#gas-charged dart magazine

[sw5w]

Queen Amidala Outside the Window

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:55:13

[verselong]

G39 silent sniper rifle you tube

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[blankdblank]

The White Dove Pt 23 - Teacher

Mid blow hard to your ribs and the former boxer turned criminal took one blow to his jaw and was down. To vanish into the plunging gas let loose suddenly on your walk home for a break between shifts. A hand and arm that came from around your back locked a hold on your neck to throw you out of the way. Mid clench of that hand your head turned. To not just line up with the man’s chin but to give you a clear view of the sniper team you knew the press said were tied to this particular crew who had raced out of a van to case the building formerly behind you.

Hard into his foot your heel slammed, and the automatic rifle aimed at your head was shoved in a stretch of his arm, which for the cameras above covered the fire of two shots your finger on the trigger around his let off to kill the snipers. To clear the chamber your finger once free of the trigger looped to jerk that back letting a bullet loose to flip through the air to the drop of the magazine your other hand let fall. Upon facing the man, a left hook to the ribs had him drop and you grab the rifle, that in a turn you grabbed around the muzzle and middle to slam into the rib of the next man to charge at you. Raspy and harsh his breath left his lungs, dropping him into reach for you to knock him out with a kick to the head.

Anxiously the man in the van watched the scene. The final armed man stood behind a familiar face with steely eyes that fell onto you in a turn back to see what the disturbance was. Gas that had been flooding the street had begun to waft away in the arrival of a military chopper that came to give the surge of soldiers headed this way a clear view.

Forward the armed man rushed. Into his gun toting arm you swung the rifle, and to the sound of the shift of gears on the van again a faked wrestle for his gun had you fire it for him to shoot through the driver’s door of the van. Dead center the bullet hit the airbag to launch the forceful explosion of fabric into the driver’s chest, causing him to slam the van into the lamp post that fell to crush in a line down the middle of the roof of the van. The gun wielding man with a hard elbow to the throat dropped to his side to flounder for air while you dropped the magazine you removed from his gun and emptied now onto the ground at his side.

Soldiers loudly still raced towards you as the familiar male Winter Soldier left standing faced you head on with eyes that shifted from your mouth when you bent your tongue up to curve against the roof of your mouth to show your brand off. Just fast enough to be taken as an absent minded action, as your hand went to rest on your ribs where you had been punched, that no one on camera would pay it any mind.

The door behind him opened, and out of a buck shot tiny sedating darts flew, dropping you to a hip when your legs gave out. Shaking your head in the fight against the compound that coursed through your veins, eyes clenched to focus energy to not ignite, the dart was removed from your collar bone. And in a squint of an eye view of the Winter Soldier who had moved himself between you and the armed men who raced out of the building in his own struggle to remain upright against the sedative dart.

One end of the street to the other glances, when the substance subsided its effects, revealed lines of soldiers, and had you realize there was no vanishing act possible. Gunshots and orders echoed through the street in the turn and drop of the soldier to take a couple shots to the back, which burrowed into his bullet proof vest, to block your smaller self he knelt in a hunch over you.

“This is gonna hurt,” you said in Russian. Planting a small round EMP dart onto his collar bone that killed the kill dart implant buried there used to fire a kill shot into the heart as well as the chip under the skin on his scalp to locate him while shutting down the power to the block in a later to be noticed side effect.

In pocketing the dart again his eyes again landed on you through the shadow his figure cast around yours, shadow enough to hide the ignition of your eyes and hair to the leap of bees from your mind into his. Enabled greatly by they history you shared to be able to smudge the mind control efforts Hydra had latched into his psyche and subconscious. Not just to clear his mind but to wiggle free and break up the chip and dart to ensure they couldn’t be used again. After a few calm blinks of his you stated the words to disengage his complicit state of mind, that to him felt like a glacier sliced in half and dropped off his chest that left him free after decades of enslavement.

The uncertainty of the situation, to follow initial orders or protect you, caused him to look around over his shoulders then rest his hands on your hips. To get your now non glowing self up and help you to behind a car to be out of the line of fire, safe from fire and right in view of a soldier, who hurried over seeing the blood stream still flowing from your collarbone.

Freed of his initial orders, how free yet he didn’t quite grasp, he knew enough to not leave your side and when a jeep came to drive you to the hospital to not wait for an ambulance he placed himself at your side. Blankly removing the handgun holster on his thigh and rifle strapped to his back without being ordered to that were left on the ground, not requiring the soldiers to try and separate you at notice of the weapons. The Winter Soldier superior to him you were assigned to was not in sight, and he was not about to allow a travesty to be unleashed when your guarding soldier had come to find his pupil. None of them would ever risk the loss of a star bearing pupil even if it cost them their life to protect the young Widows.

.

“Pluto,” May Parker said when she saw you being led into the ER she worked at by a soldier and a man in full tactical gear and bullet proof layers, “What happened?”

“Walked into a trap, go figure, somebody shot me with a dart, my legs went out from under me.”

Doctor Palmer, who came around a counter behind May, rushed you over to a nearby bed ordering a vial of blood be taken and a rush on an iv bag. “We need to get you on some fluids,” she said and locked her eyes on you when you inched away from her hand that rested on your side in helping you a bit more onto the bed.

May asked, “Are you in pain, Pluto?”

And with your left hand you grabbed the end of your tank top to lift higher that Doctor Palmer’s mouth dropped open in seeing the already blackening bruise on your ribs, “We’re gonna need an x ray too,” she called to the Nurses in the hall.

“Took a punch, I was just walking, and this van came out of nowhere and I guess it was a robbery.” May’s hands gently worked an iv port into your hand, that was used to draw the blood vials and then hook the bag of fluids to help dilute whatever it was in your veins out.

Doctor Palmer said, “You also have a head laceration, what happened with that?” her fingers gently palpating your ribs to see how bad it might be.

“My head?” you asked May and she tapped the side of her temple your fingers moved to curiously to find blood from a cut just under your hairline. “I felt something flick me when the gas went off, maybe, a piece of the canister broke off. Doesn’t hurt.”

A portable xray was wheeled in and hung over your bed and Doctor Palmer said, “Just need a deep breath, Pluto,” a lead blanket was laid over your hips and away from the bed everyone flinched, with May taking hold of your bag she brought back to lay at your side on the bed. “You have a rib fracture and as soon as we know what you were given we can get you some pain medicine. I’m gonna get a Neuro consult for your head and we’re gonna get a rush on that blood work.” Up at the man at your side she asked, “Are you a relative?”

“Old teacher, known him since I was a kid,” you said.

Doctor Palmer nodded as May accepted a tablet from another Nurse to take your information, “Last name, Pear, like the fruit,” and asked, “Birthday?”

All the information was filled out and a bracelet was printed for you with another to warn to not give you food or water with a fainting warning just in case there was another side effect of the substance you had been given. “Christine, where’s the head wound?” Stephen Strange said coming into your view, and his eyes shifted onto you on the bed in her turn to face you.

“Pluto, this is Doctor Strange, he’s here to check your head laceration.”

“Pluto,” he said and his lips parted in a move closer, “Pluto Pear?”

“Ya,” you said, feeling the Super Soldier on your right seated in the chair there, still staring at him in his move closer.

“You invented the Blackhowls, they mentioned you a few times in the Columbia newsletter they send to alumni.” Off your eyes his gaze landed upon the scabbing cut near your hairline asking, “Do you remember what happened?”

“Well, apparently I walked into a trap. Van pulled up, men rushed out and they fired off a gas. Felt like something flicked me in the head, must have been a piece of the canister or something. Didn’t hurt.”

“Did you lose consciousness?” he asked accepting gloves Doctor Palmer handed him.

Blindly he added those to your answer of, “No, was a bit distracted one of the men punched me in the ribs after that.”

Doctor Palmer said, “Pluto here has a fractured rib and a nasty bruise.”

“Uh-huh, started her on a low pain med with the drip then?”

May had a bandage tray, just waiting to clean your cuts. Said, “We’re waiting on blood work first.”

“Why?” he asked as his fingers pressed around the scab.

“I got shot with a dart of something,” you said, and his eyes dropped to follow your finger tapping at the source of blood from your collar bone. “They’re trying not to kill me I suppose.”

“Any symptoms?” he asked.

