before unlocking his own car and leaving the car park empty of people once more.

You’re content to stare out of the window now, watching the raindrops race down the glass. The launch is tomorrow, and they'll announce you as the second Red Bull Racing driver. The world will either accept it, or be forced to deal with you for a year.

Truly? Honestly? You're just looking forward to becoming friends with Max.

It is barely 9 in the morning, but the late-July sun is dead-set on giving you a headache today, apparently.

The automated gates at the paddock entrance let you through, and a couple of photographers spot you from a short distance, snapping photos immediately. You grin joyfully, throwing up a peace sign at them before checking your watch.

You have time to make a detour.

The fans at the barrier buzz with excitement when you approach them, and you find yourself in an easy conversation with the front-most ones. It’s nice to hear people are fans of you sometimes, so what?

A girl thanks you profusely for signing her poster, and extends a pink friendship bracelet towards you. “Oh, here’s a birthday gift!”

“Aw, I love it, thank you! Do we match?” You smile, tightening it around your left wrist, right below your watch. The girl simply responds by showing her own wrist - indeed, she has a matching one.

The short detour takes longer than expected, and shortly, one of the  social media girls comes to find you. “You’re all great, thanks for coming to free practice!” You wave goodbye and jog to catch up to your coworker.

Your side of the garage is experiencing an unusual amount of activity, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s happening - the people weren’t too subtle with their cameras either.

“She’s here, she’s here!” Someone yells, and you’re ushered into the middle of the crowd to stand in front of Anthea, your race engineer. Who is, shockingly, holding a cake.

“Happy birthday!!” The crowd roars, and you spot a bunch of the drivers hanging around as well - not that it isn’t obvious, what with the colorful fireproofs in a sea of navy polos. Charles and Pierre are standing somewhere in the middle of the crowd, Carlos and Lando in the back (granted, talking animatedly with each other as soon as the congratulating was over), Oscar and Logan to your left, close by. Max, of course, right next to Anthea.

The cake itself is Red Bull blue and checkered black-and-white on the top, a small model of your car right on top, surrounded by 22 lit candles.

In that instant, you feel indescribably loved. And it's a beautiful, sparkling feeling.

Are those tears rolling down your cheeks? Oh no, they are. And you worked so hard on your eyeliner today - you feel Oscar and Logan each put an arm around your shoulders as you wipe the skin under your eyes dry. 

“Happy birthday, dude. You’re finally old enough for preschool.” You yelp when Oscar ruffles your hair lovingly and swat at his hand.

“No, Osc, come on!” You laugh through tears, fixing your hair hurriedly. “Who organized this?”

Anthea grins at you, and Max suddenly looks extremely invested in the concrete floor underneath Logan’s feet. “Max suggested it, I think he was the only one who knew about it? Other than, like, Horner and the people who did your paperwork.”

A soft blush appears on your face, though you feel it burning your cheeks and ears to high heaven. Or at least that’s what it feels like - maybe it doesn’t look so bad to everyone around you. “You guys are the best, seriously. Thank you, Max, and everyone for making it happen.”

“Yeah, yeah, you big sap. Blow out the candles already.” Logan pipes up, and the entire garage chuckles. You roll your eyes in mock annoyance, but lean forward with a silent wish in mind, and blow them out in one breath.

Afterwards, you vaguely remember Oscar trying to shove your face into the cake when the candles and car were taken off - and failing - but the minutes after were so chaotic that it felt like one moment you were standing there, hugging your best friends, and the next you’re sat atop a countertop with Max, both attacking the chocolate cake with vigor. 

“Oh my God, this is so good,” you practically moan, your mouth full. “Is this Belgian chocolate?”

Max is swinging his legs, hitting your right calf rhythmically with his foot. “Yeah, I think so. I’d be disappointed if it wasn’t.”

“Me, too,” you nod, licking off the ganache stuck to your fork. “Hopefully practice won’t be a complete tragedy today.”

“It’ll be good. The data shows it,” he says, completely sure of himself, before hurriedly adding, “I think. I- well, I know. Anthea told me.”

“Good, then. It’ll just be my shit driving that will put me in the wall then.” You nudge his shoulder with yours, but his core strength is greater than you expect and, alas, he doesn’t even move. For a moment, you kind of want to stay stuck to him, leeching off his body heat.

However, it is July, and you are just friends.

He nudges you back - more like shoves, you nearly go flying - and clicks his tongue. “You always say that, but it only happened in Canada. And it wasn’t even your fault.”

You blush, again. Annoyingly. Were you overthinking, or was he keeping track of your results during the season?

“And you’ve already got three podiums. It’s great for a rookie.”

He was definitely keeping track.

You lower your head, smiling. “Thanks, Max. Seriously. For the surprise and the support you’ve given me - it means so, so much.”

“It’s really no problem. I think you’re very talented.”

“I can’t believe you knew when my birthday was,” you pipe up when he takes a breath in between monologues.

It’s evening now, and the late July sun is streaming golden light through the window of Max’ room at the Belgium Grand Prix paddock. You’re standing in the doorway, chewing on your drinking straw absentmindedly while he talks about the data gathered in FP1 and FP2 - as if you weren’t in the debrief together. Or, you know, as if you don't drive the same car. It’s a habit of his that many could find annoying and is nothing but endearing to you.

He looks a bit taken aback, but after a moment simply says “I can’t believe no one’s ever celebrated it with you like this.”

You shrug. “People don’t really stick around enough. Or, most of the time, my friends and family were too far away to make plans,” is your reply. “You know how it is - moving to Monaco as soon as you can and leaving everyone behind.”

“It’s a shame, though.” He’s studying your face now, and you feel some emotion between ‘uncomfortable’ and ‘flustered’ when you notice how he’s checking you out. Or maybe he isn’t?

“It is, but so what?” 

“You deserve to celebrate your birthday properly.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like it’s a no-brainer. Which it may be - you’ve had birthdays, and they were great, but they seem like such a long-lost part of your childhood that it takes you a moment to remember when you last held a party.

“I did. Just- well, just not with other people.” You did. Really. You took yourself out to breakfasts and treated yourself to flowers and books and new shoes, occasionally. It’s just that you did it alone most of the time.

“Would you be opposed to celebrating with other people?” Why does he look like he has something planned?

“...Do you have something planned?”

“No, but we could go hang out. Grab dinner somewhere, and a drink after, maybe?” 

It’s a casual request, and you feel inclined to accept. Maybe you’re a bit brave, or a bit stupid, or just a bit head-over-heels when you laugh softly and nod. “Sure, what is this? A date?”

Now he’s the one who looks flustered. “Uh… sure. If you want it to be one.” 

“Sure.” You’re smiling again, and when he moves on to his next talking point, you’re more than happy to keep chewing on your straw and listening.

Ripping open the wrapping paper to reveal a plain cardboard box, you send the camera guy in front of you a worried glance.

It’s a lovely, warm November morning in Abu Dhabi, and the Secret Santa event is wrapping up. You had gotten Logan - who was practically too easy to shop for - but now it’s your turn to open your present, and you’re nervous.

