#fuel additives for cars

[wellworth]

Injector Pro Clean Diesel Fuel Injector Cleaner

Injector pro clean is a concentrated, one-tank clean-up product that will reduce smoke, improve performance, and reduce emissions. cleans intake manifolds, injectors, combustion chambers, turbochargers, and coolers, restoring lost performance. use injector pro clean annually or whenever deposit-related performance issues are suspected. available in sizes to treat small and commercial vehicles or bulk tanks.

[bluechemaustralia]

Keep Your Car Running Smooth: The Power of Petrol Fuel System Cleaners with Bluechem Australia

For Australian drivers, maintaining a reliable and efficient car is paramount. At Bluechem Australia, we understand that routine car care is essential for optimal performance, fuel economy, and overall engine health. A critical component of car maintenance often overlooked is the fuel system. Here's where petrol fuel system cleaners, like our PowerMaxx petrol fuel system cleaner, become your secret weapon.

Beyond the Pump: Unveiling the Importance of Clean Fuel Systems

Your car's fuel system plays a vital role in delivering a precise mixture of air and fuel to the engine for combustion. However, over time, several factors can contribute to fuel injector clogging:

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Ethanol Blends: Many Australian petrols incorporate ethanol blends, which can attract moisture from the air. This moisture can contribute to corrosion and build-up within the fuel system.

Stop-and-Go Driving: Short, frequent trips can lead to incomplete fuel combustion, causing partially burnt fuel to leave deposits on injectors.

The Consequences of Clogged Fuel Injectors: A Downward Spiral

Clogged fuel injectors can have a domino effect on your car's performance:

Reduced Power and Performance: Clogged injectors impede the proper flow of fuel, resulting in a loss of power and acceleration. You may experience hesitation and sluggishness while driving.

Increased Emissions: Inefficient fuel combustion leads to higher levels of pollutants being released from your exhaust, contributing to air pollution.

Decreased Fuel Economy: Clogged injectors disrupt the precise fuel-air mixture, forcing your engine to work harder and consume more fuel to maintain performance.

Rough Idling and Stalling: Severe clogging can lead to uneven fuel distribution, causing rough idling and stalling of the engine.

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Invest in a Smoother, More Efficient Drive with Bluechem Australia

Don't let clogged fuel injectors hinder your car's performance and fuel efficiency. Invest in Bluechem Australia's PowerMaxx petrol fuel system cleaner. It's a simple and cost-effective way to keep your car running smoothly, efficiently, and cleaner.

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Visit Bluechem Australia today to learn more about PowerMaxx and discover our wide range of car care products. We're committed to empowering Australian drivers to keep their vehicles in top condition. Together, let's ensure your car runs smoothly and efficiently for miles to come.

Contact- Web - https://www.bluechemaustralia.com.au/fuel-injector-cleaner/ Mail - info@bluechemaustralia.com.au Ph - 0498 880 115 Address - UNIT 4, 63 Brunel Rd, Seaford VIC 3198, AU

[ficnation]

Chapter 1: Dig In

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,6k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings

Main Masterlist

NEXT CHAPTER

Will Graham hasn’t seen you in years—years that felt like centuries to him. When you greet him, your voice is like a songbird’s serenade—sweet, peaceful, and meant only for his ears. It was a melody he missed dearly yet never dared to summon in his mind, even as the memories of you bled into his dreams.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice breaking at the last word. The question is not hostile, but it’s not friendly either. He knows you didn’t expect him to greet you like an old friend would. You know him too well for that—or at least you knew him before Hannibal Lecter barged into his life.

A smile crawls up your face, but it never reaches your eyes. You came here because you know, you know someone’s version of the story. But you crave to see the truth—to find out exactly what happened—and you know that Will is the only person who can provide you with the answers you’re looking for.

Jack Crawford raises his hand, his palm facing Will in a silent greeting—almost a peace offer. He keeps his distance as he lifts your suitcases out of the trunk of his car. He’s the one that called you, told you everything you needed to know, how Will lost his mind, how he keeps insisting that an innocent man—someone he considered a friend—is the Chesapeake Ripper.

Will can’t help but snicker at the thought of how this conversation went. You don’t seem bothered by the change in his expression—you hardly ever were, and he was always surprised by your unflappable composure.

“I’m going to stay with you, Will.” It’s not a question nor a suggestion fueled by concern over his well-being. It’s a declaration, and he has absolutely no say in this matter. Jack Crawford has already made that decision for him, and Will is in no position to object—he’s well aware of it.

Will nods and gesticulates to the door of his house. It’s a reluctant invitation forced out of him by his boss’ incessant gaze.

You don’t let him think about it for much longer, fearing he’ll withdraw the offer. You walk up the stairs of the porch and cross the doorstep. The inside is no warmer than the bitter winter on the other side of the door. You shiver slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself for heat.

A flock of dogs runs up to you, wagging their tails in excitement. Some of them you’ve already met before, and some of them seem like recent additions to Will’s collection of strays. You pat each dog on the head as you take off your boots by the entrance. You note that you no longer feel like you are just another stray Will has taken into his home.

The warmth of the friendly dogs quickly makes you forget how much you don’t belong here; you enjoy their company for a moment before reluctantly moving on to explore the room.

Not much has changed since the last time you were here. Will’s bed is still in the room, and you remember the time he confessed to you that it makes him feel more aware of his surroundings—gives him a sparse flicker of safety. He has easy access to the windows overlooking the outside, and he hears whenever someone walks up the stairs to his porch. It’s a small shred of comfort to cling to in the midst of his torment—you understand his reasoning.

The fireplace is the same one you used to warm up in front of every morning when you slept over—just surrounded by more dog beds than before. The old, simple in their design but surprisingly comfortable armchairs stand in their designated spots. Dog toys litter the carpeted floor, while books and familiar trinkets overwhelm the shelves, though if you look more closely, you find new additions mixed in with the old.

“Nothing has changed,” you say to yourself and the chill air of the room. You don’t hear Will’s footsteps as he joins you in the heart of his house.

“I did.” His words make your head whip around to face him, your eyes finding his. There’s a certain darkness in his statement—one you recognize.

The brown curls on his head frame his face in an untamed mess. He’s beautiful, and you find yourself still affected by his proximity.

“I don’t think you did.”

“You’ve been here for seven minutes, I can’t imagine you know much,” Will retorted.

“I know you, Will.” You meet his eyes for a few seconds—it doesn’t take much longer for him to look away. He hasn’t changed.

“Not anymore. Believe me,” his voice is certain and steady, but his hands shake as he reaches for your cozy black coat.

You let him slide it off your shoulders—the chill of the room refreshing. Will Graham isn’t a gentleman—he’s never conformed to society’s expectations. The gesture isn’t meant to impress you, make you swoon, or simply check a box. He does it because he still feels something toward you—he still cares.

You don’t talk much after that. Will makes some space for your stuff in his closet and leaves your suitcases in one of the many empty rooms. You thank him with another smile that doesn’t reach your eyes—there’s too much worry in them to convey your gratitude.

He goes on a walk with the dogs while you decide to take stock of his fridge and cupboards in search of any ingredients that you could possibly turn into a late dinner—french crepes filled with whatever jam or other sweet spreading he has in his kitchen.

You make yourself cozy in one of the armchairs in front of the crackling fireplace, your legs tucked comfortably beneath you when the door opens, and a blast of cold winter air rushes in along with seven dogs, melting snow clinging onto their fur stubbornly. They sniff around the room in search of the source of the sweet, delicious smell.

Will follows in their steps, taking off his boots by the door. It won’t take long for his socks to soak up the drops of water scattered over the floor—remnants of the snow shaken off by the happy furry beasts. He says nothing for a few long minutes, merely taking in your form, the sweet smell, and the cozy atmosphere. It feels like you belong here, even if just for a moment until you deem him deranged and leave again for long years.

“Crepes?” he asks finally, sliding off his heavy jacket. Will imprints on his memory the image of you so peaceful and comfortable in his home, in his presence.

You hum in response, sticking the fork back into your mouth. “I only found jam and peanut butter.”

“It’s an accomplishment you found anything at all.” He chuckles but isn’t truly amused by it—it is a pitiful sound.

The brunet disappears into the kitchen, and when he returns, his plate is filled with food. He sits down in the other armchair with a heavy sigh—a sound so murky only an old man could make or someone so exhausted with life they didn’t see a point in it anymore.

“I believe you, you know?”

Will’s head shoots up in your direction; he almost chokes on his crepes. He didn’t foresee that at all—the thought of you believing him without even hearing his side of the story, believing in his conviction that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper without even asking for evidence. When everyone around him considered him delusional and regarded his accusation with ignorance or anger—you believed him. He straightens up in his seat, looking at you expectantly, begging silently for you to continue.

“I suppose Jack didn’t tell you why exactly am I here, huh?” Will shakes his head, making you sigh deeply as you mindlessly stab the remaining crepe on your plate with the fork—he notices the anger simmering behind your irises. “Figured. They found my father’s killer in our old house.”

“Dead?”

You nod in confirmation.

“Suicide.” Your voice isn’t relieved; it doesn’t incandesce with light like it should.

Will knows that sometimes, even when the murderer is caught or killed, it takes a while to really settle into witnesses’ minds, and sometimes, they never taste that sweetness of relief for the rest of their lives. Yet, it doesn’t seem to be the problem in your case.

“He was missing a lot of blood and it didn’t appear to be anything abnormal back then so they considered the case solved. Let us come out of hiding.”

“Except it wasn’t a suicide,” the man finishes your thought. He’s right—like always. “Someone wanted you to come back… The real killer?”

He looks at you for confirmation, but his idea seems to be too facile—child’s play. If that were the case, the FBI wouldn’t let you stay with him without protection—unless they considered him your protector. Something feels off about it.

“Will, my sister was killed by the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will stares at you with his eyes wide open. He’s looking at your face in a way that he’s never looked before. He can finally see you, your emotions, and despair—the mask you hid them under shatters into crumbs and floats away with his shaky breath. He hears the misery in your voice now—almost sees your winsome heart smashed into a million pieces inside your chest.