“Legs gave out, felt fuzzy, like before you pass out. Muffled hearing and I had to shut my eyes, felt like I was going to be sick. Apart from my side I feel better. I tend to get stuck in a lot of traps. Chaos follows me.”

A pen light was brought out of his jacket pocket as he asked, “And you’re certain you didn’t hit your head?” he looked to the man in the chair asking, “Were you there?”

In English Cooper replied, “The only blow she took was to her ribs.”

“Mhmm,” Strange muttered, then looked to you again from the stern man, and clicked the light on to check your pupils for a basic eye test with a few questions to see how your mental responses were. “I wanna get an MRI just to be safe.”

“Buster,” you said and his eyes shifted to your hair. To watch the eyes light up on Buster, who as you pressed a hand into the back of the inclined bed to sit up, released from your hair to hover around your head parting Strange’s lips in watch of the projected scan results over its back of your brain. Back against the bed you rested saying, “I didn’t hit my head, save the machine for someone who will need it. There was a good deal of gunfire, surely someone will.”

“You designed this?” Stephen asked in a tentative lift of a finger that rotated the image that in timed flashes showed different layers of your brain.

“Actually made a portable set of rings that makes a 3d model last year in seconds of a scan but Doctors Without Borders ghosted me on an email to let me know when to expect an interview to show off my latest improvement on the idea. Apparently in making a machine worth millions rhetorical several people would then have to choose what to use that room for, which can only lead to battles of ego on who gets to claim it.”

Buster flew back to your hair in the creep of his grin wider as May said, “I can help you clean up your cuts,” with a wet cloth in hand she sat on the side of the bed opposite him to gently begin to clean your face and your chest of drying blood.

Strange said, “You seem close. Related?”

May answered, “We use the same laundromat.”

“Ah,” he said and then said to you, still confused a bit, “Hang tight, check back in on you a bit later.” Out of the room he went gesturing Doctor Palmer to do the same where he stood in the doorway saying to her, “Scan seems clear, keep me up to date on that blood test, and don’t leave her alone with that guy.”

Though you could hear him and you said to May, “Cooper here’s only dangerous around chocolate cherries and cocoa puffs.”

Making her glance at the man, who said, “Down right addicted to artificial sugars. 25 years in the Marines, takes a sea horse to get this look off my face.” His head tilted to the side, “The occasional red panda does the trick too.”

She looked to you again and you said, “I really do feel okay. Not the first time I’ve bruised my ribs.”

“Still going to keep an eye on you in case that dart kicks in. Did you get hurt too?” She asked the man she now knew as Cooper.

“No, took a couple rounds to the back when the soldiers jumped in keeping this one out of the way.” He said gesturing a finger your way on his hand rested atop his knee. “She’s more important than my old self.”

In a matter of minutes she had you cleaned up with a couple bandages on your cuts. “You go to Midtown, right?”

“Yes.”

“My nephew got accepted, why I’m asking. Guess we’ll be seeing you at enrollment then. He’s so excited his parents went there. The teachers I hear are really thorough and have high expectations.”

“Some of them, but it’s all on motivation from what I know, more the students push themselves the better their experience is and results are. They offer tons of chances to get ahead too. Even helped me to get into Columbia as well to start on my Bachelors degree and my scholarships for that too.”

“Well my Peter is a go getter. He should do well then,” she said with a grin flinching wider. Half an hour she hung around, and turned as you looked to the doorway to find Eddie there having arrived through several check points to get here as quick as possible.

“Hey Eddie, found another trap. Got shot with a tranq dart.” He crossed the room and seeing the hem of your shirt up his fingers went there first, “Just a fractured rib,” you said inching your shirt up so he could see the swelling bruise in its first stage to darken before it began to lighten again.

“And your face?” He asked, helping you to fix your shirt again, and glanced up at Cooper. “Cooper, right?”

“Yes,” he said lifting a hand so they could shake hands over your chest, “Was in town on the hunt for that Orca machine.” He said with eyes shifting back to you as their hands broke apart, “Found Pluto here.”

“Eddie, Pluto adopted me as her brother.”

You answered his question when he looked back at you, “I felt something flick me, might have been a piece of the smoke canister they used, didn’t hit my head, and they’re waiting on blood work to see what I was dosed with.”

The door to your room was shut as more people from the building were brought in, causing Eddie to settle at your side on the bed so he and Venom could feel what you might not be saying or showing. His hand folding around yours to rest and be cradled on his belly easing that task. By the end of the hour Doctor Palmer was back in the room with a grin stating as she showed you a cup of two pills and a vial with a wrapped syringe between her fingers on the hand holding the plastic cup. “Well you certainly are lucky, managed to get the dart out before it could release a toxic amount of the compound into your bloodstream. Since you’ve taken the fluids completely we can give you a shot for your pain and,” she looked to Eddie, “Family?”

“Brother,” you both said, and she nodded.

“Then we can send you home with your brother and give you a prescription for your ribs and a list of rules to follow for the best way to outwait the recovery,” in handing you the cup she named the two medications inside. And watched you swallow the pair of horse pills.

May opened the small water bottle Dr Palmer had tucked underneath her elbow to enable you to have a sip of water to chase the useless medications that churned in your belly for an uncomfortable couple minutes while your system burned them off. Out of the syringe she unwrapped and uncapped she drew down the plunger to add the medication to the iv to help against the toxins even more that extended the discomfort. Reminding you all the more of the uncomfortable iv that your body was slowly fighting against the tape to push it out of your hand to heal the opening. “I will warn you ribs are a painful and slow recovery often made worse with irritation from not being able to draw in deep breaths.”

“I don’t need the pain meds, I’ve fractured my ribs before. Used to the process.”

After a moment she said, “If this is about you not having better insurance since Misique’s work on the medical infrastructure, this is all affordable,” with actual concern in her gaze you might be refusing on those grounds.

“That’s not why, but thank you.”

“Have,” she started to ask with brows pressed together a moment, “Have you had troubles with pain meds before?”

“I’ve researched the history of medications. Antibiotics are one thing, I don’t want pain pills, if I have to I’ll take some Tylenol. My father has bad kidneys I don’t want to push my luck.”

She let out a breath and said, “I am going to still give you a prescription, not one that will harm your kidneys, to go with a follow up round of medication to help flush anything else lingering in your system out. Even if you just take a pill before bed to help you sleep I can’t just let a 16 year old out of here without some form of relief.” She looked at May naming the medication she wanted to be given to you and then said, “I’ll get your discharge papers and that healing instruction packet ready for you.”

May eased off the bed to collect the pain medication from the storage room granting you and Eddie a clear view of Fury and Pierce alongside Natasha Romanoff, all who had seen the security footage and paused upon sight of you and Cooper at your side. Cooper in a lean forward patted your arm gently and said, “Feel better, I’ll check in with you later.”

“You sure?” you asked and he nodded.

“Yes, I don’t go now they’ll come after me later.”

Out of the room he walked straight for Pierce, who could be heard saying, “Cut the kid loose, clearly out of her depth,” Natasha peered up at Cooper and drew in a breath in a bid to keep her face straight, recognizing him from her own training days in the Red Room, “We need to talk.” Pierce said confidently up at the man, who upon instructing to be left alone in a room with him inside SHIELD headquarters to utter the proper words would kick Pierce through a wall, showing the first of the control tactics was gone thanks to a mental barrier you placed on your way out of severing their control over his mind.

 *.*.*

Freeing him fully from Hydra on top of disengaging the kill switch implanted in the lesser Winter Soldiers, that would have shaken Pierce, now more so at two Super Soldiers free of Hydra’s control. Cooper however upon arrival at SHIELD headquarters would be given the chance to meet his niece, Melinda May, who was floored and lit her own fire in the headquarters to take him home to see her father and grandparents that believed he died in battle. A dead man was found alive as well as ruins of the Orca machine beyond repair, with little sign of the woman who created it amongst the group, who was plotting to get charge of the Titans with it.

They got their win and Pierce assumed he got his asset back, only to find he was wrong and a plot to retrieve or silence Cooper had to be initiated while Pierce laid in another bed in the medical wing at SHIELD.

Triple checking the footage again however a search of two building windows above would reveal two highly hunted Hydra snipers for Fury to add to the list of mysteries revolving around your confusing self. Now his mental image of you included a terrifying level of skill to have killed those two and made it look like an accident in disarming the two men with guns aimed at you. Two shots that distance through smoke for clean shots, that even Clint had to stand in awe at the execution after the noticed split second glance that way, in which you would have had to decide the best spots for said snipers to be perched for top efficacy.