“Hopefully it won’t explode?” You joke, then run your nail under the piece of tape holding the box closed. When you manage to get it open, your lips curl upwards into a bright smile.

The box is full to the brim without any of the items cluttering together - whoever packed this had to have put immense care into it. You spot a pair of fuzzy socks, candles, bath salts, a bottle of French wine, and many other small self-care items.

“Aww, this is so sweet- Oh, there’s no way.” You pull out the last thing, which is a copy of ‘The Book Thief’ by Markus Zusak. “This is my favorite book,” you tell the camera, having a sense of who this is from, “and I remember I was talking to Max the other day about how sad I was that I lost my copy on a flight a few months ago. We agreed to start a book club over winter break.” 

The media employees chuckle at the thought, and you join them. “More like, I made him. Yeah, this is from him.”

“It is.” The woman holding the microphone confirms.

They leave you sitting on the white couch on the terrace, a small smile still tugging at the corners of your lips while you read what he’d written on the inside cover:

‘Sorry I can’t hang out - my weekend is fully booked. How about Christmas at my place? - Max’

You roll your eyes and giggle. What an idiot.

Your idiot.

“Alright.” He starts when you both settle on the shaggy beige carpet in his living room. You’re both a bit buzzed - both having had screwdrivers for late Christmas breakfast, champagne on the balcony before lunch, red wine with the lunch itself, and now you’re nursing a mimosa while he finishes the champagne. Talk about day drinking.

“Alright. Presents, right? How do you want to, like… Should we alternate?” Your head tilts at the size of the pile of presents you definitely knew you didn’t bring.

“I was thinking we could go one by one, from the top, and just sort them by whose name is on it?” He suggests, legs stretching out in front of him. You smile when he playfully nudges your calf with his foot.

“Sounds good,” you nod, taking one last sip for the time being and leaving your glass on the coffee table.

Max reaches for the first present you got him - it’s wrapped in red and green with an obnoxiously large bow on the top - and is delighted when he sees that you’ve gotten him diecast models of his and your 2024 cars, different only in the numbers and the yellow T-cam on yours. He promises to keep them on his desk with a laugh, and hands you the next present.

Inexplicably, it’s wrapped in pink. With hearts all over it. And another obnoxiously large bow on top.

Wondering if he may secretly be colorblind (or unaware of Christmas traditions), you peer up at him with brows furrowed in confusion. Meanwhile, he’s handing you another two boxes: one white one with party hats all over, and another with a candy cane pattern.

“I got you three big presents. Since I wasn’t there for Valentine’s Day,” he says. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Or your birthday.”

You can feel yourself start tearing up. “Max…”

He grimaces. “I’m so sorry. Should I have gotten more-”

“Max. We weren’t…” You swipe the tear off your left cheek, a little bit of eye pencil coming off with it. The alcohol is making you emotional, you tell yourself. “We weren’t even dating back then.”

“You were alone, though. I mean we did go on that date for your birthday, but it was just dinner. I, just…” He trails off, pulling at the carpet fibers. “You deserved better for this year.”

You set the box down gently, and move over to sit on his lap. He’s a little surprised when you hug him tightly, but he embraces you back quickly, one of his hands immediately reaching up to play with your hair.

“You’re one of the most thoughtful people I know. Thank you.” You whisper, and you can hear an exhale of a laugh when your breath tickles the back of his neck.

“It’s my pleasure, shatje.” He pats your shoulder, and you kiss him with a giggle still on your lips. Crawling off of him, you turn your attention back to the presents he gave you. The pink box holds the silkiest, softest cami nightgown you’ve ever touched; the one with party hats, a signed copy of your favorite author’s newest novel laying on top of a heavy navy blue knitted blanket. Arguably, though, the Christmas one is your favorite - a pair of Lightning McQueen Crocs. Signed by Charles Leclerc.

“You’re ridiculous,” you burst out laughing again while he only smirks and pours his champagne flute full once more. 

“You know it, darling."

Liked this? Check out my masterlist!

[the-californicationist]

The Fourth of July

Another gift fic for another awesome friend of mine! Stockings are getting stuffed left and right this year. <3 <3

Alex/FReader - foreign reader, blowjob/Facefuck, spit kink, soft!Alex

You are celebrating your first July 4th with Alex and his friends at your brother's lake house. Seeing the booming fireworks, eating hotdogs, and drinking out of those red solo cups - just like the movies - has been so much fun. But, you and Alex get a little carried away in the pool house.

MDNI/18+

AO3 Link

When he picked you up for the party, Alex looked like he was Mr. USA. His fluorescent blue swim trunks were short, the hem sitting high on his huge, muscular thighs, showing off his carbon fiber leg. The arms of his old Army tee shirt were sliced open, giving you a view of his endless, tanned skin. His ribs and abs rippled beneath the surface as he parked the Silverado in the road and hopped out of it to greet you. 

You’d never wanted to run your hands through a shock of hair so badly in your life, buried under a bright red trucker cap with the bill turned backwards. He was smacking his gum loudly, and he was already sunburnt across his nose. 

“Hey, there. You ready for some freedom?”

You smiled, enjoying his American accent,

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I think.”

“C’mon. Your brother’s waitin’ for us at the house. Got about fifty pounds of barbeque workin’ on the pit, I’ll bet.”

He grabbed your bag and threw it into the back of his truck before grabbing your arm and helping you into the lifted cab of the vehicle. Your swimsuit coverup billowed in the wind, and he gently gathered it up for you, moving it away so it wouldn’t get caught in the heavy door. 

Alex pulled himself into the driver’s seat, flexing his tattooed forearms as he settled into position, gripping the wheel tightly. As you looked closer, you started to notice little scars, nothing major. But, you were always quick to forget what his day job was: CIA war machine. He threw on a pair of hot-pink sunglasses with a floater neck strap attached, and handed you his spare pair. You slipped them on, feeling much cooler than you thought you should. As you pulled onto the road, he cranked up the music until you couldn’t even hear yourself think. 

You took the opportunity of being bathed in sound to study him from across the center console of the truck. The landscape of America - strip centers and wooded fields - rushed by you unadmired, and you were trapped by him. You thought you’d gotten away with a long, delicious appraisal, but he flipped his glasses down his nose and peeked over them at you. The look in his eye made you blush. 

He turned the music down and stared at you while the huge truck idled at a red light. His voice was nice and even as he asked,

“What are you lookin’ at, darlin’?”

“Nothing,” you tried to be dismissive, playing coy but doing it badly. 

An enormous, rough hand grabbed you around your knee,

“Nothin’? Like what you were wearin’ in that snap you sent me last week, nothin’?”

You blushed pink. The light turned green. Alex stayed staring at you, squeezing your leg, until someone behind him honked, and even then he took his sweet time. 

“Mmhm,” you said, waiting for his next move as he drove onward, revving the truck’s angry engine.

“Did you tell him yet?” Alex asked, threading his fingers through yours as you captured it from your lap..

“No,” you laughed under your breath, “I think you’d have known by now if I had.”

He laughed with you, readjusting his cap,

“I think I’d have a black eye by now.”