“I’m so sorry… I—” Will’s words are automatic as he processes your statement. He stays perfectly still in his armchair. “I didn’t—”

“What’s done is done, Will,” you interrupt him, shaking your head—a silent plea that he doesn’t blame himself for it. It doesn’t help—he still does.

The moment you stop talking, he can hear the faint ticking of the watch on your wrist. He looks at you, waiting for more to come, but you stay silent. Your eyes linger on your plate with a half-eaten crepe—the jam spilling out onto the white ceramic canvas; you seem to be contemplating something.

He remembers back on that stormy night when you came home at the end of a particularly complicated and brutal investigation—soaked and chilled to the bone. You had a small cut on your arm, not big enough to require stitches, but he wanted—no, he needed—to clean it up and kiss it all better, anyway.

Will could tend to a cut on your skin, but he couldn’t scour the one on your soul—he couldn’t kiss it all better. He always felt the need to fix things—fix you. Now? He has no idea how to take that pain away from you.

He knows he should be glad to see you—glad to see you again. But right now, there’s only sadness, confusion, and guilt because, somehow, this isn’t quite you. There has been this beautiful, bright light shining from you, but it’s missing, and the man feels the loss of it inside. He wants to reach out and take this sadness away from you, comfort you, and bring back that light you always had. He almost wants to cry—he doesn’t even know why himself.

Will swallows hard and finally speaks, voice shaking, “Can I ask you something?”

He hesitates as if afraid of the potential answer. The only thing keeping him from sinking into emptiness is your presence, and asking the wrong question might have a devastating effect. Will looks at you—eyes pleading for understanding.

“Yes. Of course…”

“What did he take?” He almost doesn’t recognize his voice. It seems to be a mere whimper—a noise buried deep within a wounded animal’s throat.

“Her heart.”

Your words strike him like a bullet. Will closes his eyes, trying hard to keep the salty water from filling them. The loss of one heart was unbearable, losing another one physically… He tries to find a reason not to be angry at fate—but there is none. The world gave you back to him, but at what cost?

He reaches out, taking your hand in his. His touch seems reassuring and gentle, but his eyes betray his anger. “I never should have let you leave...”

You ignore his words, looking into the void, and continue, “Her lungs.”

Another cruel twist of the dagger in his gut. He feels your hand squeeze his, almost as if it were asking for comfort. Yet, Will cannot be a comfort at this moment—he is too enraged at the thought of such brutality.

His gaze turns cold as stone, his hand tightening around yours as he holds back the emotions boiling up inside him, threatening to explode and tear everything apart. His eyes remain closed—unwilling to see any more of your pain. You can feel the anger radiating from him like heat.

If she stops breathing, my heart will stop with it—those were his words to Hannibal. Another therapy session he now deeply regrets. It is his fault—his fault that your sister died. And amongst all the hatred, anger, and remorse, he feels a bone-chilling relief that it wasn’t you in her place.

He knows it’s twisted to think like that; he shouldn’t even feel like that, but he can’t imagine his life knowing you were buried deep—six feet beneath the earth he was walking on and still breathing. He doesn’t know whether it was Hannibal’s well-thought-through plan or his fucked up mistake, but Will is grateful.

You are breathing, alive, and your pulse is beating fast beneath his tight grasp. He does not want to let go of it—not yet.

Will opens his eyes, still unable to see your face, yet so very relieved. He doesn’t let go of your hand, his fingers running over your knuckles as if, by touch, he can somehow reassure himself that you weren’t his imagination.

The anger inside him still roils, but he no longer shows it. The only hint of his discomfort is the tightness with which he holds your hand.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he mumbles out, almost inaudible.

“No, Will, I won’t let anything happen to you.” You meet his gaze, your eyes almost begging. “I can’t lose you too. You’re the only one I have left.”

Will smiles at you sadly. His eyes filled with a strange light, his fingers running through your hair. Your plates have been long forgotten on the nearby windowsill as he leans forward and carefully touches your cheek, running his forefinger across your lips and down to your chin.

At first, you think the gesture is affectionate—intimate. But then you notice that he’s trying to remember your every feature. It’s painful to think that someone who loved you so dearly might have forgotten your face, the feel of your skin under his touch. Maybe it’s this thought that makes your eyes well up with tears; maybe it is the gesture itself. Or possibly even both.

This moment feels so real, so raw—you are tempted to believe in it, to be hopeful for your future, at least for a moment. But after all you went through, you know that hope is a dangerous thing, and it can turn against you. It’s been so long since all your hopes have been crushed you almost forgot how to have them... And just like that, the moment vanishes, and reality crashes back.

Later that night, when you come out of the shower and crawl into his bed—your clothes sticking to the slightly damp skin, your hair in an unruly mess—he simply opens his arms.

“You claim to be my friend, yet you sleep in my bed like a lover would,” he says—he still remembers the words you whispered to him when the roles were reversed.

Will smiles at the irony, his arms wrapping around you. Your hair is still dripping, the water sliding down your neck and onto his chest. It trickles down in rivulets to his stomach, creating wet spots on his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care.

You notice his grip is tighter than usual, yet you feel no pain, no discomfort. If he wanted to hurt you, he would. But you’re safe here—in his arms. Safer than you’ve ever been.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love having me in your bed,” you mumble against his neck, your minty breath tickling his skin.

His body shivers, and a soft sound escapes his lips. Your words remind him of the years of loneliness, of his body yearning for your touch. The sound is almost a whimper, and you feel his fingers twining in your wet hair.

The feeling is intoxicating. For years, he couldn’t touch a woman, didn’t even dream about having one so close to his skin, couldn’t feel someone’s body pressed tightly against him in a bed because they weren’t you—they dimmed in comparison. He missed it; he missed this connection, this skin-to-skin contact.

His hand lingers in your hair, the other one tracing your skin, exploring every inch of it, memorizing every imperfection, every bump beneath his palm.

“You haven’t been with anyone else, have you?” It’s not really a question—more of a sure statement—because, after all, you know Will like the back of your hand.

His head shakes, and both of his hands now run down your body. Will takes his sweet time exploring every inch of you—your hips, thighs, your stomach, and neck.

“I haven’t,” he whispers, almost embarrassed. As if his body belongs to someone else, and giving it to you now is a betrayal of that person.

Betrayal of you—the one he once knew—because he’s not entirely sure you’re still the same person. You were always so cheerful and full of life before—anything you touched, growing wings, flying out of the confines of its cage.

He yearns for this contact, craves a woman’s body—craves your body. He touches your skin, lightly running his fingertips over it, trying to bring back the memories from before. Will’s mind spins, trying to place the puzzle of you in the present.

He holds your face, trying to remember the way your eyes shined, the smile on your lips, the way your hair used to look. The feeling of your body, skin to skin, is almost painful. Your lips are so close, your heart beating so fast…

Winston jumps onto the bed, the weight and heat of his furry body on your calves makes you both pull away hesitantly.

“Sorry,” you mumble out the apology into the stillness of the air.

Will looks at you with a soft smile and a faint blush on his cheeks. “It’s fine.” He glances over at the dog. “What’s the matter, little fella? Can’t sleep?” He reaches over to pet the dog, then he turns his attention back to you.

The atmosphere changes completely, filled with the sounds of the night and Winston’s heavy breathing. Yet, although your physical proximity to Will has changed, you still feel connected to him in a way that only two people who are truly close can. The warmth of Winston’s body seems to melt the tension.

The dog snuggles up against you both, the three of you creating your own little world of peace. Will is the first to speak, “I’d rather be in bed with you only,” he sends you a smirk, “but I would still get the same amount of hair on my clothes.”

You feel your lips part in a grin; your breath catches in your throat, and it takes a moment before you’re able to answer his playful jab.

Will catches you in this moment of surprise as if he can smell your anticipation in the air. His hands wrap around your waist, dragging you closer until your bodies are pressed snugly once more.

When he smiles at you, it’s as if the world stops briefly. Your eyes lock, and for a second, there is nothing else but the two of you.

“It’s a sad thing your smile is so rare,” you whisper, your fingers tracing his stubbled jaw.

Will's heart pounds in his chest. He takes your hand in his, running his fingers along your skin. There's always been an undeniable spark between you, but this time, it feels different, more intense. Like if you let yourself go and let the spark ignite, the fire will burst out of your chest.

Will leans closer to you; your noses are almost touching. His brown eyes are so close you can see every detail in them despite the darkness of the room. You can feel the tension in the air, and you know what would break it...

“Will, I... I can’t—” You stumble over your words, gaze parting from his.

Your stutter is cut short by Will’s lips touching yours. A soft sound escapes him as if he’s been waiting for you to stop speaking so he can taste you. His tongue slips over your lips, exploring your mouth.

This is not the clumsy, almost animalistic lust he had for you in the past—it’s something different. Something tender, almost sweet.

Your hands fall limply onto the duvet, your heart beating faster, your breath catching in your throat as you sink deeper into the kiss. You don’t want this to end… So you pull him closer.

Seemingly annoyed by the nonstop movement, Winston jumps off the bed and retreats to his place by the lit-up fireplace. You almost giggle at that, but you’re far too busy with kissing Will’s lips raw.

Your hands find their way onto his neck next, your fingers running through his curls. With lips almost glued to his, you pull him back every time he tries to move.

The sound of your heavy breathing is enough to make his heart pound in his chest as if his very blood is racing. He’s holding you so tightly you fear you might break. Will breathes in the smell of you, almost intoxicated by it. Your scent enriches him—sends his emotions into a whirlwind.

After a moment, he manages to pull away, gasping for breath. He is still holding you, hands pressed against your back, as if not wanting to let go. Will tries to catch his breath—it feels like his entire life is contained in those few moments.

His eyes find yours, looking for some reassurance, as if he expects to wake up from a dream any moment now. He opens his mouth to say words but can’t find any. All he can do is look at you, so beautiful in the darkness. Will closes his eyes as if trying to cling to this moment.

“I’m glad I’m back. Despite the circumstances...” Your fingers play with his curls, your breath just as shaky as his.

“You’re back...” Will murmurs, looking at you relieved, touching your face as if to make sure you’re still here. He wants to speak, to tell you everything that is going through his mind, but when he opens his mouth again, no words come out. He tries to collect himself—tries to bring his heart to your level.