Fury asked him when he was certain they were alone, “Clint, how long would it take you to find these rooms from down on the street?”

Clint let out a scoff shaking his head, “Sixty windows on this side of the building, sun at that hour was glare central aimed at the street, other building you have to shoot between two wrought iron railings. That one, that was a perch to watch the roof of the target building, I wouldn’t have even given that building a second glance.” And he shrugged, “Then again she knows the dead guy, brother’s a journalist, maybe the crew always uses these angles.” When he looked at Fury again, “Training like this, and the kid isn’t doing anything, just work and school,” he shook his head again, “Man, do you know how she got loose? Exactly how?”

Fury said, “Just showed up on a plane. Not a trace of what she was involved with aside from a ballet school and the pictures of trips with Barnes.”

Clint said, “So she’s a ghost hunted by ghosts who is living very publicly. Kid’s got balls. Online presence, in magazines, in parade yearly, winning competitions, top of her class, she’s staring a bull in the face.” He paused and asked, “Pierce really said cut her loose?”

Fury nodded, adjusting his footing a bit, wondering at what Clint was thinking, “Said she was in over her head.”

“And you watched the tapes,” Clint chuckled and pointed at the blood stain around the still perched sniper rifle, “He knows. Nat came on board he was on her for years. He’s scared of this kid so much he’d rather take the guy who kicked him through a wall when he got him alone. Nat is terrified to dip a toe in the haunted lake inside of a ten acre cemetery Bucky is lost in that this kid crawled out of. And she is a good kid, if she is working someone then I’m Brigitte Bardot, she is a good kid I can tell she wants to help she’s just drawing a line at what will be an all out war if she goes to hunt Bucky herself. Maybe this ghost Cooper guy has some hints to Bucky is.”

*.*.*

 May Parker when she returned looked to the empty seat and you said, “Cooper went to give a summary of what happened to the officials that came in so I wouldn’t have to.”

“Oh,” she said then brought the needle and sealed vial closer saying, “Shouldn’t be long before we can get you back home and resting,” and into the open port on the iv she pushed the needle and plunger down afterwards to release the liquid, your brows furrowed in feeling it course through your veins. Whatever relief it was meant to grant it only lasted a few seconds before the nausea and cloudiness of your mind and blink of a dull to your rib pain was all gone.

“Thank you, for sitting with me even if you were ordered to in case Doctor Strange thought Cooper might try to kill me or something.” Unable to help it she smirked to your quick chuckle.

“It was my pleasure, now I know a good deal more on the school to share with Peter when I get home. Help to get him ready.” To help the others she was called away, and in the privacy you were able to share more about what had happened and why the mentally freed Super Soldier was in the hospital room with you.

Doctor Strange’s return had him notice the absent member of your former company who was swapped with another man who seemed mildly more comforting to see you alone with. The quizzical look on his face had you say, “Don’t worry he only eats people after sunset, I’m perfectly safe now.”

“See they gave you your pain meds finally. Feeling better?”

“Not particularly, never been a fan of iv’s. But I’ll be home soon.”

“And I’ll make a call about that scanner of yours, see if I can grease some wheels for people to take your invention seriously as they did that plane of yours. Don’t get many chances to help a fellow Columbia kid. I will do my best to pull some weight for you.” He said confidently.

“Well I guess we can see what an actual Doctor can get them to listen to.”

“I can be quite annoyingly persistent I’m told.”

“Most Neurosurgeons tend to be.” You said, making him smirk and come closer to get another check of your eyes, which had him on the lack of impact the medicine had on your pupils so far a bit curious.

“When did they give you that injection?” he asked.

“Couple minutes ago,” Eddie said gaining a nod.

“Then you might want to lay her down on the ride home those meds can be quite potent in triggering drowsiness. And be sure to keep off your feet as much as you can. Feel better we need as many brilliant minds as we can get in the game.” His head turned noticing Doctor Palmer returning with the packet of paperwork for you. “Christine, there you are.” With a twitch of his brows he stepped away to the sound of his pager going off to call him back to the Neuro wing. “Stay safe out there,” was the last thing he said, stepping away with a pat of his hand on her arm.

“Hard working with your ex?” you asked, parting her lips, “Had a guy who asked me out to make his crush jealous and people stared at me like I lost a husband or something,” making her smirk at the image. “Barely spoke to the boy before that, is it hard? I’ve asked my therapist but he’s a he, it’s different.”

With a chuckle she said, “Well he never treated me any different before or after, we’re Mates, so he’s stuck with me so when he bothers me I tickle him mercilessly, that helped, and people tend to not like him, he’s, a handful. Gossip and second looks end eventually. School is always rough.”

“Also I was home schooled for eight years so to jump from first grade to my sophomore year and getting back to such a wild social dynamic to come back to in the sea of these kids going through puberty. And then thoughts on Mates only makes it more complicated in thinking which one of them could be anchored to you for the rest of their lives.”

“That will pass. I have these for you, the recovery packet and your prescription.” All through the packet she guided you for May to return with a tablet for the Doctor to help the discharge forms as May, once gloved gently removed your iv.

Eddie shouldered your bag to help you ease off the bed and keep you under his arm out to the parking garage where he was able to give you a warm hug helped you onto the back of the bike as he asked, “You aren’t scared of this Cooper guy?”

“I tapped his mind and erased the trigger words, so they can’t order him to come after me. He has family in SHIELD who thought he was dead, so I think if anything were to happen it would be a ways off. What I felt, he seems like he was a good guy around the scars.”

“You still work at two?” he asked and you nodded. “Food time, we’ll get you fed and changed and see if Buddy can help you with those bruises of yours.” Over the seat he swung his leg to lift the bike off the kickstand and back up asking, “That shot, how long it last? Three seconds?”

“If even,” you muttered, making him chuckle to himself, and fire up the engine to start the ride ahead through check points to get back to Queens. Right to your favorite place he drove to order take out. There you waited on the bike to take hold of the food you would eat up in your place for some privacy so your bees especially could fill you in on the movements of your freed friend. And on time he gave you a lift to work with promise to pick you up at eleven for the end of your longer shift to help get the place ready for an inventory and a new book release.

One of the best workers there even with shorter hours between classes and summer vacations you were guaranteed shifts no matter what out of all the teens who flitted in and out between the women who manned the registers who had been there since before you had been hired as possible around schedules of taking care of their children. For all the time you had until enrollment you would soak up all the hours and savings you could to keep from being detailed on what was headed your way when it came to school.

 …

Ruins of Orca discovered and it was like someone snapped their fingers taking the military checkpoints all away overnight, loosening up so many tight strings keeping you from gaining more spare time with back shortcuts and trips across rooftops and other structures when normal means had come up short. Under an umbrella through sheets of rain, you found your way back to Midtown for enrollment. Basic information forms were filled out with a new ID card that end over end turned to tap corners onto the table while you stared at the core credit sheet for the degree you wanted to have by next spring.

With a reluctance in his gaze Morita came to sit down in the spot beside yours in the lunchroom where you usually sat for enrollment and lunches. “I tried to make some calls to the education board, on your behalf.” Referring to the lift of required credit hours from 24 to 32 for a school of this classification, “Not right you graded at a sophomore level to punish you for that.”

In a tilt of your head to the right, you took hold of the elbow of the button necked sweater you had on to tug the sleeve up to, then tug the other as your other hand continued to turn and tap of the card. “Not your fault. Only eight credits,” you said with your voice tapering off.

“Maybe I can push harder, you keep your grades up and I can send transcripts to the board to show you should be graduating this year.”

After a shrug you said, “Well I figure it wouldn’t be too hard to try and time getting my degree here and at Columbia at the same time. Unless they’ve changed those core credit requirements too.”

“A couple of the classes at least we can help you to take bi-monthly exams to add spare credits to that numbers. Possibly on Saturdays if it wouldn’t be too much on top of your classes, already talked to some teachers who would be up for the task. Have a few other Seniors who are in the same boat, skipped grades to get here just like you did. Not fair and we’re gonna push hard back on them.” The list of spare classes to choose on the weekends were noted on a sheet of paper he set down with your name on it, specific to the ones you required he’d made up at the policy change.