You grimaced in reply, knowing your brother’s temper. He wouldn’t be thrilled to see you flirting with his best friend from when he was enlisted. Alex saw you frown, and he held your hand a little tighter, saying,

“Worth it.” 

You drew in a tight breath and looked over at him. His gaze stayed on the road this time, pushing the speed limit, taking the exit to the lake. 

You’d known Alex Keller ever since your brother moved to Clearwater. Your brother, Charlie, had studied at university and he had fallen in love with a man who was in Alex’s old regiment. They’d gotten married, and now, Charlie had his green card and everything. All of Alex’s friends and army buddies had brought Charlie into the fold. He was even driving a Ford F-150 these days. If it wasn’t for his Kiwi accent, he could’ve passed as a true American. 

You tried to come over to see Charlie and his husband, Greg, every summer. But, with the restrictions in place, it had been a few years. This would be a happy reunion as long as he didn’t discover the relationship blooming between you and his best friend, Alex. 

It had been an accident, really. Charlie had lost his phone, and Alex had called you by accident, trying to find it. Then, you had just…kept calling. They were late night talks for you, and early morning talks for him, but you and Alex just seemed to have so much to say to each other. When he flew out to Urzikstan for dangerous missions, or over to Russia to do God knows what, he would always send you back some little trinkets from his trip. 

You knew it was a lie. You knew, in your heart, that he had been over there killing people and saving the world from whatever horrors were terrorizing those deep, dark places. But, when you got a little glass camel figurine in the mail, its box covered in a million stamps, you put it on your window sill and watched the light dance through it like it hadn’t been shipped from some sort of master of war. But, if you were truly honest with yourself, you didn't give a shit. 

You’d been talking for about six months now, and the build up to your trip was intense. The anticipation was killing you both. Seeing him now, feeling the bones of his hand in yours as you massaged the tiny muscles inside of his palm, it was all too much. You needed Charlie to understand that you had fallen madly in love with his best friend.

“I think we should tell him,” Alex said, interrupting your thoughts.

“Shit,” you scoffed, “He’s gonna lose it.”

“I don’t want to keep hiding you away. And maybe…” you heard the familiar tones of doubt in his throat, “Maybe I’m not the kind of man your brother wants for you. But, I can be.”

You kissed the back of his hand, letting the tiny hairs tickle your skin. The lake house wasn’t far, but you wanted to reassure him more than just chaste affection. 

“I’m eager to see the kind of man you can be,” you turned the seduction up to eleven, hoping he wouldn’t immediately laugh at you. 

He didn’t laugh. If anything, other than a flash of panic in his eyes, he didn’t move. He allowed you to flip his hand over, its wide palm facing the sky as you planted kiss after kiss onto his skin. You felt his breathing quicken, rippling through his limbs. Finally, you took his forefinger into your mouth and began to gently suck on its tip. It was salty, and probably unclean, but you didn’t care. You kept going, moving your mouth up and down his thick digit as if it were his cock. And goddamn did you want it to be his cock.

The phone calls had turned flirtatious, and then downright lascivious, in the last few months. Once, while he was hiding in a bunker somewhere in Ukraine, he’d called you, desperate. You listened to him as he pulled hungrily on his cock, letting you listen to the wet slipping sounds of his fist pounding into his skin, searching for release. He’d begged for your mouth. He said it was all he could think about, and the gorgeous little whimpering noises he made had set it in your mind. You dreamed about blowing him for weeks. You thought about how his come would taste when you had been sitting in the terminal and waiting on your plane. You were going to suck the life out of Alex Keller at this fucking party tonight if it was the last thing you ever did. 

“Oh,” his voice was shaking and quiet, “Fuuuuuck.”

One more strong suck on his finger and you let him loose, wiping away the wetness with your hand, lacing your fingers back through his as if nothing had happened. 

His breathing was ragged, and his hand was trembling. The lake house was just up ahead, and as Alex pulled into the drive, he took his hand back from your grip to adjust his growing cock. It looked heavy, and you couldn’t stop staring. 

“Holy shit,” he sighed, “Charles is gonna kill me.”

“I won’t let him,” you smiled. 

“That mouth…” he was still turned on, and his voice was deepened by his arousal.

“Wait til you see what else it can do,” you grinned and popped open your door to greet Charlie. 

Your brother was in a black apron and carrying a set of tongs. He was at least six and a half feet tall and built like an ox. The back of his neck was red from the sun, and he wore his hair up in a poorly coiffed bun. You shut the truck door and he turned around. When he saw you, his face lit up, and he shouted your name across the yard. 

“Kia ora, sister. Look at you! How’s the Air B&B?”

Charlie held you close to his body, hugging you so tight that it hurt. You let it hurt. 

“Fine. I’m starving.”

“It’s coming. Where’s Alex?”

“Grabbing the bags, I think.”

You turned back around and watched as Alex bent into the truck bed and pulled your bag out along with his. He’d let his sunglasses fall around his neck and walked over to you and Charlie. 

“Charles,” Alex smiled, dropping a bag to shake your brother’s hand. 

“Alex, thanks for picking her up. Greg and the boys are down at the dock.”

You spent the day jet skiing and swimming with Alex and all of your brother’s friends. The girlfriends and wives and husbands all introduced themselves, or reintroduced themselves if they had met you before, and Alex stuck by your side through it all. He could have easily abandoned you to go on the fishing trip that most of the other men were keen to take, or he could have hung around Charlie all day since it had been months since they’d seen each other, too. But, he didn’t. He seemed to know that you didn’t want to be alone, and he held you to him in as much as he dared. 

It would be a lie, though, if you two didn’t admit to sharing a stray touch or even a kiss every now and then. You kept finding excuses to be alone together.

Finally, it was nearly fireworks time, and Greg was setting up the array of them. The purple dusk was just settling on the horizon, and you and Alex had front-row seats. He had brought you another icy beer from the cooler, and a towel from inside the house to sit on. You’d positioned yourselves right next to the small pool house, a little away from the crowd. 

The pool house was little more than a small bedroom and a toilet, but it was big enough to block anyone from seeing you two from behind. That way, if someone was looking at you, you’d know it. The excitement of hiding your affection from everyone was exhilarating. 

You had worn your bright pink triangle bikini, and Alex had spent most of the day staring at it. You’d even made him retie the bows a few times, just to torture him. Once, he’d even managed to swipe a finger over your nipple, so you knew that once everyone’s eyes were focused on the exploding sky, it was on. 

Other houses on the lake were popping their own fireworks, and there was a man who was famous for his end-of-the-night show. As Charlie lit more and more of the small ones, you noticed the other houses following suit. It was pretty, and every time a mortar cracked in the sky, you could feel it in your chest. 

Once it became dark enough, you started to rub your hand up and down Alex’s bare thigh. He scooted closer and closer to you like a dog begging for more pets. You obliged him, running your fingers higher and higher until you were disturbing the hem of his shorts. Then, you went for it.

He felt you move your hand to the warm flesh between his legs, and he whispered,

"No, no, wait...oh, fuck..."

You put your hand through the stretchy leg of the nylon trunks and searched for his heavy cock and balls. You ignored his dick at first, rubbing his balls gently, moving them around in your hand, massaging them and feeling his dick fighting for attention above your wrist. 