“It’s been a long time... We should probably talk. You know, just to catch up.”

“You like talking now?” Your grin is electrifying, it sends heat down the man’s body. But when he notices it doesn’t reach your eyes, his neediness crumbles.

A veil of insecurity falls over his face. “No… I don’t like talking. But I still do it if I have to, so can we just…” Will gestures to the two of you, the room—just a sign of exasperation and need to do this now. He swallows hard, trying to find his voice. “It’s just... it’s been a long time. And I... you know... there is just a lot that happened.”

“Will,” the way you say his name halts him, “it’s okay if you want to talk.”

He blinks slowly, suddenly confused—why did he even try to lie about it? Hannibal gave him his voice and showed him the power of his words—the good one and the evil one.

Will lets out a deep breath and then closes his eyes. It’s always been hard for him to tell people how he feels. Especially when he wants to say more than any amount of words can describe—and there is a lot to describe. There is so much he has to tell you, and yet when he tries to form the words—to get them out—his mind goes blank.

He opens his eyes and looks at you for help, but you look just as confused as before. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he says softly. “So much has changed.”

“You haven’t. Not as much as you think you did.”

He sees the impossibly black creature in his peripheral vision. It stands behind you, completely still, and its antlers seem much more massive than ever before when he catches their shadow falling onto you. He wants it to be gone so badly, but deep inside, he knows it’ll never vanish if Hannibal is still alive, and maybe even after his death, he’ll never get his peace back.

“Your opinion will change quicker than you realize.”

The creature’s still there, Will looks it straight into its void of color eyes. It’s just in his mind, yet the shiver that runs down your spine tells him you might feel its presence, too. He hates that he can’t tell if it’s his imagination or not or if you can indeed see it, too. A feeling of dread seizes him, a cold sensation that runs up his arms and into his bones.

“Hannibal...” he whispers, but when he looks around the room, he sees no sign of the creature. The sense of dread lingers, nevertheless.

“The Chesapeake Ripper?” you question, and he tells you all about it. All about Hannibal’s mind games—what he did to him and then what he undid.

Will tells you about the therapy sessions, his transformation, and the darkness that took hold of him. He talks about his memories of your sister, about his guilt, and then he moves on to you—your absence and the reason why you left. The void he felt for all those dark years without you—until he was given the chance to have you back, a light guiding him back into reality. And you listen carefully to all of it; you let him speak his heart out until he no longer feels the need to speak.

When he is done telling you everything, Will falls silent. It feels like he laid bare his soul, exposing his most intimate thoughts, yet you still lie in front of him, unchanged. He looks at you, almost expecting you to leave. After all, how much can a person handle? But your gaze is still strong; you still care about him at least a little…

It’s almost as if you’re reading his mind. “I still care about you, Will. My feelings never changed and they never will. I’ll do anything I can to help you get him.”

His eyes soften at your words, and he closes the distance between you two. Slowly he kisses your lips, tasting your breath, feeling his mouth move against yours. The sensation is so intense that it almost sends sparks through Will’s body.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispers into your ear before he turns your head and kisses you again. His hands rest on your back, pulling you in even closer as his tongue dances against yours. “And I’ve missed you. So goddamn much...”

Will pulls away, breathless, as if his entire body is aflame. He looks at you, studying your face so intently it’s almost as if he wants to burn your image into his brain. “So much,” he repeats softly.

He rests his head against yours, breathing in the sound of your heartbeat, listening to the rise and fall of your chest. “You’re here. You’re really here.” He exhales a sigh of relief as if your presence is the sweetest gift he could have ever wished for.

[green-swan]

cigarette or zoot? (pt. 1) | joost klein x f1! driver (fem!reader)

in which london and smoking are synonymous with meeting a cute dutch artist

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when AVROTROS approached her about eurovision, she thought they made a mistake. max was dutch. she wasn't. her lithuanian roots were deeper than any other identity she could've carved for herself. in the end she agreed; going in their cars with max around the city of malmö, visiting a few eurovision parties and most importantly, interact with joost klein (whom she didn't know, mind you) and teach him how to use an F1 simulator. this was going to be a heavy week. thank god it was in a month, right now she had a race to win.

first came the party - london was a welcome destination for the young driver. she thrived under the busy nature of it even in what some would call late, and others early, hours. she couldn't say the same for crowds though, the moving mosh of strangers all too close to each other and trying to show their superiority (the latter was aimed at men to be fair). she did see silvester, and the two had a lengthy conversation that didn't come to a conclusion but rather stayed at "what the fuck, let's make lithuania internationally famous!" she had hoped for a good place in eurovision, if not victory, while silvester (silvestras sounded more like home) had voiced his wish for her to win the upcoming miami grand prix and not only become the first female to do so, but also the first from lithuania. the pressure was on.

unfortunately, she lost silvester after getting a drink, so what really was the point of staying in the now airless room? she grabbed her drink and went to the rooftop that really should've been closed. her short frame slumped against a railing and she lit a cigarette, making it a point to hold it between her thumb and index finger. it was quiet, and london shimmered in different shades of yellow and white. so many people, some praying, some arguing, some alone. it felt peaceful despite the harsh wind that threatened to put out her cigarette.

"cigarette or zoot?" an accented voice sounded out, breaking the howls of wind. she turned around, spotting a man in what would've been a formal outfit had it not been for the pyramid-shaped shoulder pads on his blazer. joost klein, the man she was meant to interact with in front of cameras later that month. "cigarette," she answered, "though they call them something else here," she finished with an unsure smile. "i thought we couldn't bring tobacco in here?" he questioned, with a miscievous undertone in his voice. "they didn't check me, so it's on them," the driver shrugged, "why? you want one?"

"god, yes please!"

she took out another one from her pack, put it in between her glossed lips (joost thought that the gloss suited her) and lit it before giving it to the dutch man. "you know, i once tried eating a cigarette," he started, earning an incredulous look from the shorter girl. "what? did it taste good?" her curiosity was cute, "what do you think?"

"i once nearly swallowed jet fuel," she said with sympathy, "i get it."

joost knew who she was, well vaguely. the only female formula 1 driver and the only lithuanian on the grid. so why did AVROTROS want him to interact with her in addition to her dutch teammate? by that point, the wind had calmed down, an eery silence on brink of errupting had it not been for the music blasting from downstairs. she hummed a few lyrics before he spoke up, startling her heart as if she'd forgotten that he was indeed still there.

"can i take a picture of you right now?"

"why?"

"you're pretty. you look really beautiful in this moment, and i want to capture it."

she thought for a moment. "okay, if you let me take one of you after." he smiled. (he was so going to convince her to be on the cover of his next album)

------------------------------------------------------

note: jumping on the joost klein bandwagon (hehe been a fan for a while! got tickets for his europapa tour so i've been riding on cloud 9). i also love formula 1 and so thought why not combine them?

as the first paragraph indicates there will be (probably short and sweet) chapters and maybe extra ones after if this goes well <3

[greatstormcat]

Of Wolf And Man - Part 3

Poly TF141 x f!reader

Series Masterlist

TW: MDNI 18+, monster fucking, p in v, fingering, knotting, mentions of previous SA, angst

Autumn

The last few weeks of summer bleed in together as you spend more time with, what you now know to be, the Pack. It takes a little bit of getting used to, but not as much as you had first thought. Discovering Werewolves existed outside of fairy tales was a shock, as was watching four huge men turn into wolves at will, but you adapted very easily. Getting used to their habit of walking around totally naked was the hardest thing, and an uneasy truce was found in the form of baggy shorts being kept in the cottage for when they turned up. Simon still groused incessantly about it though, if he even bothered to put them on at all, and you decided it just wasn’t worth the shouting anymore and let him be. You suspected he enjoyed the way you reacted anyway and you were only fueling his stubborn behaviour.

You asked questions, so many questions you were worried you’d piss them off but they were always happy to answer. They told you the differences between the Designations. Apparently Price and Simon were Alphas, the dominant ones, and Johnny and Kyle were Betas, and they told you of the lost Omegas. Hunted by humans over the centuries as trophies and feats of valour, the species has dwindled down to tiny isolated Packs, and the Omegas are almost all gone after being captured as pleasure slaves for human nobility in the past. That thought sickened you to your soul.

What takes you by surprise the most, however, is getting used to constantly having them nearby. You come to discover that they can’t stand you not being in sight of at least one of them, be it night or day. Even when they roamed their territory one of them would hang back with you whilst the others were away, and it turned out this had been going on for longer than you realised. Their protective instincts ran very, very deep. Having you sleep in the den with them seemed to be the best gift you could give them, curled in the middle of them in the huge communal sleeping platform that was built with the cabin they call the den.

The den itself was a beautifully made part stone, part wooden structure hidden up in the hills, with no access by road. The furniture and fixtures have been made by hand and changed over the years to create a comfortable space, and the solar panels on the roof are an addition in recent years along with a CB radio. The truck they use has its own, hidden car port, protecting it from the elements.

Spending time up there becomes second nature, and you quickly memorise the route through the deeper parts of the forest. You feel that they’d have you move up there permanently if they could only convince you, but you couldn’t abandon the cottage, and the thought of letting yourself get so closely entwined with them is… too intense. 

However, this didn’t stop them from lavishing physical attention on you at any chance they could get. Touching was a big thing for them, they slept together and their bonds with each other went deep. You learned that Johnny and Simon were, what you thought of as, a pair, as were Price and Kyle. This didn’t stop them from sharing affections when it felt right though. In the Pack, everyone was loved equally and thoroughly by all.

It was a source of contention, however, that they wouldn’t actually fuck you, no matter how much you wanted them to. You understood that they were worried about hurting you with their knot, which was how their cocks swelled at the base during orgasm, something you’d never experienced of course. Over the course of the last month you’d been treated to insane amounts of being eaten out and taking multiple fingers, all as prep. The fascination still drew you though, how would it feel to have that inside you rather than in your hands.

You continue to clean and explore the various nooks and crannies of the ancient cottage as well, which leads to an unexpected find one morning. A loose panel in the bedroom shifts and you discover a space in the thick stone wall, begging for you to explore it.