“Thank you, if not four years here wouldn’t be too miserable to torture through.”

You said making him grin and say, “I will let you map out your schedule, have to go be yelled at by more parents of fellow skippers.” Patting his hand on the table while finding his feet to go and answer more arguments on possible ways to mend this situation for angry parents who had every right to be for this wrench in their child’s plans.

Down the form you listed the classes including the ones on the spare page, folding the booklet around the pages of information and forms for this year once you had chosen to give Color Guard another go. Across your lap the purse there was opened to find your sticky note pad to write down the spare Saturday stops to fit into your schedule later.

“Pluto?” a voice asked turning your head to find May Parker there with a grin your way. “How are your ribs?”

“Good,” you answered, “All better, back to full lung capacity. Been to see all the teachers yet?”

“Not yet, Peter’s been checking out the clubs. Even was going to see about the Decathlon team, I know I’ve read you were on the team past couple years. Maybe he can help you out this time around. He’s got a quick mind, practically lives at the library since he could read, wants to know everything about everything.”

“Be happy to have him, I know a few from last year graduated early, our coach would be glad to have a good number willing to try out to have the best team.”

.

“Hey, who’s that your aunt’s talking to?” Ned asked his best friend Peter when they entered the cafeteria, the pair who were glad to be attending this school together, who both stared at the teen seated at the table where May stood. Both with eyes flinching wider as May gestured their way causing the unmistakable teen give them both a wave they both returned. “Your aunt knows Pluto Pear?”

“They, do laundry at the same place,” Peter stammered out and glanced at Ned to ask, “What do I do?”

Ned shook his head, “I don’t know.”

.

Their hushed debate had May chuckle and look back at you, “I will let you get back to your planning, enjoy the last bit of summer.” She turned to go join Peter and Ned to go and speak to more teachers so the duo could choose the best classes for their goals and you made your note then put your things away to turn in your schedule sheet and make your way out umbrella in hand. Back out into the rain so you could make the charity film run at the theater near to your place where Ricky promised he’d slip away to catch the sequel of the trilogy once his class forms were turned in.

 *.*.*

“What’d you talk about?” Peter asked, adjusting the glasses that slid a bit down his nose while his other hand held the club pamphlets and leaflets he had collected.

May with a creeping grin at his awkward tone answered, “You.”

And with a crack in his voice he asked, “Me? What about me?”

“Well I told her your names, and said you were thinking about trying for the Decathlon team.”

“That’s it?” Peter asked.

And with a chuckle she replied, “Well she’s been on the team and shared that they had a few members graduate last semester and the coach would be glad for some new blood to try out.”

“Oh,” he replied flatly and asked in avoiding a railing for a staircase that separated them, “Does she seem like she wants us on the team?”

“Well she certainly didn’t start screaming in protest at the idea,” she joked, making him scoff and tap her arm.

“May, this is serious, she’s the best on the team.”

“And she said she wants the best team possible. Both of you would be a good addition and next year you can take over when she’s full time at Columbia.”

Ned asked, “The country?”

“The college,” May clarified, “Takes classes there too, usually has some paper or project while waiting on her clothes to finish or look over.”

“She’s in college already?” Both the boys asked in unison.

“Yes, she works hard, and I think you can be good friends,” her smile widened looking at the two, “You could have study groups. And she can’t live that far from us, you could walk together in the mornings, and you are joining the band so you can ride the busses to games together if she’s out for the Color Guard squad again.”

Peter cracked out, “May,”

Making Ned chuckle, “She’s an upper classman, why would she want to hang out with Freshmen?”

“She’s nice,” May replied, “And if you’re on teams together why wouldn’t she want to be friends with you? I would be friends with you if I was her age.”

“You have to say that, May. We’re related.” Peter huffed.

“Well I’m not related to Ned, now am I?” she challenged him, making him smirk at her creeping grin that had her hug him and kiss the top of his head. “This is going to be so good for the both of you. Great school, great teams, great new friends, you’ll see.”

At the first classroom Ned turned his head hearing his parents in discussion with a teacher who waved him over, triggering the boys to do their secret handshake in separating, with plan to meet up after this. And Peter asked, “You think the code labs will be crowded?”

“If they are I’ll fake a scene and clear some space for you.” She joked.

“Please don’t,” he said with concern on his face making her chuckle and give him another hug.

“Party pooper.”

 *.*.*

 Long after your friends had to head back home near to noon between cracks of thunder you hopped onto the front step of the covered stoop for the Daily Bugle. There you closed and shook your umbrella, that was left in the stand inside of the door you opened and held for a woman on her way out tangled in her raincoat. Her soft thanks muffled in the storm shut off by the close of the door as you followed the hall deeper to head up to Eddie’s desk upstairs.

Across the floor you could hear the buzz of the journalists in their cubbies and chosen corners to ready their next story. A few who took notice of you and said hello, turning Eddie’s head from his conversation with another journalist while Jameson was trying to get a clear line of events on what the Seal guy was up to with the Grimm brothers after the former had broken out of his cell in Rikers.

“Hey Pluto,” the journalist said with a wave, patting Eddie on the arm to say they could talk later so your brother could come closer to where you were beside his cubicle.

“How’d it go?” he asked collecting his notes on his desk to shuffle them all into his bag.

“Apparently they changed the core credit requirements, so I’m going to have to take spare classes on Saturdays and the rest next year.”

“They what?!” he said luring Jameson into his doorway.

“What’s the fuss?” Jameson called out.

Eddie turned to look at him saying, “They raised the core credit requirements so now Pluto’s got to repeat a year.”

And you added to Jameson and the other reporters listening in, “Not just me, other students who skipped a year have to take weekend classes and more next year to graduate.”

Jameson said, “Ditch the bit on Dr Phil’s visit and get on this. This statewide?”

“Dean said it was based on the classification of the school and he’s called the education board, all the parents of the other kids are furious.”

James gave a nod saying, “We’re gonna bring the heat, smoke the culprit out!” he turned exclaiming, “Education board crippling the brilliant minds of tomorrow! Won’t have it!”

Eddie tapped your arm to get your focus back on him, instead of the storm brewing in Jameson’s office that struck a personal nerve for him on the latest gripe against the educational system’s decline. “Sis?”

“I’m okay, it wouldn’t be completely terrible to add another year at Midtown.” You said glancing away as you said it.

Softly he repeated, “Sis,” at the stir of tears prickling at your eyes.

And softly you replied in a faked pleasant tone, “I plan for chaos, right?”

“This isn’t chaos, this is wrong,” he said and all you could do was nod and draw in a breath and blink a few times to scare away your tears. “Come here,” he said in a step forward, with arms raised for the goal of giving you a hug. During which you gladly remained through his deep exhale to keep calm and to take a moment resting his head on top of yours.

Pt 24

All –

@sherala007​, @mariannetora​​, @jesevans​​, @knitastically​, @catthefearless​​, @theincaprincess​, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000​​, @alishlieb​​, @fizzyxcustard, @devilishminx328​​

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​

X Marvel-Cast - @himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​

@jiminapickle

[mrneighbourlove]

Burnt Heart: Ch 7. Burning Bridges, Repairing Bridges

“It's a fine day

People open windows

They leave their houses just for a short while

They walk by the grass

And they look at the grass

They look at the sky

It's going to be a fine night tonight

It's going to be a fine day tomorrow.”

The Emperor sang in a soothing tone. Most would describe it as elegant. In her heart, she felt a sadness to it, however, her smile didn’t falter as she gardened with her sweet Eleonora. The flowers were in a lush bloom, cherry blossoms and natural white and red roses coming to life. Every moment she was able to spend with her and Annuciata was a special occasion. You couldn’t waste the time of others.

Eleonora was much like her mother in many ways. She appreciated finery, she loved to dance, and she had a weakness for anything fluffy and cute. The princess thought her mother's mechanical creations were wonderful, but Eleonora preferred to study chemistry. She loved experimenting in the laboratory and more than once, had burned off her eyebrows. The princess was determined to create an alternate source of fuel besides coal or gas. It would be cheaper but more effective. Yet, in her spare time, when her mother would take her to the Kikai Empire, it was lovely to be outside and experiencing the culture of the Hasai.

However, Elenora was just as she was in the garden as in the lab.

Messy.