“Holy fucking shit, woman,” he hissed, fidgeting in his seat, his eyes turned skyward as he gasped as quietly as he could. 

“You enjoying the show?” You asked, acting very casual. 

“Enjoying…Jesus Christ,” Alex furrowed his brow at you and wiped a hand down his face. His eyes shone blue and then green and then red as the colors burst above you.  

Finally, you wrapped your fingers around his swollen rod, nearly three times as large as it had been soft, and started to pump up and down slowly and deliberately. He let out a trembling breath. 

“Baby, baby, baby, please…ah, please.”

“What do you need, Alex?” You whispered, kissing his neck, “Tell me. I wanna hear it.”

“I need your mouth, baby. Please, I’ll do anything,” he kissed you back, his mustache and beard tickling your skin, sending chills down your arms.

You looked over your shoulder at the pool house, and he followed your gaze. Then, you looked back down at the dock and saw Charlie and Greg untangling a huge fireworks display. You had time.

“C’mon,” you stood up quietly and opened up the door to the pool house. 

The two of you snuck in and shut it behind you, still able to see through the small skylight as the fireworks were going off outside. You didn’t wait for him to get settled. In fact, you grabbed Alex by the arm and pulled him into the small room, sinking to your knees on the well-worn rug. You looped your fingers in the waistband of his shorts, and pulled them down. His cock flagged free, bobbing up and down, and he was as hard as a stone. 

“Holy fuck! Wait, wait…oh, fuck!” He tried to catch his balance, and set his hands on your shoulders. 

You stared at his hard length, admiring the velvety smoothness of his skin, looking at his bare, pink head. You could see the scar from his circumcision, and you ran your tongue along the dark line of skin, licking him up and onto his plump, uncovered head. The sound he made from your first contact would be burned into your brain forever. It was a low, dark growl mixed with a sigh that seemed like he had just been relieved from carrying the whole world on his shoulders. Maybe he had. 

You took him into your mouth achingly slowly, looking up at him the entire time you did so, watching his face contort into different stages of blissful agony. He had one hand in his hair, pulling on it at the roots, his hat knocked back, looking like he was in shock. You swallowed him deeper, opening and closing your throat with swallow after swallow, making more and more drool pool in your mouth as you did until it was running out of your lips and down onto your chest. 

Then, you began to bob your head back and forth along as much of his length as you could take, choking yourself with it until it hurt just a little. You tried to relax. You wanted to show him that you could take it all, that you could be his relief. 

You focused on his head, running your tongue over its crest, tasting his salty precome as you lapped over his hole, rubbing the slick back and bumpy front of your tongue across it over and over and over. You used your hand to pump him up and down as you did, shaking him vigorously while he was sucked into your mouth.

Then, just as you were finding a steady, beating rhythm, he took your head in his hands and pulled you off of him. He was panting and ferocious when he whispered to you,

“Oh, my fucking God, baby. You don’t have to —”

“I want to,” you insisted, wrapping your hands behind your thighs and pulling his cock into your lips again. You kissed his head like it was his mouth, making out with his cock, covering him in your spit. 

You felt him take one of the strings of your bikini in his hands and tug. Your top fluttered down, exposing your breasts to the dark room. You moaned.

When you did, he stumbled forward, losing his balance,

“Shit. Baby, I can't...” he begged, catching himself on the side of the end table, his knuckles white and straining to hold up his weight. 

“I’ll let you sit,” you said cheekily, “If you hold my hair for me.”

“Oh, God,” he sank to the bed and laced his fingers through your hair, grabbing the back of your skull. 

You sucked him harder, moaning as you did so, playing with your nipples and feeling your drool run down your chin. 

Alex’s hand was only loosely connected, and you wanted more from him. You pulled away again and looked up at him with the biggest doe eyes you could muster,

“Alex,” you had his attention like a bright fire, “Fuck my face. Please.” 

A snarl came out of his mouth, and he had to put himself back together before he answered you. He used his big hands to pet your hair out of your face, running a thumb across your wet bottom lip with tender care,

“I don’t wanna hurt you, baby. This feels so good. I don’t need you to -”

“I need you to. I wanna feel you in my throat.”

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“Only a little,” you smiled and licked the tip of him again, teasing him.

“If I hurt you, pinch me. Hard.”

You nodded, taking him as deep as you could. Then, when you reached your limit, you felt his hands get tight, shoving you down past your mouth and into your throat. He was still so gentle with you as he moved himself inside of you, fucking you ever so slowly, waiting for your pinch. So, you started to moan and lick and pull him closer with your hands, pushing yourself to the point of gagging. 

He yanked you off of him in a hurry, thinking you were injured. A long, frothy line of drool came out with him, and you spit the rest onto his shaft and returned him to your mouth. Now that you knew that you could go that deep with help, you tried to do it without, and you nearly succeeded. 

Alex was a complete mess above you, and his moans had become high, whining whimpers. With every swallow, with every lick, you earned a new noise. A gasp, a curse, a shaking cry. You played him like an instrument. Loudly.

Finally, you took him all the way in, past even where he had dared to push you, and you buried your nose in his crotch, smelling his hair and sweat and skin. 

“Oh, fucking shit! Fuck that’s deep. Oh, God. Oh, God! Baby!”

He was unraveled like a ball of string, spilling out everywhere. His body betrayed his politeness, and he thrust himself into you once, twice. You watched as the rockets and cannons and mortars all exploded around you in a fiery, rainbow crescendo, he came down your throat, crying for you, whimpering your name, gasping through gritted teeth. 

You counted to ten, trying not to gag, feeling his cock pulsing in your mouth, beating like a heart. Then, you started to get light-headed. So, you pulled back, releasing him in a slobbery, wet mess of come and spit. 

You leaned forward into his lap and began to lick him clean. He shuddered as you did so, shaking and moaning as your tongue touched all of his sensitive places. You saved his head for last. Licking up and down his shaft, cleaning his come from him, tasting his body’s sweet, sticky release. Until finally, you looked up at him with a sly smile. 

He looked down at you in dumb shock as you sucked all the fluid away from his swollen head, and he gasped as you finished the job. You released him with a pop from your lips and smiled, sitting back on your heels and playing with your tits. 

Alex lay on the bed for a while, and you joined him, rubbing his skin under his cutoff tee. He rolled onto his side and greedily suckled on your nipples, kissing your mouth and neck affectionately, fondling you a little more aggressively than you expected. Then, he looked up at the door and back down at you,

“Will you still want me after your brother breaks my nose?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes,

“Sure, I will.” 

“Then, wait here, baby. I’ll be right back.”

[blueiscoool]

The Aztec Death Whistle ‘The Most Terrifying Sound in the World’

For those who want to celebrate Halloween like it’s 1399: Scientists are sending shivers down the internet’s collective spine by recreating an ancient “Aztec Death Whistle” that’s said to emit the “most terrifying sound in the world.”

The macabre kazoo is detailed in a new video produced by the Action Lab, a group of proud internet nerds who specialize in mind-bending experiments.