Hidden in the depths you see a box in the dark recess, a layer of dust over the lid, and you reach out to tug it closer to the opening. It’s heavy, heavier than you expected, and you spend several sweaty minutes convincing it to shift close enough for you to pull it out. Disgruntled spiders skitter out of the way, and cobwebs cling to your arms as you work. Eventually it hits the floorboards with a heavy thud, dust mushrooming into the air and sending you into a coughing fit as you flap your hands ineffectually to clear the air.

The box is old and skillfully made, but without any fancy decoration, just lovingly sanded and polished wood and dark metal fastenings, which you guess at being iron. After a brief hesitation, imagining all kinds of curses and hexes that could be contained inside, you decide to open it and deal with the consequences. The contents are a massive disappointment after your imagined eldritch horrors, it’s just a collection of bits of paper, some looking old and bound with ribbon.

You leaf through them, and quickly become a lot more interested as you realise what this is. You pick one at random to examine more closely:

…..a lot more active in the evenings and mornings….

Full moon brings the inner beast to the surface…

..incredible sense of smell….even slight changes in hormones….

…John Price leads the pack as Alpha still…

Your eyes scan the hand written notes, the dates going back over hundreds of years with a variety of names at the bottom of each sheet, including Annie’s on the newest ones. What you have discovered is a history of the pack. You lean back against the wall reading for hours, excitedly skimming through what the previous inhabitants of the cottage have recorded about the local Werewolf Pack. The fact the one name is repeated by every different handwriting is almost too much to believe, John Price. It has to be the same Price, there’s no other way of looking at it.

The other names you read include Kyle Garrick who first appears about forty years ago in Annie’s notes, with Simon Riley and Johnny MacTavish joining the pack at the end of the 1800s. Several others are mentioned joining the pack but, sadly, the dates and causes of their deaths are recorded with due care and solemnity. What is quickly made apparent by flicking through each person’s entry in this record is no one ever leaves the cottage once they are here, every person lives out their entire life here once they’ve met the Pack. A tiny niggle of doubt creeps into the back of your mind, and you force yourself to hide the box away again in case one of them finds it, making a mental note to sit down and read everything in the near future.

One thing you hugely enjoyed was cooking and baking for the Pack, their appetites were insane and they ate everything you put in front of them with intense joy. You lean against your kitchen sink after having just given them another filling lunch, watching as they lounge happily around the table. Some items of clothing having been donned, but not much in the unexpected warmth of the day. The back door of the cottage stands open, letting a cooling breeze through the room.

“Quick question,” you call out, “you guys are quite instinct driven, yeah?” You ask with a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Yeah… why?” Johnny asks, narrowing his eyes at you, clearly sensing mischief brewing.

“So you like chasing things?” you continue vaguely, glancing quickly at the open door.

“Yeah… where are you going with this?” Kyle answers, and you see muscles tensing around the room as you take a small sidestep towards the opening. A grin splits your face a fraction of a second before you bolt through it. 

Startled shouts turn into yaps and barks as you sprint as fast as you can out of the cottage and across the meadow. It’s frightening quick how soon they catch up to you, tongues lolling as they run beside you, nipping at your thighs and hands until Johnny sideswipes you and you crumple exhaustedly to the grass.

“What the hell was that?” Price grumbles, the first to change and lean over you possessively.

“Just wanted to see what you’d do,” you laugh.

“For fucks sake,” he growls but you see the humor in his eyes behind his stern voice. “I should strip you and mount you right here to put you in your place.” Heat licks through your core at the thought of him screwing you out in the open.

“You wouldn’t?” You gasp.

“Just try him, it’s the only way you’ll know for sure,” Kyle laughs, laying down beside you with his arm behind his head. It’s ridiculous how close you’ve become with them over the last few months. A peaceful moment unfurls as you lay there in the long grass, sweet smelling flowers still blooming around you under the clear blue sky. The cares of your life far, far away, or so you believed.

“Price, you hear that?” Simon snaps, the four of them suddenly becoming alert. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No, why?” you answer, sitting up in confusion, unable to hear anything unusual over the rustle of leaves and birds calling.

“There’s a car coming,” Price answers, and you feel the tension in the pack at the unexpected intrusion.

“It’s okay, I’ll go and see who it is,” you say, getting up and dusting yourself off. “Maybe you guys should slip away before they get here?”

“I’ll stay, keep an eye on you,” Simon says as the others change one by one and move towards the trees. Price looks back over his shoulder and nods to Simon before running after Johnny and Kyle. You suspect they won’t be going far as the luxury car pulls up outside the cottage. You walk across the meadow with Simon at your side looking like an innocent, if enormous, pet dog.

As you near the silver car the door opens and your heart leaps into your throat as your boss gets out and waves at you. He’s wearing his usual expensive suit, probably a Tom Ford by the look of it, and looks totally out of place in this natural setting.

“Um, what are you doing here?” you ask as you get closer. You notice the way he wrinkles his nose as he looks at the cottage and how you’re dressed. Usually you’d be wearing a smartly tailored outfit, perfectly made up, so seeing you after you just rolled in a meadow was jarring.

“I wanted to check on you, no one has been able to reach you since you came up here,” he answers archly.

“I know,” you say flatly. “Come inside,” you say with little grace, Simon trotting ahead of you through the door and into the kitchen, clearly going to hide the discarded clothes.

You try to play the role of polite hostess and get him a glass of water, and he sits at the table in the middle of the kitchen and looking with distaste at the array of dirty plates and cutlery before him. You stand beside the large stone sink, arms wrapped tight against your middle and with Simon leaning heavily against your thigh, a reassuring presence.

“That's a big dog,” your boss comments, watching Simon warily as he pulls his phone from a pocket inside his jacket. You’d forgotten he hated dogs, so this was an unexpected bonus.

“Yeah he is, his name is,” you pause briefly, trying to think of a scary name for the huge black wolf sat beside you, “Ghost.” 

“Okay, well… just keep him over there please,” he gulps, sweat clearly gathering on his forehead as he stares at Simon and taps his thumb nervously on the sleek case of his phone. “Look, the reason I’ve come all the way up here is to say I need you back. I know we agreed to a twelve month leave of absence but things have changed and I’m going to withdraw the agreement.”

“You can’t! I’ve got it in writing that my job is safe for the year. You owe me as much after what happened,” you explain, your hand drops down to rest on Simon’s head, fingers curling into his thick fur for comfort. You’re aware he is listening intently, getting answers you hadn’t intended to give away just yet, or at all really.

“I know what happened wasn’t ideal…” the man begins toying idly with his phone, and your temper flares.

“Ideal?! You let a client get away scot-free after he groped me!” you exclaim. I low growl rumbles from Simon in response to your words, and your boss’s eyes flick down to the huge wolf briefly. You’re mollified by seeing him swallowing impulsively.

“It was his word against yours, you had no witnesses who came forward to back up your allegation,” he says in a measured tone, absently turning his phone over and over in his hand. The constant fidgeting grates on your nerves.

“And because that client brings you in millions of pounds you sided with him. Yes, I remember. But now you’re telling me you can’t cope without me, right?” You say hotly.

“It’s not quite like that, but it's better for us to have you working than not,” he says stiffly. “It’s your choice, either you come back or we replace you. I will give you a month to decide, just to be fair, but beyond that I will not make you any promises.” He keeps jostling the shiny black device in his hand, knocking at the tabletop now, and you want to snatch it and smash it on the slate floor under your feet.

Simon huffs and trots out the back door of the cottage to your surprise, leaving you alone with your boss who continues to talk to you about projects and clients despite your obvious lack of interest. He begins opening emails and reading them to you from his phone screen, bemoaning the bad signal and lack of WiFi in the cottage.

You catch a glimpse of Simon stalking back in the front door of the cottage and silently coming into the kitchen behind your boss, then standing up in his human form.Your boss has no idea Simon is standing behind him as he flicks through his phone screen, the device directly over the glass of water. The werewolf leans down and whispers one word into his ear which you can’t hear, making him yelp and jump from his seat, the phone slipping from his hand and falling straight into the glass with a loud glug. Simon transforms instantly back into his wolf form and your boss turns to see nothing more than your guard dog looking at him impassively with his head tilted to one side.

“Oh no, your phone!” you shout with feigned concern, pulling his attention back to you. “Oh no it’ll be ruined, how clumsy of you to drop it.”

“What? No! Shit, its not waterproof!” He grabs at the sodden device frantically. You put on a show of helping him dry the damned device before he makes his excuses and heads back out to the car, glancing nervously around the cottage, clearly spooked by the voice in his ear. The car pulls away and vanishes between the trees lining the track, leaving you standing alone on the doorstep. 

“Wanker,” you mutter to yourself as you turn back into the cottage. Simon sits on the sofa, Annie’s blanket draped across his lap, he can clearly see you are rattled already and he makes this small concession for you, his thick arm thrown along the back of the seat.

“I agree,” he nods, beckoning you over to sit beside him. As soon as you do you’re enveloped in him, pulled into his lap and held securely in a comforting embrace. “Is he always like that?”

“What, you mean a selfish prick? Pretty much,” you reply glumly. 

“And he doesn't believe you were assaulted? That’s normal for him too?” You hear the anger in his tone, protectiveness rushing to the surface and you melt against him slightly.

“He believes one thing, and it's whatever makes him rich. He only agreed to the leave of absence to avoid me pressing charges and making a fuss about his favourite client. I really should have seen this coming.”

Simon puts his hands on either side of your face and tilts it up to him.

“Whatever you say happened, I believe you and so will the others. Your boss is a miserable piece of shit for siding with that client. Humans have too much attachment to money and it blinds you,” he says gently with a frown, then lets out a sigh as though deciding something.

“These scars for example,” he says, taking one of your hands and bringing it to his face to run the pad of your thumb over his top lip. “I was held captive for years, used in bear baiting to make evil people rich. Price got me out. Don’t let people use you just to make themselves rich.”

Your breath shudders as you feel the softness of Simon’s lip under your thumb, and you unconsciously part your own lips in response to the intimate gesture. Simon’s eyes lock onto your mouth, and a hot flash courses through you, made worse by the fact you see his pupils dilate when he smells it.