Covered in dirt from head to foot, the princess was still digging deeper.

"I just know there is a bigger root I could take a tissue sample from down here..." Eleonora said, half of her upper body in the ground. "Are you sure there's not a Zemlja anywhere near here? This would be over in a pinch if I had one of them helping me. Since my elder brother and sister are too scared to get dirt under their nails." She emphasized the last part, attempting to use reverse psychology to obtain what she wanted. She was sneaky that way. "Or was it worms they are afraid of?"

"Dear, you're going to ruin your new dress." Annuciata sighed, knowing how persistent her daughter could be. "You can get a servant to do that."

"But the root has to be perfect!"

“I believe Athena is afraid of sharks, and Griffith of spiders, scorpions and the common house fly.” Zannah smiled fondly, clipping thorns from a rose bush.

The royal twins were adults themselves now, with obligations and responsibilities in the Empire. Neither had found a potential lover, despite being in their early thirties now. Whenever their sister from another mother came to visit, they were quick to follow. At the current moment, the twins sat on lounging chairs, frowning at Zannah outing them.

“It’s just that they have huge teeth and the blackest eyes.”

“Little sister, you never know what you can find underground in the dirt.”

Zannah looked down in the hole, patting Eleonora’s head. “Just behind your foot. Try there my deer.”

"Pfft, sharks have teeth and creepy crawlers creep, you should be afraid of something more lethal like the hemorrhagic fever. Not going to find anything but worms and bugs in dirt. Maybe an ancient skeleton if I'm lucky." Eleonora snickered and then tried the area her Godmother suggested. She dug around the area of the exposed root, and examined the thickness. "Hm... this might do. These plants produce a lot of oils I could possibly utilize."

"Darling, you're seventeen, you don't have to worry about creating an efficient biofuel right now, save that until you're old and gray." Annuciata assured her daughter. "You'll have time later. For now, spend some time with Athena and Griffith. I'm sure they'd love to play a game of hide and seek with you."

"You mean hide and 'cheat' they always sniff me out." Eleonora pouted with her arms crossed, looking just like her mother when she did so. "It's not fair."

“Oh, come now. It’s just that we’ve had more practice.” Griffith sat up, putting his magazine on new Danjur trends down.

“How about we share a nice cold beverage once we’re done together. After that, we can go down to the ocean and look at the coral together. That’s alright with you, right mother?”

When Zannah looked to Athena and saw the light bounce off her face, she faltered, if only for a moment, before she composed another smile. “As long as you three remain safe.”

"What about the shaaarks? Someone might be scared." Eleonora teased her sister with a wide grin.

"El, be nice to your sister."

"What? She teases me all the time for being a nerd."

"Nerds will rule the world one day, dear, go have fun."

"All right, all right, I guess I just got one last thing to say..." The princess took a sip of lemonade and then declared, "The last one there is a rotten petri-culture!" Eleonora darted away toward the ocean.

"... where does she get all that energy?" Annuciata watched as Athena and Griffith bounded off after their sister. "I wonder if she got into my coffee stash when I wasn't looking."

“Perhaps she did.” Zannah rose from the ground, watching the three bound away chasing and playfully calling each other names. Taking off her sunflower hat, Zannah looked up at the sun, deep breaths in and out.

"It is nice to be able to do this." Annuciata rose from her chair under the umbrella and joined Zannah on the grass, gracefully sweeping her skirts to the side. "Though I do think there is something we must discuss, my love. Sooner rather than later, despite the bitterness it brings."

“Yes.” Zannah spoke the word in a tone that made peace with what conversation was to come, that it would be foolish to run from it. Didn’t mean she liked it though.

"I'm getting older, love." Annuciata told Zannah, kissing her hand. "My golden locks are turning white and my skin is wrinkling. I'm 47 this year. Soon, Eleonora will be of age to take the throne in Danjur. Hopefully, she will find someone who has made me as happy as you have... but I must not forget the reality of the situation." She took a small breath, and said. "I will die before you."

Zannah turned to her lover, not a wrinkle on her face, nor an imperfection in her black hair. The only change in her emerald skin was a sad frown etched into her features. Her golden eyes were heavy and wet. Age it seemed, was no friend of hers. “You will die. Then my children will die. Then Eleonora will die. Except me.”

"Are you truly going to live forever?" Annuciata asked Zannah. "Or will you one day join me in death?"

“Are you asking if I would commit suicide for you my love?” Zannah faked a smile, trying to reassure herself. “I truly don’t know if I’ll ever age again. When I was told the possibility of becoming a warrior that time could not kill or poison me beyond my prime, I relished the idea. I was still but a child. I thought I could use that kind of life to make sure my Empire was rebuilt to its proper glory. But... when I look at my own daughter, when I see my image like I would a mirror, I know a life being a god made flesh all alone is too high a punishment. I wish you could join me, that I’d hold you forever and have a partner through the most difficult of hardships time would throw at me. Otherwise... well, I don’t think we know many who would willingly try to kill me in open combat. Perhaps your parting gift in this life would to have me poisoned so that I might join you.” Zannah laughed darkly, the idea heartbreaking, but a possibility.

"Stop being silly, you know I would never ask a thing nor carry out such a horrid plan." Annuciata slapped Zannah with her fan on the arm. "What I meant was, would you be stuck here forever or would you join me in the world of spirits? It would be awfully lonely without you there... and I would love for you to meet my parents." She told the Empress. "My father and mother were total opposites. She was a fierce navy captain; he was a mega-dork. But they were so happy together. I can still remember my mother being so strong to defeat her opponents at sparring, but gentle enough to braid my hair." The Queen of Danjur smiled softly. "And my father always listened to my ideas. He helped me build the first Land Rider prototype, you know. It fell apart, but we tried again and again until we got it right. They have each other in the spirit world... I'd like to have you one day."

“I think I’d end up in whoever was correct in what version of a hell exists.” Zannah looked to the heavens, reaching a hand out. “I’ve done... so many things wrong. Killed people, betrayed friendships, be charged with war crimes. And although I’m filled with regret now for the lives I’ve taken and betrayed, there’s no salvation or retribution for me. I can feel my brothers taunting me, waiting for me in the afterlife.” Zannah continued on, not giving a chance for Annuciata to immediately rebuttal. “I love my people. I love my family of five with you, Eleonora, Tod, and the twins. I used power for the betterment of this Empire, to give peace of mind to the Hasai people. Every act of sacrifice I made on my soul, I did for all of them. But with you all gone... what will I become? What will I do if left with my power? This burning fire deep within. I wish there was a way to keep you here with me, but you are an angel who will eventually need to return to heaven. I’m afraid of living, but I’m also afraid of death and what lies beyond for me.”

"... everyone has done something wrong in this lifetime, Zannah. There are others out there who have made worse mistakes." Annuciata reminded her lover. "Though sometimes, there are a few that can be redeemed. Surely you know this too. Perhaps your love for your family, for me, for Eleonora... perhaps that can help you see that sometimes all you need is someone to believe in you."

“But that won’t stop you from eventually leaving me. I’ll never grow old with you. I’ll never---"

“My emperor.” A servant suddenly interrupted them, respectfully bowing. “T0-D has returned. But he’s brought along Sir Kahli instead of the runaway. He wishes to speak to you.”

Zannah looked at the servant with blank eyes that traveled through him. It seemed that one of her sins finally caught up to her. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Tell him to wait for me in the throne room.”

"Do you need me to accompany you, love?" Annuciata asked Zannah. "I'd be happy to help in any way I can."

“I should have a witness to keep me from doing any public violence I suppose.” Zannah rose from her garden floor, choosing to get changed into more formal wear for the occasion.

When she entered the throne room, Kahli wasn’t bowing. His eyes trembled with fury looking at her. In return, she gazed at him with shallow indifference. “Kahli. I don’t recall calling for you. Though it has been a while since we spoke face to face.”

“You haven’t aged a day... it’s over Zannah. Zizi knows about Grievous. She knows how you used me to revive the Waku. She knows how you used my life debt to further the growth of the Empire. It nearly tore us apart. Perhaps the damage has been done and the final crack is yet to come. Regardless, I demand you release me from the rest of my debt.”

“Demand? From your Emperor?”