“The sound that the death whistle makes innately strikes fear into your heart,” intones presenter James J. Orgill in the clip while holding a 3D-printed version of the instrument.

The Brigham Young University engineering grad then plays an audio clip of the scream machine, which evokes a bloodcurdling, bansheelike shriek resembling a sound effect from a haunted house attraction. (We dare you not to jump!)

Orgill points out that this is not a “human scream” but rather the sound emitted by the replica of a skull-shaped artifact originally discovered in Mexico City in 1999 by archaeologists.

It was reportedly found clutched in the hand of a headless skeleton in a temple dedicated to the wind god Ehecatl — one of many sites where the Aztecs conducted human sacrifices.

Initially thinking it was a toy, per Orgill, scientists didn’t blow into it until 15 years later, whereupon it emitted a terrifying sound.

“‘It was a startling discovery because it sounded like a screaming human,” said the burgeoning YouTube star, who dubbed it the “most terrifying sound in the world.”

The Aztecs were able to create this nightmarish noise by modeling the death whistle after the human larynx.

When the user blows into the instrument, the wind divides in two, producing oscillating sound waves that bounce around a large chamber before leaving via a second hole.

While the purpose of the instrument remains unclear, experts have several theories, with some believing this fright flute was used to scare enemies in battle.

Others postulate that the whistle was a defense talisman used to ward off evil spirits during a sacrificial victim’s journey to the afterlife.

In order to resurrect this symphony of screams for our listening “pleasure,” Orgill blew into different Tim Burton-esque whistles that were 3D-printed by US tech firm HeyGears.

All told, they made the raptor larynx from “Jurassic Park” sound like a kazoo.

No 3D printer, no problem: Interested parties can buy their death whistles on Amazon, which offers duplicates made of materials ranging from resin to carbon fiber.

Many advertise how closely their decibels match that of the most bone-chilling human screams.

By Ben Cost.

[mariacallous]

Wreckage of the Titan’s innovative carbon fiber hull was found separated into three distinct layers, US National Transportation Safety Board engineer Donald Kramer has told a Coast Guard hearing into the fatal implosion of the OceanGate submersible in 2023.

Although Kramer would not offer an opinion on what caused the hull to delaminate into separate layers, he testified to multiple problems with the hull, beginning with its manufacture in 2020.

Using samples of carbon fiber saved from its construction, as well as dozens of pieces recovered from the seabed, the NTSB gave the most complete picture to date of the experimental nature of the Titan’s hull.

After the Titan’s first hull was found to have a crack and delamination following deep dives in 2019, OceanGate switched manufacturers to replace it.

The new manufacturer, Electroimpact, used a multistage process to wind and cure the five-inch-thick hull in five separate layers. Each layer would be baked at high temperature and pressure before being ground flat, having an adhesive sheet added, and another layer built on top. The idea of this multistep process was to reduce wrinkles in the final hull that the company believed had caused test models to fail short of their design depths.

However, Kramer testified that the NTSB found several anomalies in the fresh hull samples. There was waviness in four of the five layers, and wrinkles that got progressively worse from layer to layer. The NTSB also found that some layers had porosity—gaps in the resin material—four times larger than specified in the design. It also recorded voids between the five layers.

On Monday, Roy Thomas, a materials expert from the American Bureau of Shipping, told the hearing: “Defects such as voids, blisters on surface, and porosity can weaken carbon fiber, and under extreme hydrostatic pressure can accelerate the failure of a hull.”

OceanGate did not make any additional test models using the new multistage process.

The NTSB was able to recover many pieces of the carbon fiber hull from the seafloor, one still attached to one of the submersible’s titanium end domes. In a report issued simultaneously with Kramer’s testimony, the NTSB noted that there were few, if any, full-thickness hull pieces. All of the visible pieces had delaminated into three shells: the innermost of the five layers, a shell made of the second and third layers, and another with the fourth and fifth layers. Like an onion being peeled, the hull had largely separated at the adhesive joining the layers.

The scene was set for Kramer on Monday, with testimony from Phil Brooks, OceanGate’s director of engineering until March 2023. Brooks was asked about a loud bang that had been heard when the Titan surfaced from a successful dive to the Titanic in July 2022.

About 10 minutes after the submersible surfaced, its crew and passengers heard a bang “as loud as an explosion,” according to a witness last week. When the Titan returned to its support ship, Brooks downloaded data from acoustic sensors and strain gauges mounted on its carbon fiber hull.

Five of the eight acoustic sensors captured the noise. The other three showed nothing and were likely nonfunctional, according to Kramer. On Monday, NTSB investigators noted that the acoustic sensors had not recorded useful data for several preceding dives.

The strain data, measuring stretching in the hull, also showed a shift coinciding with the bang. Brooks had seen a similar but larger change in strain just before an earlier scale model of the Titan’s hull failed dramatically in testing. “A sudden shift is something to be concerned about,” he testified. “But it was fairly minor, on two out of the 16 strain gauges.”

Brooks also admitted, however, that three of Titan’s strain gauges had never worked since it was rebuilt and that he was “probably not” qualified to decide on the significance of the change in the strain data. Brooks trained as an electronics engineer and computer scientist, and he deferred on mechanical issues to CEO Stockton Rush, one of five people who died in the Titan.

Brooks said that Rush believed that the bang originated in an external metal frame that held the hull and that Rush gave the go-ahead for future dives. “Without my being a qualified mechanical engineer, his explanation sounded plausible,” said Brooks.

One former OceanGate engineer told WIRED they thought the bang could have been layers in the carbon fiber parting or the hull separating from the titanium end rings: “The degree of the separation can’t be known, but it could have been the beginning of the end.”

The Titanic dives continued without Brooks or Rush doing any further investigation of the noise or consulting with outside experts.

“We didn’t see any further shifts in strain data. No loud bangs,” said Brooks. “Nothing with the acoustic monitoring that seemed out of the ordinary.”

In fact, Kramer’s own analysis of strain data showed that the changes persisted for at least the next three dives. The NTSB did not have sensor data from the Titan’s 2023 missions.

At the end of the 2022 dives, Brooks lobbied to bring the Titan back to OceanGate’s headquarters for testing. “We really wanted to bring the sub back to Everett, Washington, and look for cracks,” he testified. “It was frustrating because it was left at St. John’s [in Newfoundland] at the dock. We were told it was cost-prohibitive. They were low on money.”

A maintenance log for the Titan shows no repairs or adjustments were made to the submersible between late July 2022 and late March 2023.

The hearings continue this week, although it will likely be many months before the Coast Guard issues its final report into the accident.

[nitprocomposites]

Advancements in Composite Materials for Wind Turbine Blades

Wind turbines soar thanks to composite revolution! These super materials are lighter, stronger, & more efficient, boosting energy production & paving the way for a greener future.

[kc5rings]

A short something for the combined holiday of Muzzle Monday and it being Asbetos Arknights birthday, obviously nsfw under the cut

Ever read those stories about the wild sex people get up to in far north research stations? Me neither.

Tags: Bondage, spanking (tail style), bdsm, creative use of spelunking equipment, crying, practical applications of long lizard tongue

Base camps were always cramped.