“How much longer before I’m allowed to… you know…” you ask, face warming with embarrassment as you drastically steer the conversation away from you leaving. 

“D’you think you’re ready?” He asks with a cocky little smirk, taking the bait. 

“Of course, but what about the others? Will they be pissed off?”

“It's fine, you’re safer with just an Alpha to start with, we’re better at controlling ourselves. Betas get pussydrunk far too easily and you’re not used to our anatomy,” he pauses. “Yet, anyway.”

“So, I could be with you?” you ask hopefully, gently plucking at the fine hair on his chest in a calculated act of coyness. Thoughts of the uncomfortable encounter dwindle as you feel Simon’s giving in to your desire, and heat pools low in your stomach. There’s an obvious nudge under the blanket against your thighs.

“Yeah, I guess it's about time,” he chuckles, taking your chin and forcing you to look him. His dark eyes draw you in, the comforting smell of him dispelling the tangled worries in your head. “If you trust me and you want this, just tell me.”

“I want this, I want you,” you say clearly.

“Fine, we’ll take it slowly and you tell me if you need to stop or anything doesn’t feel right. A knot is a hell of a thing to take, okay?”

“Sounds like you’re talking from experience,” you tease, but he looks back at you flatly.

“I am,” he states, and shakes his head at the look on your face. “Humans are so complicated, you make rules and draw lines over the most natural of things.”

He leans down and captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as it has a dozen times before. With great care, he slowly undresses you, soft kisses pressing against your skin until you are bared to him. He takes his time, licking and sucking at your nipples, caressing the soft swells with his large hands. His huge body hovering over yours as he works you up into a needy, molten state of arousal with his thick fingers, until you mewl and beg for him.

Finally he relents, and sitting up Simon pulls your hips over his lap, settling you over his thighs so you hover over his red tipped cock. With great care he pushes you down, spearing you onto the veiny length with a deep, rumbling groan.

“Fuck… you’re so tight,” he hisses, gripping your hips until his claws dig into your skin of your hips. Your breath comes in sharp gasps as your muscles stretch around his girth, stinging slightly as you take him in.

“Just breath,” he whispers, pulling your head against his shoulder and rubbing the back of your neck tenderly. You’d expected him to be rough, to throw you around and fuck you raw, but the level of care and tenderness is unexpected and you find it easy to relax as you sink onto him fully.

“Gods… just breath for a moment,” he whispers against your ear, his thighs trembling under you. You rock your hips experimentally, feeling Simon moving inside you as you set a gentle pace, the sting of the stretch mellowing quickly and becoming a persistent, deep pleasure. His hands snap to your hips again as you cause friction to build.

“That’s it,” he groans breathily, “you’re doing so well. That’s it, just relax.”

You risk lifting your hips slightly, sliding up his length and back down gingerly, the resulting sensation making you clench around him, squeezing him hard and making you both moan. You do it again and feel his wide palms running up and down your back, his head falling backwards as you squeeze and stroke his cock with your wet heat.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, spurring you on as he lets you take the lead, controlling the depth and pace for your pleasure while he holds himself as still as possible and resists the urge to grab you and pound into you. A sheen of sweat coats his skin, and his muscles tighten beneath his skin, trying to change shape but he fights against it. All the time you grind yourself down onto his cock, your hands on his shoulders to stabilise yourself.

You feel it, the pressure building as the base of his cock swells and your walls pulse in response to the increased thickness. A needy whine bubbles from your throat at the alien sensation, but you don’t stop moving, feeling it pulling as it slips in and out of your drooling heat.

“Ya need to let me take over...” he pants and you slowly lift off of him, his cock hitting his stomach with a damp thud as it leaves you, and the emptiness it leaves behind is almost unbearable. You let him reposition you so you're kneeling on the sofa and he slots himself behind you, and carefully slides his thick cock back inside you. A firm hand rests between your shoulder blades, another grasping the meat of your hip, keeping you in position as Simon moves his hips in a sinuous motion. 

“You okay?” he pants and huffs, voice thick and rough as the burgeoning knot settles back inside you.

“Yes, its… big,” you hiss.

“Thank you,” he grunts with a chuckle. “Play with your clit, it’ll help.” You do as he says and you arch your back at the added sparks of electricity that course through your body as a result. He picks up the pace in response, your orgrasm building within you.

“Fuck… fuckfuckfuck…” he lays across your back, kissing the skin and sharp teeth scraping across your shoulder blade. “Its gonna catch soon. Don't worry, okay?” He snaps his hips more sharply, forcing himself deeper and the knot catches, refusing to leave your body again and a tiny moment of panic rears inside of you.

“Simon…!” you whimper, trembling with the need to come and the new sensation.

“Yer okay, yer okay… doing so good… so good so fucking good…” he chants hoarsely, wet kisses trailing along your neck and you feel that calming effect again. His arms wrap around in front of you, caging you against him and you grab at his wrists to anchor yourself. He grinds his knot into you and heat flares inside you, pushing you over the edge into your orgasm. Your back arches and you push back against him, dragging your fingernails against his forearms and leaving red welts in their path. He snarls at the sudden dull pain and snaps his hips sharply against you a few more times, while you squeeze him so tightly he spills himself inside you with a deep growl.

Simon groans into your ear, rocking his hips into you as he comes, mouth sucking at your neck and teeth grazing your skin. You can feel how badly he wants to bite you in the tremble of his jaw, but his iron self control holds him back. 

“Shit… that feels good,” you whisper, sparks of pleasure igniting while you feel his member twitching inside you and the heat of his cum starting to pool behind his knot.

“Good,” he mumbles, holding you tightly beneath him. “Just need a minute or two, you did so well.”

You spend several minutes tied together until the swelling calms, then Simon cleans you up and wraps you up with him to rest and recover.

“I want to do that again,” you murmur, your face buried in the crook of his neck contentedly. He chuckles back at you.

“Yeah, there’s no problem with that.”

The autumn wears on, and you find you’re spending more time in the den as the weather changes. There’s always an excuse for you not to go back to the cottage as the rains fall, and you spend more nights with the Pack. The first night you’d returned with the smell of Simon’s cum in you, you’d almost been tackled to the ground by Johnny and Kyle in their excitement and the Alphas had warned them not to get carried away. 

You’d been exhausted but thoroughly satisfied by the time you’d taken both their knots the following morning after you’d recovered from your experience with Simon. Price was much gentler, as Simon had been, which was good considering his was nearly as big. One thing you knew now was a human man would never measure up after this.

As frost begins to coat the landscape in the early mornings, you stand at the window of the den drinking coffee after another warm and cosy night with them.

“You should stay here for the winter,” Price announces over his mug of coffee, and not for the first time since the weather began to cool down. “It's safer here, especially when the snows come in heavy. You won’t be able to get to town easily, if that shitbox car of yours will even start, which I doubt.”

“I doubt your crappy truck does much better in the snow,” you counter with a smirk.

“We don’t drive in the snow,” Kyle chimes in. “It's much more fun to run in it.”

You chuckle at that, imagining them running through the snow.

“I bet it is,” you agree. “But I’ve got to start thinking about getting ready to go back home. I’ve already risked a lot by not going back early, I don’t want to push my luck.” 

“Piss on that!” Johnny snaps angrily surging up to pace the floor. Any talk of you leaving affects him poorly, his temper wearing thinner every time it comes up. It hadn’t gone down well when Simon had told them about the visit from your boss and the man’s threat.

“Settle down,” Simon warns him, and Johnny obediently sits back down in response to his instruction. Simon grasps the back of his neck and rubs his thumb against it to soothe him.

“So, are you really going back?” Price says once Johnny is quiet again. You look back out the window, guilt gnawing at you and making it hard to look at any of them. Even Kyle has an accusatory look in his soft, dark eyes that you can’t stomach.

“Money over pack?” He pushes you, and it leaves a bitter taste to hear it out loud.

“I’m not Pack though, am I?” You snap back at him, hating how he is making you sound so petty… so human. “I’m not like you.”

“That’s not the point, staying here with us is better than going back to your old life. You know that, don’t be stubborn,” he growls.

“It’s my decision, not yours!” Anger raging inside you at the way another man is trying to control you, to tell you what to do and manipulate you.

“It’s for your own good!” He says firmly. A red mist clouds your thoughts, and you feel torn. Guilt adds an edge to your emotions and you suddenly feel the need to lash out.

“No! It’s not! It's for you! I found a box in the cottage, it’s got notes on your from the last,” you wave your hand in the air trying to pick a number. “I don’t know, several centuries!”

“The box?” He asks.

“Yes! They’ve been keeping notes on you John Price,” You spit his full name in his face, something he’s never given you, then turn to the others one by one and jab a finger at them each. “Simon Riley! Kyle Garrick! Johnny MacTavish! You’ve been keeping people here for all this time, just to be your pet, your… your concubine!”

The moment you stop talking you see the hurt in his face, all their faces, and you know how incredibly out of line you are. Your heart shatters when Price turns away from you, showing you his back.

“Get out,” he growls and the hairs on your neck stand on end at the threat in his tone.

“Wait, she didn’t mean…” Kyle starts to say, getting up from his seat and giving you a cold stare.

“SHE GOES!” Price roars and even you feel the force he puts behind his voice, your brain screaming to get away from the enraged Apex predator before you. The three men flinch, heads bowed in submission and you bolt for the door.

You run, tears streaming down your face as you head for the cottage blindly, and rain begins to fall in icy, sharp bullets. The universe watches as you become soaked in punishment for hurting the kindest four souls you’ve ever known, until you burst, drenched and shivering, back into the cold confines of Annie’s cottage.

No fire burns in the hearth to warm you, the range has blown out and gone cold, so you crumple on the floor pulling the blanket around your shoulders, and weep for what you’ve done. For the first time all year you feel utterly alone.

---------------------------------------------

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[odinsblog]

Everything about the Starship was the result of a series of decisions designed to make spaceflight cheaper. The methane fuel. The steel structure. The method of construction. Even the rocket’s enormous size. All of it was a gamble to create a system that is fully reusable, bringing the cost of getting to orbit down to a small fraction of what it is today and making space almost infinitely more accessible.