Annuciata followed Zannah, making sure to smooth her skirts. Though as soon as the Queen of Danjur saw Kahli and the look on his face, she sensed something was amiss. Kahli avoided the Kikai Empire like the plague unless Zannah called him. It was all due to the debt... and she had an inkling that the secret was no longer just that; a secret.

“I tire of our relationship Zannah. I have a family to look after. Have I not given you enough?”

“A debt is a debt Kahli.” Zannah tilted her head at him, curious on what she should do with him. “You still have hundreds of flowers to help bloom into this world Kahli. The red garden of the Waku needs to be filled.”

"Dear," Annuciata placed her hand on top of Zannah's. She thought of the situation unraveling quickly. If Kahli's family knew, then Zizi knew. If news of this incident reached the royals, it could have a damaging effect on the trust between the kingdoms. While there would never be war, there would be much more strife... strife that had just been mended a short time ago. "Perhaps Kahli is right."

“And I just what, let him walk away free?” Zannah studied Kahli, wondering just what to do to him. A warrior of his caliber free from her machinations. He provided life to her... but perhaps his blood could be more of use. “Hmmm. I suppose. Zarazu would be angry, but she wouldn’t dare leave negotiations from this little saga. However, if we push the issue further after the truth has been discovered, I couldn’t be so sure what would follow. Kahli, do you truly want to be free of this debt to me? Free of the reach of the Empire?”

“I do.”

“I can think of only one substitute. You too, hold the blood line of the Dragon. You hold the fire of Exodrum. Give me that power.”

Kahli blinked, taking a few steps back. “What?”

“Give me the power you once acquired for the sake of your wife. Give it to me for her continued support. With it, I will provide for the Empire continuing from where you will now walk away.”

"Love, are you sure that is a good idea?" Annuciata appeared to be concerned. Such a power had already made Zannah unable to age. While she was still very much mortal in some ways, the Queen of Danjur had heard stories since she was little of too much power corrupting others. Power was a drug that could cause madness. That was the last thing she wanted for her lover.

“I will take the flame to the volcano to Fel. There, he will watch over its power until I know what to do with it.” She looked at Kahli, who seemed apprehensive about it. “I’m not going to use it to burn the world. Your tension is unwarranted.”

"Perhaps a sealed agreement would ease you further, Kahli? Ensure both parties kept their word?" Annuciata suggested to the Waku and to Zannah. "Bound by magic?"

“Another life debt? Another bond?” Kahli was unsure.

“What’s to be scared of Kahli. I promise to not use your flame to burn away the world. And if you agree, you and your family will never have to worry about political ties to the Empire so long as you wish for.”

"... Kahli, do you truly want to wish to be free?"

His family needed him. He knew Zannah always had a long game in mind, and he’d lose a great amount of power, but this is what he wanted. “I do.”

Zannah walked towards Kahli, extending a hand to his chest. “Kahli. Exodrum as my witness, you willingly release the flame of destruction within you. Your blood of the dragon, is gone.”

Lightning struck through Kahli’s body, illuminating his skeleton. Screaming upwards, fire roared from his mouth from the agony he felt. Zannah was taken aback by the reaction, feeling her wrists blaze with pain herself suddenly. Slowly stepping away from Kahli, a great flame flickered in her palm, whistling loudly and drawing every lit lantern in the room into it. The Waku fell backwards, his chest sizzling with agony. From the flame, two eyes looked down at Zannah, silent in its judgement of Kahli and herself. What’s more, it’s gaze spoke silently to the Emperor. Zannah took two steps back, struggling to keep the flame in control.

“It’s so warm. So powerful. The flame of a god. Yes. Oh yes. I can see so many possibilities from it. Annuciata. I could use this to make you immortal. Our children immortal. I could use it to annihilate those who bring darkness upon the world. If I don’t do something with this fire, it might kill everyone here. I want- it wants me to absorb it.”

Kahli's throat was completely parched, unable to speak. His eyes were dry, constantly blinking to see once more. Despite this pain, he heard the whisper of the fire that only the Hasai could hear.

“You disregard my power? Pathetic you welp. Perhaps the Waku aren't the champions I needed. Perhaps this Ocho is what I need for my chosen champion, as she always has been. My Dorami. No Hasai has taken two sacred flames though. Let us see if she burns.”

"Love," Annuciata was spooked by all this talk of magic and most definitely power. While the Queen of Danjur adored her lover, she also knew how seductive power could be to the Empress. She had to make sure nothing else would risk corrupting her. "You already have what you need. Give back this ability to heavens... please."

Zannah heard a voice warmer than the fire. No, it wasn’t quite that simple. The voice was softer, while the fire burned in her palm. Turning to Annuciata, Zannah made the choice when she saw the look in her eye. “I choose... I choose to release the flame of Exodrum.”

The eyes in the fire flared, and a voice echoed in her mind. “Interesting. You might not want additional power, but I will not take back my flame. This fire shall be housed in another.”

The flame howled loudly, exploding outwards, flying out a window in a torrent, disappearing from the palace. Zannah screamed, her right hand receiving three-degree burns. All of the light was taken from the room for a few moments, before the natural light of the sun illuminated everyone to normal levels.

The sudden burst of energy from the flames sent Annuciata topping backwards, skirts flying over her head. Once the air had settled, she huffed, pushing lace and petticoats from her face, downward to cover her legs. Her styled hair was an absolute mess, and she was not happy about it. Yet, the sulking would have to wait. She quickly got to her feet, noticing one heel was missing. Sighing in frustration, she kicked off the other and hurried down the few steps to her lover.

"Zannah?! Zannah, I heard you scream!"

“God- FUCK!” The Emperor keeled over in agony, her burns crushing her will to immediately stand.

Kahli had never seen Zannah in such pain before, and would never imagine seeing her on his knees. Perhaps his wife was channeling her spirit in him, because an audible smirk left his being.

Zannah looked at Kahli looking down at her, laughing at her. With her rage, she used her good arm, launching a lightning bolt at him. The electricity sent him skidding across the floor after hitting him in chest. “Don’t. You. Mock me.”

Kahli twitched from her electricity. His body felt far more brittle now.

As he stood, the Emperor was already on her feet, clutching her injured hand.

“The debt has been settled. Leave my palace.”

"EEEEEK!" Annuciata crouched down and covered her head when Zannah released a sudden burst of lightning. "Fuck a steam engine, was that really necessary?!" She could feel the static electricity in the air. Thankfully she was not wearing any jewelry which would conduct electricity. Rushing over to Zannah, Annuciata took off her giant cord of silk from her corset. It was the only material soft enough not to injure the hand further. Carefully, she started to wrap her lover's hand. "Hold still, I'm sorry, I know it hurts, but we have to keep it covered to prevent infection---hold still."

“It was. God. My hand. My fucking hand.” Zannah leaned against Annuciata as Kahli limped out of the Empire.

"Shh, shh, now, we'll get a healer in here and fix your hand." Annuciata was a tiny thing compared to Zannah, but she still had strong legs. All those ballet lessons were certainly paying off now. She supported her lover's weight, and tried to keep her mind occupied. "After all, it is imperative that it is healed, how else will you give me one of those wondrous massages?"

“Yes. I will recover. This pain is nothing.” With the odd moan of pain, Zannah continued onwards to retreat and lick her wounds.

~

Kahli flew back on a Wyvern provided by the Empire. Would be the last ride he’d take from them if he could help it. It would be about dinner now in Hyrule, the sun painting the sky in orange and purples. At his home, Kahli could only make it to the lounge chair on the deck before needing to collapse from exhaustion. No food all day and injuries would break down even the strongest men.

The whole family was outside near the fire pit. Keira, ever being the bubbly one, suggested that it was high time to teach Grivy how to make delicious s'mores. However, Urboro walked back inside to get another pitcher of juice for her younger siblings when she noticed the front door was open... just a bit. Curious, she went to close it when she noticed her father through the window and nearly jumped out of her skin.

"SWEET FUCK---Dad! What the hell?! Why didn't you call for someone?!" She yanked open the door, and went to him. "What happened?!"

“Hey sweetie. Watch your language.” Kahli had zero energy to scold her on her swearing. “It’s done. It’s over.”

"This situation calls for swearing, you look like shit." Urboro then yelled.

"Manaco! Ahusaka! Someone get their ass out here, Dad's back!"

Both the eldest sons came crashing through the house to the front porch.

"Dad! What happened?!"

"Mom's been worried sick!!!"