Asbestos recognized the need for them but even when they were technically larger than her tent they always felt more confining.

Too solid.

Too permanent.

It had been several days journey already and this building was the last stop before the truly wild tundra, without another living soul for miles

Save of course, for the woman currently straddling her.

“There we go! Nice and secure, how’s it feel? Any circulation issues?”

Magallan’s voice was chipper as ever, like she was chatting about having had pleasant breakfast to start her day instead of having spent the last several minutes tying someone up.

“Like I’ve been kidnapped.”

Asbestos also sounded like her usual self, each word dripping with sarcasm and disdain. When her comment failed to dim Magallan’s thousand watt smile Asbestos sighed and flexed various parts of her body to properly triage herself, this would be a stupid way to get an injury and have to call off their expedition.

Magallan had been thorough, Asbestos had to admit. The basecamp only had one permanent cot, a solid metal frame that was firmly bolted to the floor meant it wasn’t going anywhere. And neither was Asbestos.

Ratchet straps used for securing gear now secured Asbestos’ legs to the cot frame at the ankle and thigh, holding them firmly in place and spreading her legs slightly. Smaller straps carefully tightened made for makeshift wrist cuffs that Magallan had then pulled up over Asbestos’ head, one tell tale click of a carabiner and she was well and truly stuck.

At least Magallan had left Asbestos with her thermal undersuit, one solid piece of tight fabric that covered everything save Asbestos’ hands, feet, head and tail. It didn’t have the shine of some of her club wear back home, but the compression was nice and too much direct skin to skin contact made Asbestos antsy anyway.

A quick test tug proved the bindings plenty sturdy, Asbestos couldn’t quite crane her head back to see what her wrists were bound to, but places like this always had hard points everywhere. Asbestos found herself appreciating Magellan’s resourcefulness in mostly using the equipment on hand for her game.

“No numbness, good blood flow, my shoulders are going to start bitching eventually with my arms up over my head like this but I can deal. This though…”

Asbestos jerked her chin up, clearly indicating the one thing Magallan had strapped in place that wasn’t scavenged from spelunking gear.

“Feels like overkill.”

Magallan laughed and reached her hand up to stroke the offending piece of gear, a close fitting cage of carbon fiber and nylon webbing that perfectly followed the contours of Asbestos’ face. You could be forgiven for thinking it was yet more scavenged equipment, but it was far to singular in its purpose to be anything other than what it was.

A muzzle.

“What you don’t like it? I even got Mayer to let me use her workshop equipment to make it for you.”

Asbestos turned her head sharply to the side in a pout, making a mental note to kill Mayer the next time she saw her. All while trying to push down the feelings that bubbled up at the thought of Magallan going out of her way to make something just her.

Outside the wind picked up, signaling a storm would be blowing through shortly, both experienced explorers making a mental note out of habit.

“Oh yes, muzzled like a beast is exactly how I wanted to spend my birthday, a real fucking trea-“

SMACK

Magallan’s smile never faded, even as she reached back and brought the flat of her hand down *hard* on the underside of Asbestos’ exposed tail. The effect is instant, Asbestos’ hips rise sharply as her back arches, accompanied by a sharp cry that slides down to a low moan as Magallan begins to rub the spot she just struck.

“That’s 1! This is your birthday trip after all so of course we’ve got to start things off with birthday spankings right?”

Red had flooded Asbestos’ face, both from the deep heat the slap had sparked between her legs and from embarrassment at the sound she’d made when it landed.

“Fuck you! You know how sensitive my tail is! Besides that’s way too many, I’m turning t-“

SMACK

Another sharp gasp, another arching of the back, this time with Magallan rolling her hips down onto Asbestos. Both of their protective gear was stacked in a corner which made for very little fabric between them, Magallan in only her slightly baggy sweater and tights. No direct contact but plenty enough to feel.

“I know how old you are, and don’t worry, I’ll keep a very strict count to make sure we don’t miss any!”

Asbestos writhed under Magallan, her not inconsiderable strength putting her restraints to the test, but they held firm. Asbestos was helpless against Magallans assault.

SMACK

SMACK

SMACK

A truly impressive string of profanity poured through the bars of Asbestos’ muzzle, making use of every swear in every language she’d learned throughout her travels. However by number fifteen or so, profanity had given way to choked gasps and by twenty, to occasional shuddering sobs.

Notably, none of this colorful language included Asbestos safeword, crevasse, nor did her free to move tail give the the established three taps against Magallan’s leg once words failed her. Either option would stop their game in its tracks, but Magallan had learned quite a long time ago that while Asbestos might be the hardest person on Terra to get to admit to what she wants, Asbestos was in no way shy about declaring when she didn’t want something.

So the spankings continued, one for every year that Asbestos had seen.

SMACK

Finally, the last blow landed. Asbestos’ head lolled to the side, mouth hanging open slightly and tears streaking one side of her face from the only eye that could still cry.

Magallan massaged the base of Asbestos’ tail as her other hand reached up to caress that tear stained cheek.

“There now… all done. You did so a good for me Asbestos, so so good.”

Asbestos had long since given up on words, choosing instead to nuzzle into Magallan’s touch. It was only moments like this, after Magallan tone the time to really break her down and crack her defenses that Asbestos could openly express her affection this way.

Ask Asbestos about it later and she’d just say it’s one of many things that make her a freak to be avoided, to Magallan though, it was one of her many charms. Like some of the most breathtaking views she’d seen on expeditions, a sight seen only by her.

“But it’s not a birthday without a treat is it? And you have been so good.”

Asbestos let the praise wash over her, a soothing balm after the hurt that felt all the more warm for being hard earned. She had been good and she wanted her treat.

“P-please…”

Magallan could play the sadist with ease for their games, but she truly didn’t think she could ever turn Asbestos down when she begged earnestly like that.

Magallan slid up from Asbestos’ waist until her knees where on either side of the bound woman’s head. Making sure she could steady herself on some equipment hooks on the wall Magallan reached down to push her tights down her legs until they were out of the way. Carefully, Magallan lowered herself until her slit was close enough to feel Asbestos’ labored breathing.

“Go on, enjoy your treat.”

Asbestos glazed over eyes shifted from excitement, to confusion, to frustration as her endorphin soaked brain tried to process this new situation. The muzzle was still in place, how was she supposed to…

“Sorry dear, but when you get like this you tend to get a bit too enthusiastic when you’re eating and I’ve had quite enough of those sharp teeth going where they aren’t wanted.”

Asbestos flushed red once more, realizing now that the custom made muzzle may not been crafted solely for her benefit.

“Oh don’t go getting shy on me, I had that made so you don’t need to be careful. Take everything you want, no need to hold back.”

Magallan’s ever present smile shifted to a conspiring smirk as she watched Asbestos try to puzzle out what she was meant to do.

“Come now, you’re a smart woman, an experienced explorer can always find the path through adversity right?”