However, one decision in the process didn’t just result in the destruction of the rocket, it generated a cascade of failures, one that’s likely to set the program back by a least a year, erasing the chance of NASA’s scheduled return to the Moon in the process. That decision is 100% on Elon Musk.

HERE’S THE TL;DR VERSION

The no-clamps slow throttle-up meant Starship stayed on the pad for a long time, throwing up concrete, rock, and sand in all directions, damaging the pad, nearby facilities, and Starship itself.

By the time it left the pad, that debris had already destroyed three of Starship’s engines and likely damaged valves and systems that would lead to additional engine failures as well as an incorrect fuel mixture.

Starship was slow to reach every point in the flight plan, suggesting that other engines were not able to throttle up to compensate for the lost engines.

At what should have been stage separation, either software errors or more smashed hardware kept the main booster firing long after it should have shut down.

The result was an uncontrolled spin that required Starship to be destroyed.

WHY THIS IS 100% ELON MUSK’S FAULT

Starship is the work of hundreds of talented engineers and thousands of employees who put their best into making this thing go. The design is extremely daring, and something of a wonder. The engines are amazing, even if they have demonstrated that reliability is currently lacking. The whole system of construction promises to revolutionize the space industry.

But there are two parts that were left out of Starship that absolutely doomed this flight and the decision not to include them falls right with the guy at the end of the first row at “Star Command.”

Those parts were not parts for the rocket. They were parts for the launch pad.

For some reason, Musk became convinced early on that he did not want the launch tower to have:

A flame-diverter or flame trench to redirect the blast from the booster’s engines

A water deluge system to dump a massive amount of water around the launch tower during liftoff

The launch facilities at Kennedy have both of these. Even the launch pads used for the much smaller Falcon 9 have both a flame trench and a water deluge. They help to protect not just the launch pad, and the surrounding area, they also help to reduce the noise. Which sounds trivial, but that noise is energy. That’s what broke up the concrete under the Starship Stage Zero, not the fire. That’s what sent car-sized chunks flying in all directions.

A flame diverter and a water deluge would have greatly reduced, or even eliminated, the damage to the area around the pad. They would have prevented the blow back of debris that damaged Starship before it even left the ground. It might have headed off the whole cascade of events that resulted in that button being pressed 4 minutes into the flight.

We don’t have to guess about whose decision it was not to implement these systems, because Musk already said he decided to skip these systems over the recommendations of his engineers. Musk even had a preview of what was going to happen, as past test flights of the upper stage also resulted in significant spalling of concrete structures and damage to at least one of the ships. He just made them try different kinds of concrete.

The parts for a water deluge were actually on site, ready to install, but Musk decided to forego that installation—likely so he could enjoy the pun of launching his super-joint on 4/20. Which was something Musk had joked about doing months ago.

Hopefully he enjoyed the joke, because the EPA and FAA are going to be thinking long and hard before they authorize another flight from Boca Chica. All those engineers, and all those workers, and all their good work, is held hostage to Musk’s whims.

Also a victim of Musk’s decision to leave these vital pieces off the table? The Artemis Program at NASA. Musk has already been awarded the contract to create the first lunar lander for the new program, but that lander is absolutely dependent on Starship. It’s a sure bet that Musk won’t have his part of the program ready on schedule. It’s going to be some time before we even so another test flight.

In the meantime, SpaceX can repair the damage, build a flame diverter, install that deluge system, clean up the software, and ditch the whole “pitch over” means of stage separation for something simpler—like using the second stage engines to push the stages apart with an unignited shot of methane.

See you in 2024, Starship.

Maybe.

👉🏿 https://m.dailykos.com/stories/2023/4/22/2165317/-A-Starship-Post-mortem-Why-the-giant-rocket-failed-and-why-it-s-Elon-Musk-s-fault

[nasa]

Why Isn’t Every Year the Warmest Year on Record?

This just in: 2022 effectively tied for the fifth warmest year since 1880, when our record starts. Here at NASA, we work with our partners at NOAA to track temperatures across Earth’s entire surface, to keep a global record of how our planet is changing.

Overall, Earth is getting hotter.

The warming comes directly from human activities – specifically, the release of greenhouse gases like carbon dioxide from burning fossil fuels. We started burning fossil fuels in earnest during the Industrial Revolution. Activities like driving cars and operating factories continue to release greenhouse gases into our atmosphere, where they trap heat in the atmosphere.

So…if we’re causing Earth to warm, why isn’t every year the hottest year on record?

As 2022 shows, the current global warming isn’t uniform. Every single year isn’t necessarily warmer than every previous year, but it is generally warmer than most of the preceding years. There’s a warming trend.

Earth is a really complex system, with various climate patterns, solar activity, and events like volcanic eruptions that can tip things slightly warmer or cooler.

Climate Patterns

While 2021 and 2022 continued a global trend of warming, they were both a little cooler than 2020, largely because of a natural phenomenon known as La Niña.

La Niña is one third of a climate phenomenon called El Niño Southern Oscillation, also known as ENSO, which can have significant effects around the globe. During La Niña years, ocean temperatures in the central and eastern Pacific Ocean cool off slightly. La Niña’s twin, El Niño brings warmer temperatures to the central and eastern Pacific. Neutral years bring ocean temperatures in the region closer to the average.

El Niño and La Niña affect more than ocean temperatures – they can bring changes to rainfall patterns, hurricane frequency, and global average temperature.

We’ve been in a La Niña mode the last three, which has slightly cooled global temperatures. That’s one big reason 2021 and 2022 were cooler than 2020 – which was an El Niño year.

Overall warming is still happening. Current El Niño years are warmer than previous El Niño years, and the same goes for La Niña years. In fact, enough overall warming has occurred that most current La Niña years are warmer than most previous El Niño years. This year was the warmest La Niña year on record.

Solar Activity

Our Sun cycles through periods of more and less activity, on a schedule of about every 11 years. Here on Earth, we might receive slightly less energy — heat — from the Sun during quieter periods and slightly more during active periods.

At NASA, we work with NOAA to track the solar cycle. We kicked off a new one – Solar Cycle 25 – after solar minimum in December 2019. Since then, solar activity has been slightly ramping up.

Because we closely track solar activity, we know that over the past several decades, solar activity hasn't been on the rise, while greenhouse gases have. More importantly, the "fingerprints" we see on the climate, including temperature changes in the upper atmosphere, don't fit the what we'd expect from solar-caused warming. Rather they look like what we expect from increased greenhouse warming, verifying a prediction made decades ago by NASA.

Volcanic Eruptions

Throughout history, volcanoes have driven major shifts in Earth’s climate. Large eruptions can release water vapor — a greenhouse gas like carbon dioxide — which traps additional warmth within our atmosphere.

On the flip side, eruptions that loft lots of ash and soot into the atmosphere can temporarily cool the climate slightly, by reflecting some sunlight back into space.

Like solar activity, we can monitor volcanic eruptions and tease out their effect on variations in our global temperature.

At the End of the Day, It’s Us

Our satellites, airborne missions, and measurements from the ground give us a comprehensive picture of what’s happening on Earth every day. We also have computer models that can skillfully recreate Earth’s climate.

By combining the two, we can see what would happen to global temperature if all the changes were caused by natural forces, like volcanic eruptions or ENSO. By looking at the fingerprints each of these climate drivers leave in our models, it’s perfectly clear: The current global warming we’re experiencing is caused by humans.

For more information about climate change, visit climate.nasa.gov.

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

[bonebrokebuddy]

@kodedgeekthings eyo you mentioned wanting a dpxdc prompt for Howard, Batman’s mechanic!

Harold misses fixing toys for kids and in his off hours has taken up the habit of answering questions on forums about machining, electrical, engineering, mechanics, and mechanical design that are often frequented by students.

One day, he comes across a request by a college student who is trying to assemble his own car out of scrap he bought from a local wrecking yard.

Ghostly_Boy states that he has previous experience in machining and can make replacements for broken or too-damaged parts if need be, but he doesn’t know where to start and what specific requirements he needs to reach to ensure it’s street legal.

Harold willing to help, he answers a few of Ghostly Boy’s clarifying questions:

- Great questions!

It’s good to note that if you’re not careful, fixing or making your own car from parts can be a moneysink and can cost you more than a brand new vehicle. - That being said, your first major step to ensuring you can drive the car is to get the title of the body/frame of the car you plan to build. It’ll have the VIN on a plate welded to the frame usually near the lower edge of the windshield wipers on the drivers side. It’s how the DMV identifies vehicles for licensing.

- Generally, you’ll at first get a “wreck out” title that shows the vehicle is listed as a total loss, but if you can assemble the parts for the car with that frame, the DMV can check if it’s properly running and road worthy & license for you to use it on public roads if you’ve done the proper paperwork.

- Once that is done, it’s largely a case of getting the right parts and assembling them. Depending on how much you have to repair, you could be taking on a task that could give a challenge to even a seasoned mechanic. There may be additional paperwork depending on what exactly you need to repair, like the breaks, lights, steering, etc.

- If you want to build the car entirely from scratch, chassis and all, that’s an entirely different story with a much more complicated list of requirements to make it street legal, so getting a frame from a junkyard is a great first step!

- Make sure to keep all bills of sale, junkyard receipts, invoices and manufacturers’ certificates on any major parts you used in building the vehicle to prove its road worthy to the DMV when it’s complete!

Harold doesn’t always answer first but over time he’s found the adventures of this kid amusing and keeps up with it.

Ghostly_Boy keeps the forum updated with his progress:

The kid spontaneously deciding to scrap the wiring system and make his own in a span of 3 days, leaving experienced mechanics on the forum practically screaming at the kid for his updates showing him using random wires he salvaged and pigtailing them together to get the length of wire he needed.

Mixing not only multiple types of wires but ones that didn’t have the protection needed for auto use. DIY-ing his own relay and fuses he didn’t have and connecting the wrong grounds and switches. And planning on leaving the wires unwrapped and loose.

Leaving Ghost to promptly redo the wiring, correctly this time, within 78 hours.

Making a repair of a massive rusted hole on the passenger side by the bumper and the front tire via cutting 1/2in past the rust, grinding it pretty and clean, tac & seam welding the vintage aluminum housing material of a toaster to cover the hole to the response of Harold and many others in the forum just going “… I guess that would work?”