“Where is Zizi? Is she safe? Is she alright?” Kahli looked at his sons, trying to stand, but failing.

"WHOA!" Manaco and Ahusaka both reached out at the same time to catch their father. "Worry about Mom in a minute. We'll patch you up before she sees you like this."

"I would call for Aunt Zolori but she's all the way in Uskar." Urboro bit her lip, thinking. "Unless you two could share your fire with him?"

"I could give him some of my energy and Manaco could do the same."

“Do it.” Kahli growled with the intensity of lion as they channeled their energy into his body. Is scaring and burnt flesh started to mend together. “Good. Now let me see your mother.”

"Mom's resting, so we ate outside not to disturb her." Urboro told their father with a small frown. "Mom isn't... she's not well."

"She's not sick, she's just..." Ahusaka struggled to find the correct words. "I don't know what's wrong. We think she's depressed. Or so heartbroken, she's made herself sick."

“Please look after your younger siblings.” Kahli stood up, making his way to his bedroom to see his wife.

"Dad, please just..." Manaco called after his father quietly. "... take it slow? For Mom's sake?"

“I know.” Once his children dispersed, Kahli slowly opened the door. “Zizi. I kept my promise.”

"... how can I be sure you're not a ghost?" Zizi was lying on the bed, on her side, covered with the largest fur in the house for warmth. "Come back to haunt me?"

Kahli crawled into bed with her, carefully spooning her. “A ghost can’t be warm.”

"... are you still angry with me?"

“No. You’ll never have to deal with the Empire again. I will never have to deal with them again.”

"Zannah won't come after you? After us? Our family?" Zizi sounded unsure. Personally, she would not put it past the Emperor to do such a thing. "... and the others..."

“No. And guess what. The process to break off our bond burnt her right hand to crisp. The pain brought her to knees as I stood over her, if only for a moment.”

"... so she can be brought to her knees." Zizi then said. "She should stay there if she knows what is good for her."

“Zizi... I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry for what part I played in this treachery.”

"I know you are." Zizi held his hand tightly. "I know... and you shouldn't have to suffer anymore because of it due to me."

“Zizi. Can you look at me? Please?”

Zizi slowly turned on the bed to face her husband. It was evident she had been crying. Her eyes were all puffy and cheeks were red. She looked so tired and guilt was written on her face.

“You didn’t cause any true pain. It was me.” Kahli ran a hand through her dreadlocks. “I hurt you. And I know I damaged a lot of trust between us. I promise I will do everything to repay it. How do you feel about adopting Grievous?”

"I shouldn't have lashed out at you... I'm sorry I hurt you too." Zizi snuggled closer to her husband, so glad that he was not dead and safe at home. She still felt unsure, but decided that those feelings could be dealt with later. For now, she wanted to be content with what she had and not about the wrongdoings against her. "Trust can be rebuilt, but it will take time. I do not like secrets, Kahli. They always make everything so much more complicated than it needs to be." She sighed, resting her forehead on his shoulder. "No more secrets, Kahli... please."

However, at his question, Zizi did look up at him. "Grivy? ... I thought we already did. In a way."

“With my blessing now.” Kahli didn’t kiss his wife, but he held her. She would be the one the choose if that bridge would be crossed. “I can make something happy out of this mess.”

"If I didn't know any better, you want another child." Zizi raised an eyebrow at her husband. "We have fifteen. Ten girls, five boys. Well... eleven girls if you count Grivy now."

“I just want to give this girl a happy life if she chooses to stay. And... I’m going to stay. Forever. Just give me time Zizi.” His body warmed hers, and he sighed. “Do you want me to go sleep at Manaco’s or on the couch for a start?”

"I think we both need time... but we need each other too." Zizi dismissed the suggestion. "No... just stay here. Keep me warm. I am tired, and have not slept well."

Kahli hugged her tightly. “I love you. I’ll be here to give you peace of mind.”

"I love you too..." Zizi closed her eyes, hoping that the warmth and comfort of her husband would allow pleasant dreams.

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/612496080371957760/burnt-heart-ch-6-trading-one-pain-for-another

Final Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/613696630305243136/burnt-heart-ch-8-what-comes-around 

Thank you for reading! Crossover with @ridersoftheapocalypse Shared work with @s-kinnaly

[falkrimwright]

New post CM-10 “Warden” Tactical Sidearm A 10-mm tactical combat pistol chambered by .39 Elven-Pistol rounds and using  standard 14-round magazines. Features easily replaceable barrel and handles of different lengths. Pistol has a unique ability to use both powder and gas cartridges without internal modification Instead of typical FMJ bullets, gas-charging cartridges features a  armor-piercing darts filled with poisons, enrage potions or tranquilizer - standard range for GCS ammunition is 50-60 meters, or even lesser if target armored. 1,2. Standard variants, short and long version 3,4. Integrated suppressor barrel variants,  short and long version Fast facts! Pistol also has a long barrel module, which looks similar to Walther P38 barrel CM-10 can be even re-modified to pneumatic pistol for pure 10-mm dart \ ball shooting. Range is lesser than standard version, but... sure, it’s still looks like combat version!. Pneumatic variant has a blue or light blue mark-detail on chassis. Who said that children's toys cannot be SO COOL? Pistol has total of three main components  - main chassis with all mechanisms, handle and barrel module, which can be changed even in combat. 

[asktheadeptus]

Bolter Ammunition Types

"Bullets or las bolts, it doesn't really matter at a practical level, both kill well enough in the right hands. But for me, the bullet is more than a mere munition, it is an ancient thing; it is an echo of very bullet ever fired, every death dealt out by the hand of man since the beginning. You hear a bullet thunder; you are hearing the sound of humanity's bloody history made real."— The Remembrancer Eldin Takley, The Viscera of War, a Memoir, 875.M30

The most common Bolter round is the .75 calibre explosive tipped mass-reactive bolt. However, Space Marines use a variety of other ammunition, each tailored for specific needs:

Standard Bolt

The Standard Bolt is the standard-issue antipersonnel ammunition for the Bolter. It is designed to penetrate a target and detonate, causing horrific injuries.

Internal Details

A solid-fuel rocket propellant base

An outer casing containing conventional charge

Gyrostabiliser

Mass-reactive fuse. Has a split-second timer to delay detonation upon impact until after the shot penetrates the target.

Hardened diamantine penetrating tip. This allows for the bolt to penetrate most armour before detonation.

Main Charge

Depleted uranium core. This is a very dense material, adding weight and thus momentum to the round when in flight. This aids in the bolt's penetration of the victim.

Kraken Penetrator Rounds

Kraken Penetrator Rounds are potent, more power armour-piercing rounds than the standard bolt. The uranium core is replaced by a solid adamantium core and uses a heavier main charge. Upon impact, the outer casing peels away and the high-velocity adamantium needle accelerates into the victim, where the larger detonator propels shards of super-hardened metal further into the wound. These are effective against heavily-armoured infantry.

Inferno Bolt

Inferno Bolts are designed to immolate their targets and destroy them with superheated chemical fire. The uranium core is replaced with an oxy-phosphorus gel, known as Promethium. However, due to the decreased projectile mass, armour-piercing capabilities are compromised.

(It should be noted that the Thousand Sons Traitor Legion has their own similarly-named but unrelated type of Inferno Bolts, which are actually psychically-bound slugs that release arcane energies; these slugs explode with sorcerous Warp energies upon impact.)

Hellfire Bolt

Hellfire bolts were created as one of the Imperium's desperate measures to stem the predations of Tyranid assaults within the galaxy. Each bolt is tipped with thousands of needles and a vial of mutagenic acid capable of dissolving its way through chitin and carapace with equal ease. When the round enters the target's body, the vial shatters and the needles pierce the victim's flesh, pumping the acid into the target. Such is the success of the Hellfire bolt that it has found a use against a variety of foes, its acid just as effective at killing other foul xenos.

Metal Storm Frag Bolt

In the Metal Storm Frag Bolt, the mass-reactive fuse of the standard bolt is replaced with a proximity fuse, and the uranium core and Diamantine tip are replaced with increased high-explosives and a fragmentation casing. This means the bolt explodes when it nears an enemy, creating a lethal hail of shrapnel. This bolt is capable of inflicting casualties on multiple lightly-armoured targets, but its effectiveness is dramatically reduced when facing heavily-armoured foes like Chaos Space Marines.