Asbestos was on the verge of getting annoyed, if she couldn’t be trusted to use her mouth than what did Magallan expect her to-

Oh

Oh

Finally, Asbestos understood. It was embarrassing and surprisingly devious from Magallan but Asbestos couldn’t deny that making it hotter

Asbestos opened her mouth as much as her muzzle would allow, slowly extending her tongue out and up toward Magallan

Long, blue and thick, Asbestos’ tongue pushed through the confines of the muzzle, saliva letting it slip past with ease. While not quite as dextrous as her tail, Asbestos’ savra tongue could work wonders.

From her helpless position underneath her, Asbestos slid into Magallan, tongue twisting and coiling deeper into Magallan until the bars of Asbestos’ muzzle grew slick with her need and Magallan’s moans replaced Asbestos’ cries from only moments earlier.

The base camp had become a small smoldering spark of heat amidst endless frozen tundra, any sound that escaped from inside was carried off into the night by the howling winds.

Outside, the storm now raged. Inside, both explorers new they were likely to be snowed in for awhile. But neither of them could find it in themselves to care in that moment.

They had plenty of ways to pass the time.

[charles-leclerc-official]

Hello! What a race for Charles, such a relief after the chaos of the triple header! Though Spa doesn't seem like it'll be a good track for Ferrari with more of the bouncing... Speaking of Ferrari performance, considering how obvious it seems now that their suspension is creating a lot of instability, I've been wondering why the simulator wouldn't have caught it? I remember Ferrari saying that the updates generally matched with what they saw in the simulator, except for the instability I guess. I suppose it's just a matter of simulators being imperfect, not capturing everything about real life performance capability, etc?

Wind tunnel is more for aero. The kinds of stresses on the suspension aren't going to be as present in the sim. The forces just can't be replicated in the same way.

Sim is really good for some areas of the car, inboard things are trickier. And with suspension, that is one of the hardest parts of the car to adjust irl. In a sim you can easily make more adjustments to get the best results. In practice however that's much harder. And pull-rod suspension is actually harder to make adjustments on.

So there can be optimal windows of performance found in a sim setup that are much harder to hit with the actual car. And as good as sims are there is a limit.

The updates Ferrari has been referring to are the aerodynamic upgrades. Those would have been developed in the wind tunnel. And yes, those have been showing the expected results. But I have noted, that if the car under the carbon fiber cannot support the improved aero it doesn't look like much has changed. So it's also just the fact that they have made the steps they wanted to aerodynamically, but the car can't handle it.

The wind tunnel and sim are never going to be perfect.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Chapter 3

Summary: Rory returns home from the visit with her father and catches up with Price

Warnings: Minors DNI - referenced terrorism, swearing, character with trauma, mild angst

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 2.6 K

[AO3]

tagging: @efingart @writeforfandoms

October 26, 2019 - Fulham, London, UK

The cab ride home from the hospital through London had been like traveling through a ghost town, the black vehicle feeling more like a hearse as silence swallowed everything around. The absence of life was all too apparent after the previous night’s disastrous events. Cleanup was in full swing, broken strips of yellow police tape fluttering in the wind like streamers for some failed party while the street was sprayed down, all evidence of what happened scraped from the concrete. No one would know there had been a massacre, horror forgotten as easily as it had manifested. Politicians kept their heads firmly locked between their cheeks all for the sake of so-called safety. War had come to their doorstep and still they refused to face it head on, all of it handled behind closed doors instead once the initial panic was over.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes, listening to the hum of the engine, sinking into the vibrations in the backseat as they stopped at a red light. She had reached the point of exhaustion where she no longer had the ability to sleep, likely staying up for another day until night brought with it a chance at rest, but at least her head had finally been given a chance to slow down. Turbulent thoughts no longer rocked her, though dullness remained, clouded as if under the effects of a drug. She had to remember that she could only be affected by the things under her control. Dad was fine ( or so he said ). Price was in the process of dealing with those responsible, and things would no doubt spiral deeper – they always did – nothing ever remained simple no matter how placid the surface appeared, and she was sure she’d be called in to assist eventually. 

Driving down the narrow street lined with cars and rows of carbon copy white townhouse exteriors opposite one another, the black cab finally pulled up outside her address with a grinding halt on the asphalt. Paying her fare, she stepped out and climbed the steps to her home with arduous lifts of her boots, stretching her neck from side to side in an effort to relieve the tension buried deep in her muscles with little success. She needed a hot shower, some food in her stomach, and to get out of her head. It had all become deafening, at this point she wasn’t even sure a run would break her out of the feeling of being caged. 

As she stood in the foyer, resting against the front door, she brushed her fingers through her hair, pushing back the greasy strands that clung to her forehead. Her home felt as empty as the heart of London was. Every creak and groan of the pipes in the walls seemed to be screaming at her like ghosts wailing within a haunted house. It had been over a month since she'd been back home, and this was not the leave she'd been looking forward to. It certainly didn’t ease things when Price's presence still loomed here, the scent of cigar smoke and men's cologne heavily entrenched in every fiber of her furnishings. She sighed, wishing he was here, that this was a vacation, not a bloody family crisis instead during a state of emergency that rocked the very city she lived in. 

Piccadilly was less than thirty minutes away…

Dropping her keys into the bowl beside the application for the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, she huffed. Those plans would have to be put off for another year – there was no way the SRR and anti-terrorism unit would let her leave now to start her officer’s training, even if she could do more as a Lieutenant. How easily life could change in a moment.

Her footsteps echoed through the rooms, all dark and quiet, as she checked to make sure everything was still as she left it. The only thing having changed was the dust that had accumulated after so much time away. Really need to remember to hire a maid service , she noted. 

Moving to the kitchen, lights came to life as she flipped the switch. Food . That was her next course of action. Rory opened the fridge door and stood there, losing track of time as she stared at the sparse contents inside, listening to the steady hum. Numb . Devoid of thought. If things had gone differently, if her father had left work a few moments earlier … She shook her head and tried to clear those thoughts from taking root and cultivating into stress that had no reason to exist – the worst-case scenario didn’t pan out, there was no reason to even ponder it. Anxiety could not be allowed to take hold. 

She closed the fridge door and turned to lean against the island instead, folding her arms on the cold marble top, pressing her head to it. Feeling the crushing weight of reality finally hitting her like an anvil. Her shoulders heaved, and for the first time since receiving the news about the attack, she was finally allowed to truly face an emotion. Overwhelmed by the need to cry as she pictured the faces of the dead, she let it all stream out, the release freeing in its own way. In the comfort of her home, she could finally show a little weakness. The soft core of the hardened veteran hadn’t calcified entirely yet. 

Lifting her head, catching her reflection in the mirror in the dining room, she rubbed at her eyes. There was no right to feel like this. She wasn’t being delivered a nightmare, there would be no funeral to plan. Self-pity was useless when there would be a new crop of people waking up with the same trauma she had faced since she was a teenager. Prompted to shuffle around her home like a zombie driven by only the basest of needs, she peeled off her personhood, shedding the weight of her uniform and the burden it carried along with each reminder of the last day that clung to her like a sleep paralysis demon as she climbed the steps up to the second floor. 