Harold and many others telling the kid that this “ectoplasm” material wasn’t cleared through the EPA’s Clear Air Act and could be illegal to drive with it as it’s fuel source unless he got the emissions tested & the center of gravity of the car adjusted to have the center of gravity a gas car has, it wouldn’t pass Federal Motor Vehicle Safety Standards. Nor would the previously untested on material make it easy or quick to get an Emissions testing certificate. Best to just stick with gas.

Removing what he thought was a “skid plate” that turned out to be another rusted out section on the frame on the bottom of his car and repairing it with steel he salvaged from an old medical table he had laying around. (To the multiple slightly confused commenters asking how Ghost had a spare medical table, he replied, “eh, my folks visit every so often and they’ve been giving me things they’re clearing out of the house so they can move closer to my older sister. I just so happened to get the ye olde medical table. They’re an odd couple of folks but that’s why I love them.”)

People just crying at the kid to go to rockauto.com and just buy the damn parts he needs for his car. (A good resource btw)

The kid kept cutting corners to save cash but through the badgering of Harold and many others that he actually would have to spend money to make this car be safe to drive in, he finally got it completed.

Ghost’s post of him leaving DMV waving the updated title to the car in its envelope in the air, titled, “THE DMV FINALLY SAID IT WASN’T A FIRE HAZARD! ONLY TOOK 2 YEARS! THANKS EVERYONE!” Got the most amount of responses he’d ever had with congratulations from lurkers and previous commenters.

Over the course of those two years, Danny learned how to draw his own wiring diagrams, properly solder and weld, and learning to actually plan out his projects so he got it right at least the fifth time instead of the 20th. Not bad for a kid that went straight from graduating high school with a 1.5GPA to construction jobs.

But after finally getting the car approved, Ghostly_Boy returns to the forum with a new problem. Lamenting that his parents keep coming over and “modifying” his car to no longer make it street legal.

At this point, about half of the answers to the submission think it’s either a joke project taken very, very seriously with a good chunk of money behind it, or a kid with parents that have narrowly avoided falling completely down the mad scientist rogue rabbit hole.

After all, what sort of parent would think that the DMV would approve to “anti-ghost missiles” being attached to the outer body of the car? Either way, the submissions always had video attached showing a demonstration, proving that Ghost wasn’t just completely yanking their chain. And a good amount of money would have to be sunken in to not only pay for the fines Ghostly continued to get from the additions to his car, but to actually manufacture and make a unique working product for each plea for help request.

Harold is not only taking notes on some of these defense measures but also decides to bring up the boy to Alfred. Intrigued, they together keep an eye on Ghostly_Boy. Bruce may be their employer, but they can handle a case or two on their own.

- I wanted Danny to try to make smth for himself now that he doesn’t have access to his parent’s lab anymore but he also doesn’t have access to ectoplasm so he’s fairly unfamiliar how to wire things Not for ectoplasmic standards.

Also I wanted to make a prompt where Danny had a good relationship with his parents & went into a fairly realistic job after high school with his fairly bad GPA so he’s saving up for a technical school via construction jobs as he doesn’t like the idea of working fast food for understandable reasons.

[inquebrar]

OK. WAIT A SECOND.

another OST from Begins ≠ Youth ("Breathe") was released (the first one was "Take It All" which is absolutely a work of art) and in the MV of the last one THEY INCLUDED THIS SCENE

?!#?$?$+(#??!!#?# SIR DID YOU THINK I WOULDN'T NOTICE?!

they just added another scene THAT WE DIDN'T SAW IN THE SERIES in the middle of the mv like nothing and didn't elaborate. so the only explanation i can find to this is a reaffirmation of the fandom "theory" that we will actually have another season that has most likely already been recorded:

so here are some more scenes that i realized haven't happened yet ↓

ALL THESE SCENES seem to be important and i wouldn't see an explanation as to why they would delete them, especially this part that i had already commented on once:

after the end of episode 12, this scene seems to me even more that here we see Hwan after already traveling through time trying to "fix things" this explains the feeling that this scene conveys that he knows the boys while the others seem confused...

AND A FEW ADDITIONAL SCENES OF MY PROTECTED BABIES AKA CEIN AND JEHA

99% chance this is the scene before the one where we see Jeha helping Cein with the injuries from the fight. the curiosity to know what made Cein get into a fight with those boys in front of Jeha is consuming my being, i need answers!!

this one i believe is Jeha talking to his mother? maybe? and Cein looking from afar maybe remembering his own mother and missing her or something? or concern for Jeha because he knows what his relationship with family is like? idk... but also as hyyh yoonkook sickens the neurons in my brain, i also thought about the possibility of it being Jeha talking to a girl and Cein getting jealous [sorry i'm not normal about them and i know it.]

now, inhale exhale inhale exhale

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

when how why what??!?!?!!

is this one of the results of Hwan changing things and this happens instead of the brick scene?! because we see Jeha walking like that before, could it be that after managing to prevent Jeha's half brother from sending those false messages and setting up the trap, Cein finds Jeha walking in the middle of the road among the cars and runs to help?? HELP ME

at the end of the day, this all only fueled my hopeful mind and made me even more certain that season 2 is real and now we just have to wait for it to be released. otherwise i'll kms /j

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Alberta to introduce $200 annual electric vehicle tax

Other new tax changes in the Alberta budget include a new tax on vaping products sold in the province, and higher taxes of tobacco products

Electric car owners in Alberta will be forced to pay an annual $200 electric vehicle tax starting as early as January 2025. In Alberta’s 2024 budget unveiled Thursday, the province says the new tax will be applied when electric car owners register their vehicle and will be in addition to the current registration fee. The province says electric vehicles tend to be heavier and cause more destruction on highways and roads, while owners don’t pay a provincial fuel tax. The tax will not apply to hybrid vehicles, the budget says. During a Thursday news conference, Alberta Finance Minister Nate Horner said the tax rate is meant to be in line with the estimated fuel tax paid by a typical Alberta driver. Horner pointed to other jurisdictions that have moved forward with similar fees for electric vehicles.

Continue Reading

Tagging @abpoli

[fuelmyride]

Regular Fuel on Porsche Cayman? Yes You Can With Fuel Factor X 

Stop using premium and save money right at the pump with Fuel Factor X. I've been using FFX in my Porsche Cayman for decade and never have to use premium. Learn more, http://FuelMyRide.org

[bluechemaustralia]

Unleash the Potential of Your Engine: Explore Bluechem Australia's High-Performance Fuel Additives

Hitting the open road, whether in your daily commute or on a thrilling weekend adventure, is an exhilarating experience. However, maintaining optimal engine performance can sometimes feel like a constant battle. Here at Bluechem Australia, we understand your desire for a smooth and efficient ride. That's why we offer a range of the best fuel additives, designed to enhance your engine's performance and extend its lifespan.

Fuel Additives: Beyond the Myths

You might have heard conflicting information about fuel additives. Here's the truth: Modern fuel additives, like those offered by Bluechem Australia, are formulated with advanced technology to address specific performance needs. They go beyond the myths and offer tangible benefits:

Enhanced Engine Performance: Certain fuel additives can help clean and lubricate vital engine components, leading to smoother operation, increased responsiveness, and potentially improved fuel economy.

Reduced Emissions: Some additives can help reduce harmful emissions from your vehicle, contributing to a cleaner environment.

Improved Fuel System Protection: Modern fuel additives can act as corrosion inhibitors and protect your fuel system from rust and degradation, potentially reducing maintenance costs down the line.

Combatting Water Build-up: Some fuel additives can help prevent water build-up in your fuel tank, a common problem in Australia's climate, which can lead to engine issues.

Bluechem Australia: Your Trusted Source for Premium Fuel Additives

At Bluechem Australia, we're committed to providing you with the best fuel additives on the market. Our products are:

German-Engineered: Developed and manufactured in Germany, Bluechem fuel additives leverage cutting-edge technology to deliver exceptional results.

Problem-Specific Solutions: We offer a range of targeted fuel additives, each designed to address specific performance needs.

Safe and Efficient: Our fuel additives are rigorously tested to ensure they are safe for your engine and optimize fuel efficiency.

Easy to Use: Bluechem fuel additives are simple to use, typically requiring just one application per tank of fuel.

Exploring Bluechem Australia's Range of Fuel Additives

Bluechem Power Diesel: This powerful additive cleans and lubricates fuel injectors and pumps, leading to improved fuel atomization, increased power output, and potentially reduced emissions. Ideal for diesel engines.

Bluechem Octane Plus: Designed to boost the octane rating of your petrol, Bluechem Octane Plus can help prevent engine knocking and pinging, leading to smoother operation and potentially increased power output.

Bluechem Injector Cleaner: This targeted additive tackles clogged fuel injectors, restoring optimal fuel flow for improved performance and potentially better fuel economy.

Bluechem Diesel System Cleaner: A comprehensive solution for diesel engines, this cleaner removes harmful deposits from the entire fuel system, including injectors, pumps, and fuel lines, optimizing performance and protecting your engine.

Investing in Performance and Longevity: The Benefits of Fuel Additives

Investing in high-quality fuel additives like those offered by Bluechem Australia offers a range of benefits:

Enhanced Driving Experience: Enjoy a smoother and more responsive ride with improved engine performance.

Potential Fuel Economy Gains: Certain fuel additives can help optimize fuel combustion, potentially leading to improved fuel economy.

Reduced Maintenance Costs: By protecting your engine and fuel system, fuel additives can potentially help reduce the need for costly repairs down the line.

Environmentally Friendly: By reducing emissions and promoting fuel efficiency, you contribute to a cleaner and more sustainable future.

Unleash Your Engine's Potential with Bluechem Australia

Ready to experience the full potential of your engine? Look no further than Bluechem Australia. With our range of high-quality fuel additives, you can unlock smoother performance, increased efficiency, and potentially extend the life of your engine. Visit our website or contact your nearest authorized Bluechem Australia retailer today to explore the perfect fuel additive for your vehicle and driving needs. Remember, a little goes a long way in maximizing the performance and longevity of your engine!