She’d already skipped eating, the least she could do was take a shower and feel almost human again. Stepping into the glass stall, she turned the knob and let the rushing water from the shower head bash down against her weary frame. Steam filled the room, a torrent pummeling against her, eroding away the bullshit of the day – all the dirt and the grime – like she was a river rock made smooth and polished. 

Out of the shower, she stopped at the double doors to the walk-in closet in her bedroom and pulled them open, met by the fresh scent of detergent. Making a quick b-line to John’s section of the closet, she slid open the drawers where he kept his tee shirts. All neatly folded, stacked in tidy piles, the military standards of cleanliness were something they both seemed to cling to when it came to their home together. The cotton was cool and soft, her hand drifting over the material before snatching it up into her hands and draping one of the oversized tees over her head. Loose, roomy – practically a dress on her – she had to laugh knowing the same shirt would be clinging to him like at any moment it might tear a seam if he flexed too much. 

But borrowing his clothing was nothing in comparison to actually being wrapped up in his arms. For now, it served its purpose. A part of her was tempted to call John, or at least send him a text, though dissuaded by the thought of disrupting him while he was busy working. Instead, she paced around her home like an animal in a zoo enclosure not knowing what to do with herself. This wasn’t grief. It was pain, but with it came none of the loss. Above all else, there was anger – pure and volatile. The undeniable need for retribution, revenge. She had to channel those feelings into something constructive.

Snatching up her laptop, she moved to the couch in the living room, a steaming cup of tea placed on the table beside her as she sat cross legged, her eyes roving over the screen. Her only thought now was work. One of the terrible coping methods she had picked up along the way in life. John had told her more than enough times being a workaholic would lead her to an early grave – classic hypocrisy from him of all people . Sitting in the dark room, the curtains pulled to hold back the light of the day and its distractions outside, Rory scoured through the intel she had accumulated over the last two years. What little good it had done. She couldn’t let the guilt settle on her shoulders, couldn’t let it eat at her. This wasn’t her fault, she had sent it through every channel she was supposed to – yet no one had acted upon it, at least not in a timely manner, not with the efficiency she would have hoped for. Lives were lost, she expected to clean that mess up. 

Her mobile, sitting on the cushion beside her, sprang to life with vibrations. Glancing over at the lit screen, a small smile graced the corner of her lips. John . A reprieve in the dark. Tapping the screen, she put it on speaker. “You do know I could have been sleeping, yeah?”

“And I knew you'd be awake to answer even when you shouldn't be. How’re you, my girl?”

His rough, rasping voice never failed to put her at ease. Two years of being together after one fateful mission and she still swooned like a girl with a crush. Her cheeks blossomed into rosy hues and with a little shrug of her shoulder, she continued scrolling through the contents on her screen. “Oh, you know, muddling through.”

She already knew Price would be able to read between the lines, even over the phone. For a man with an enigmatic stare, he seemed to know the inner workings of everyone else in a way that was almost frightening - able to control nearly any situation, any person, with ease.

“And your father?”

“The epitome of stiff upper lip,” Rory sighed. “Shot three times yet retains the wherewithal to complain about my choice in men.”

The grunt on the other side of the line was unmistakable, she could already picture his lips drawn into a straight line as his arms crossed over his chest with a hardened stare. “Still not a fan, eh?”

“Certainly not. We both know he only shows you the time of day because you're a respected officer.”

“ But not a gentleman ,” he chuckled quietly, a low rumble like distant thunder.

“I never asked for one.” It was no lie. Truth be told, she had never even asked to get into a relationship with a superior, and yet here she was, keeping it all a secret in an attempt to keep her and John’s careers safe. 

“ That you didn't. Might still win him over though, yeah? ”

She hummed, neither confirming nor denying the claim. “You never know, might be able to glare at him long enough that he’ll come around.” There was a silence on the other end, she already knew John was smirking in response. “I assume this wasn't an entirely personal call, love,” Rory suggested, rubbing at her brow before taking her tea cup and bringing it to her lips, blowing away the steam. 

“What makes you think that?”

Swallowing down her sip of warm tea, it coated her parched throat. “In general, you dislike phone calls, you prefer to talk in person because then you can control the situation.”

“Is that you pullin’ your interrogator bollocks on me, Ror? You been studyin’ me?” The challenge in his voice was clear. “We both know there wouldn't be much chattin’ happening if we were in person, darlin’.”

Also, not a lie. It was undeniable that they acted like newlyweds around each other when not working. How they maintained much professionalism at all never failed to surprise her, yet despite worrying about it all those years ago, her and Price had managed to learn to shut their feelings for each other on and off like a switch when needed on base or on missions. 

She snickered and rolled her eyes. “Shut up, you pillock.” His hearty laugh on the other side of the line made the smile on her face grow wider. God, she lived for that laugh. As much as the banter with him was much needed, there was still the mission he was currently wrapped up in that needed to be discussed. The pregnant pause that built was heavy, the specter of the attack still lingering. “So… AQ.”

“ Yeah .” His voice was a quiet husk, strained. “ Cell was based in London, tracked ‘em down. Camden Town. Dealin’ with ‘em soon. ”

Her lips wrapped around the rim of the cup, sipping her tea once more in hopes that it would settle her. “All that work… pretty much for fuck all, eh?”

“ Rory – ”

“I know, I know.” She waved her hand as if to fan away the negative thinking. “Bureaucratic bullshit. Not my fault. Can’t let it bury me. Got enough going on inside this head already, yeah?”

“ Sweetheart …”

Rubbing at her stinging eyes with the heels of her palms, vision blurred with lack of sleep, she knew there was only one way for her to break loose of the guilt. “Tell me I can be of some use. Don’t just let me sit here in this empty house, not when I can be out there making things right. Tell me you’re going to need me on this one, John.”

“ Can you handle being on this one? ”

It came out harsher than it was supposed to, a noise grumbled to himself followed shortly after the end of his brusque sentence. He had promised her that he would protect her, and for the time they had been together he had gone out of his way to do so – more than she had presumed would be the case when they first started dating. He couldn’t help himself more often than not. The need to keep her safe seemed to be pre-programmed into his DNA. The sheepdog herding her, guiding her away from danger, even if he had to nip at her heels to do it. 

“My father is alive, but lots of others are missing family after last night. I can’t let that stand. This was in my backyard. I had my eyes on this and it went to hell. I’m not going to break, love – but I’d like to help make sure those responsible face punishment.”

“ Right then. Let me figure out where I can put your talents to good use. ” 

His response was measured, ever in control of the situation. John was always aware of the tools he had at his disposal, which weapon was best for the job at hand, and Rory knew well enough that she was counted amongst them. Loyal, diligent, trustworthy. She would follow his lead into hell if it was asked of her. 

“Thank you,” she said softly. 

“ Get some sleep, darlin’ .”

She couldn’t help but try and add some levity to their current situation. “Captain's orders?”

“ Yeah, love. Exactly that. G’night, Ror .”

“Goodnight, John.”

Would she sleep though? Likely not. Not until her eyelids were too fatigued to combat. The need for justice reigned supreme in her head, there was no denying it. It had fueled her before, dealing with remnants of past violence that had gone unremedied. Perhaps this would play out the same. Finding a little peace by going to war.