Contact- Web - https://www.bluechemaustralia.com.au/fuel-additives/ Mail - info@bluechemaustralia.com.au Ph - 0498 880 115 Address - UNIT 4, 63 Brunel Rd, Seaford VIC 3198, AU

[zyonsay]

Wildfire, Chapter One MV1

Fem aligned people may read but not f3tishize my work!!

Summary: Your very first Grand Prix!

Reader: Male

Warnings: Swearing, Max holds a grudge against you

Now playing: 'Break stuff' by Limp Bizkit

AN: First Chapter of Wildfire! This is a rewritten version, the early version was too short and sucked ass, so here you go babes!

(Here is the next chapter)

“Y/N L/N coming through the inside! This looks like P2 for the Redbull rookie! Don’t blink because you might just miss him!”

Loud cheering erupted from the watcher stands and colorful smoke hung in the air. Nobody really knew who you were since your addition to the team was announced barely a day before the quali.

“OH MY GOD, Y/N! YOU DID IT, YOU DID IT!”

Horners voice boomed through the team radio, the mechanics and engineer’s celebrations could be heard in the background. Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes; you couldn’t believe you placed so good at your first race in F1. You knew that you were talented, and you’d worked hard too, but your second place today was unexpected. Usually, it takes time to settle into F1, figuring out all the dynamics and such, so naturally you’d expect some more difficulties than this.

Once you’d hopped out of the car, you received many pats on your helmet. You were obsessed with the design that you’d chosen a few weeks ago; it was a beautiful reinterpretation of ‘starry night’ depicting a race car, watcher stands and track lights instead of a village.

You were grinning from ear to ear, proud of today’s accomplishment. Naturally, your teammate and racing legend Max had won the Grand Prix, but you were more than pleased with your work. The third place was achieved by your friend and fellow racer Lando Norris.

You took your place on the chair in the cooldown room, observing the replay of your drive carefully, still grinning. Lando punched your shoulder lightly. “Hey dude, good drive!”, he had a playful gleam in his eyes. “Next time i’ll get you tho.”, he smiled mischievously. “Keep on dreaming, I’ll crush everything in my way.” You patted him on the shoulder, making idle chit chat with your buddy.

Max stood at the other end of the room, watching the replay too. Your presence, your words, your attitude left a sour taste in his mouth. It’s not like you were mean or anything, but the way you present yourself seemed too cocky for a rookie. He’d never admit it, but having you around felt threatening. Like a lion, waiting for the Zebra to get distracted for a split second so it can rip it to shreds. But Max was always the lion? Why not now?

Many Formula 1 Fans were intrigued by you, the first impressions you left sure were lasting ones. “Fucking hell! Did this dick even get his fucking driver’s license?! Do I need to get him some glasses or will he be able to see the turn next time?” You were a strong fiery character, reminding many people of Max. Your overly confident nature was charming somehow and managed to pull in many fans, but it also earned you loads of judgmental stares and nasty comments on Instagram.

But you loved the attention. Your fire was only fueled more and more that way.

The ceremonial part of spraying fizzy alcohol and various festivities took its time, but eventually ended with you feeling sticky and gross, but happy.

Shortly after leaving the podium, you were circled by interviewers, fighting to be the first to speak with the ‘wonder rookie’. A grey-haired man with an unknown accent gained your attention first. “Congratulations on your Success! You surely made a good first impression! Did you expect this outcome and furthermore, do you think someone else would’ve deserved the second place?” You blinked a few times at the blunt question but broke into a playful grin soon after. “To be honest, I couldn’t exactly weigh my chances because I’m new to all of the circumstances, but my success is definitely welcomed with open arms.” You looked intently at the camera that was shoved into your face, still smiling. “I deserve the second place, if anyone else felt like they deserved it, they should’ve tried to be faster than me.” The interviewer was flabbergasted at your retaliation and raised his eyebrows in shock. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sweating terribly.” You turned towards the camera, pointing at it: “Lot’s of love to all of you watching, have a nice evening!”

And with that you rushed off, wanting to peel your race suit off as fast as possible.

Max stood nearby and had heard the whole interview while talking to his friend Charles Leclerc. He was equally as perplexed as the interviewer. How could you talk like that at your first Grand Prix? Cocky much.

Max couldn’t wait to crush your little rookie dreams.

[the-teddy-roosevelt]

Let me tell you a little thing about cars.

I have had a gripe against modern car design, at least here in the States, for the longest time. Recently I have seen the utter abominations of the 21st century be more and more common and finally decided to share my stance to the wonderful world of the internet! So, be prepared for a lot of reading because this is a full scale rant with the occasional photo.

And now: Why Modern Car Design is Going to Kill Us All.

I have been doing much research these past months as I continued to observe more of these "newer designs" I have spoken so much about, and there are a few things I need to delve into.

The Flat Front

Supersize Me 2: Not so Electric Boogaloo

Elon's Bastard of a Car

1

The Flat Front

So, these cars I have been talking about, just to be more specific, are SUVs and Light Trucks/Pickup Trucks.

You see that massive, flat front in the image above? Well, believe it or not, that is causing more deaths in car-related accidents yearly! Due to being so boxy, when a pedestrian is hit, they are more likely to break bones around the torso/head, then pull the person UNDER the car rather than how a car normally would hit the person's legs, then they would hit the hood of the car.

These can also create massive blind spots/zones where you can't see what is right in front of you.

I shall dive more into this in the next section.

2

Supersize Me 2: Not so Electric Boogaloo

So, onto the next section. As you can see above you, this is a comparison of two cars, only 24 years apart(end of Escort to start of F-350). Only 24 years, and it had a 246% increase in weight, was 91.7 in. or about 7.64 ft. longer, and 26.8 in. or about 2.2 ft. taller.

This is a dramatic increase for little to no reason other than to "protect the drivers". As we have discussed in section 1, this is not the case. In fact, if one of these larger SUVs were to hit another, usually smaller car, it is more likely for the smaller driver to be killed, or at least seriously harmed by the bigger vehicle.

Speaking of smaller, children:

Children are one of the biggest victims of these larger cars with them being run over either in frontovers or backovers, most often by their own parents in a driveway.

If you don't fully believe me that these cars are truly big enough to run over the younger side of children, an entire experiment was done, putting kids in front of parked cars, and just look:

Terrifying.

I addition to this, the larger frame of these cars means that they create more pollution. Let me explain: The bigger cars needed more fuel, that means more fossil fuels being burned, and due to the US's car based infrastructure, there are more cars being produced, that is even more fossil fuels for both production and upkeep, and more pollution.

But oh dear reader, these SUVs and Light Trucks are not even the worst of it...

3

Elon's Bastard of a Car

Gentlemen, women, and all of you folk in between, I give you: The Tesla Cybertruck.

This... Thing, is the bane of everything I hate about modern car design, from the boxy shape going throughout the car, to being an "indestructible" vehicle, and its ability to kill anyone.

Okay, that is a lot I am claiming, so lets break it down.

We have already talked about how dangerous the box design is, but the Cybertruck appears to be a geometry problem found in high-school. This is unbelievably dangerous, making any crashes with other cars much more likely fatal.

The fatalities can also be helped by the fact the damn car is made of STAINLESS STEEL and "indestructible" according to advertising. Most cars are made to be able to crunch in order to let the force of impact be more spread out throughout the vehicle. Yes, it will cost quite a bit to fix, but hey, you're alive. Meanwhile when it is made out of such a hard material, such as steel, that crunch isn't going to happen and only kill the people inside the vehicle, and the people crashing into the giant steel block.

The company claims it can go from zero to 60 miles per hour in 2.6 seconds, which, if true, would mean it has a faster acceleration than most NASCAR and Formula 1 vehicles, with none of the accompanying engine roar to warn anyone that it's coming. The headlight, meanwhile, is one single bar of light, which some experts are already worried will blind oncoming drivers.

There are so many other things about this utter abomination that I would love to talk about, but I think this is where I'll leave off.

One last thing, I just want to say how this is mostly my experience and research from the United States of America, and not the rest of the world. Also, I do not see these things getting much better unless somehow the US removes all of its car based infrastructure.

Thank you for reading my friends, and remember, fuck monopolies.

[seat-safety-switch]

I'm glad that I don't have some kind of panic-related disorder. Things are too easy already to get worked up into a doom spiral about, without having to worry about additional stuff on top of that. How could I ever find time to worry about whether or not my fifty-year-old dashboard crack is spreading?

Lately, though, I've been having these thoughts. Not all the time, of course, which would require some kind of intervention, and I don't have enough money to buy snacks for every one of my friends and family who are "a little concerned about my behaviour" and decide to invite themselves over to my house with no warning about it. No, those thoughts happen whenever my mind begins to wander while driving.

Today's thought, as I drove by the coast, was that the ocean is basically just all pee. And that's true. Even as I type it, I realize that it has to objectively be true. Realizing it, in the moment, that's what gave me the panic. It took about four hours more of driving, and a frenzied call into a local AM talk radio show, until I started to feel a little bit better. Coincidentally, I had also run out of gas.

After I filled the car with some fuel siphoned out of a police car parked at the donut stand and turned the engine back on, that same feeling of paranoia began again. The ocean is basically just all pee, screamed the goblin in my mind.

In a rage, I stamped my foot, and went right through the pinholes in the floorboard. Oh. It was just carbon monoxide this whole time.

Ultimately, I'm glad no harm was done. No harm, that is, except for my "lifetime" ban from the telephone switchboard at Uncle Jeff's Hyper-Conservative Inexplicably Angry Yap Hour. Banned for nothing, really, just some incoherent rambling about how we're all guzzling aerosolized dolphin urine whenever we go on the Tamale Island ferry. This puts a crimp in my weekend plans, which was going to be calling in to tell him about how refrigerators are "up to some shit," then pivoting to try and lure some of his listeners into joining my Ponzi scheme.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Leyland P76, 1973. Some cars that were introduced in 1973 have endured, others didn't make it beyond 1974. The P76 was designed by Michelotti and was British Leyland's Australian subsidiary's attempt to break into the Australasian big car market powered by a 4.4 litre version of the ex Buick alloy Rover V8. However a combination of poor build quality, unreliability and the 70's fuel crisis in addition to huge debts meant the car's fate was sealed and production ended in 1974