Stalker Silenced Shells

Stalker Silenced Shells are Bolter rounds with low sound signatures, meant for covert fighting. They are often used in conjunction with an M40 Targeter System, an extended barrel, and a stock to create a sniping weapon system. A gas cartridge replaces both the propellant base and main charge for silent firing, but this sacrifices muzzle velocity as a result. A solidified mercury slug replaces the mass-reactive warhead for lethality at sub-sonic projectile speed. These rounds are used when stealth and precision are required.

Antiphasic Shells

Utilized by Deathwatch Kill-teams, these precious rounds were developed using an unknown technology to help prevent Necrons from "phasing out" and returning to their Tomb complexes. In this way Imperial forces can ensure that even their undying foes stay dead.

Banestrike Shells

These mysterious variant bolt shells, believed to have been designed in secret within the armouries of the Alpha Legion long before the outbreak of the Horus Heresy, had it seems a sole purpose; to breach the Ceramite Power Armour of Space Marines. Used openly for the first time at the Drop Site Massacre on Istvaan V in 006.M31, their dense explosive cores and firing stresses reduced their range and swiftly degraded the firing weapon, but their effect against the betrayed Loyalist Legions were devastating. Fortunately for the Loyalists, supplies of these difficult to manufacture munitions were limited, and only the Alpha Legion and the Sons of Horus were able to field them in substantial numbers beyond that incident of brutal treachery during the Heresy. These shells were primarily utilized by the Legion Seeker Squads of the Alpha Legion and the Reaver Attack Squads of the Sons of Horus.

Bloodshard Shells

Bloodshard Shells are large, bolt-shaped shells intended to be fired only by the Angelus Pattern Bolter used by the Sanguinary Guard of the Blood Angels Chapter and their Successor Chapters. Each Bloodshard contains a payload of razor-filament that can shred most known forms of armour upon impact.

Dragonfire Bolts

Dragonfire Bolts are hollow-shelled bolts that are issued fo use by Sternguard Veterans, and explode with a gout of superheated gas that can eliminate the value of cover for enemy troops. Any targets struck receive full damage even when partially protected by cover.

Helfrost Bolts

Used exclusively by the Space Wolves Chapter, Helfrost Bolts are bolt rounds tipped with helfrost warheads. In battle, the glittering rounds impart their freezing payload as they explode deep in the flesh of their victims. Few enemies can survive both the destructive force of a detonating bolt shell and the frigid blast of the shattering glimmerfrost crystal.

Kraken Bolts

Kraken Bolts were specialized Bolter shells with an enhanced adamantium core and improved propellant, and were utilized by Seeker Squads during the Great Crusade and Horus Heresy eras of the late 30th and early 31st Millennia, as well as Sternguard Veterans in modern times. They possessed superior armour-piercing properties and increased range compared to standard bolts, but the expense and resources required to create them kept them in limited issue.

Psycannon Bolts

Psycannon Bolts are used by the Inquisition, primarily the Ordo Malleus and its secret Grey Knights Space Marine Chapter. They are very similar in nature to the rounds fired by their namesake, the Psycannon, and are similarly used against psychic Heretic and daemonic targets. Of all the rounds available to the Bolter, these are the most expensive, as each and every bolt is inscribed with arcane runes on a microscopic level. According to some sources, the bolts derive their anti-psychic effect from being impregnated with an extremely rare negative psychic energy; the sole source of this energy is a metabolic byproduct of the Emperor of Mankind's Golden Throne. The anti-psychic nature of these rounds are not only effective at destroying daemonic targets but also highly efficient at piercing the powerful barriers created by force field generators (such as the Tau Shield Generator and the Imperium's own Iron Halo, Conversion Field and Storm Shield).

Scorpius Bolts

During the Great Crusade and Horus Heresy eras of the late 30th and early 31st Millennia, Scorpius Bolts were individually hand-crafted by the Techmarines of a Space Marine Legion's armoury. These specialized shells utilized a two-stage warhead which contained a micro-guidance system and a needle-like sabot dart that vaporizes when striking an armoured target, providing enhanced armour penetration effects. Scorpius Bolts were rare and temperamental munitions which were hand-loaded into a Bolter for firing.

Seeker Bolts

Seekers Bolts are unique, hand-crafted rounds created by Chaplain Boreas of the Dark Angels Chapter. Each bolt contains a miniaturized Cogitator that detects the infrared heat signature of a target and then steers the bolt unerringly towards it.

Tempest Bolts

Tempest Bolts replace the standard mass-reactive core and armour-piercing tip of a bolt round with a fragmentation shell encasing a powerful micro-explosive proximity charge. This has the effect of showering a target with a murderous storm of shrapnel. These heavier rounds, however, lack range compared to standard bolt shells. Produced only on Mars, Tempest Bolts were designed to be particularly effective at incapacitating machines and other electronic devices. Such bolts are highly effective against targets like combat robots and cyborgs whose bodies are now more machine than organic tissue.

Vengeance Rounds

Vengeance Round bolts are designed for use against heavy infantry and armoured targets. Each bolt has a volatile core utilizing unstable flux core technology that makes them hazardous to use, but extremely potent at penetrating through heavily armoured targets. They are especially effective at punching clean through even the Ceramite plates of Power Armour. As their name implies, these bolts were developed by the Imperium specifically to target the Chaos Space Marines of the Traitor Legions.

Bolter Magazines

As well as the different types of ammunition available for the weapon, there have also been several different types of magazines. The standard magazine for the Bolter is the Sickle Magazine.

Sickle Magazine: The standard-issue magazine, seen on most Bolter patterns. The magazine's shape is slightly curved to take up less space, and carries 20 to 30 bolts.

Straight Magazine: A straight version of the sickle magazine. It holds less ammunition (only 10 to 20 bolts), but is easier to load in more intense situations.

Drum Magazine: Drum magazines are a relatively rare sight in the 41st Millennium. This is due to their unreliability; drum magazines have an unfortunate tendency to jam. However, drums can carry up to 40, 60 or even 100 bolts, negating the need to reload as often. Despite the frequent jamming, they still brook some favor with local Hive Gangs or planetary defense militia. They are also frequently seen on Storm Bolters or in brutal assaults, where running empty in a firefight can mean certain death.

Belt Feed: Some troops forgo using magazines at all, preferring to feed the bolts directly into the firing chamber using a linked belt. Because the belt is exposed to the elements, it is frequently clogged with dirt or dust. This can, like the Drum Magazine, lead to jamming, and is rarely used within the Imperium. However, it is very commonly used by the Chaos Space Marines of the Ruinous Powers. Note that Space Marine Heavy Bolters have the ammunition belt protected by a tough, flexible feed chute.

Duplus X: This type of magazine is quite popular amongst local planetary law enforcement or Hive Gangs. It involves two standard Sickle Magazines which are attached together by some means, usually a band of cloth or tape (similar to the "ready-mags" of ancient Terra). This means when the weapon has to be reloaded, the user can simply flip the magazines around and insert the loaded magazine. This type is rarely produced officially, usually being "manufactured" by those who utilize it.

Source: http://warhammer40k.wikia.com

[whipplefilter]

Hey girl, can you write a short fic about Cruz meeting Harv? I was very curious as to how that interaction would play out (plus you write Harv so well!!)

This ficlet is a bit random, but I gave it a shot! I feel like Harv would talk at/through Cruz more than anything, since in canon that’s basically all we’ve heard him ever do, haha, but Cruz tries to get something out of the encounter anyway. :) Thank you for the ask, babe!!

Cruz knows it’s him–has to be. She knows Harv by his voice, which is the way everyone knows Harv. And everyone knows Harv. 

He’s working the room like the pro that he is, calling everyone by name and asking after particular business ventures, favorite haunts back home in states not-this-one. He knows their grandchildren’s names. Not because he’s met the kids but because he’s got Facebook, and facebooks, and in Harv’s biz, knowledge is power. Well, knowledge is potential. Power is not being afraid to use it. Harv’s fearless.

“Ramirez!” calls Harv, as though he knows her. They’ve never met. “Lookin’ good! Digging the metallics. Great race last week–you got that sizzle, kiddo.”

He speaks at a rapid clip, personable generalities that, Cruz realizes, don’t require him to have actually ever seen her race. He’s not looking at her now; he’s looking past and above, toward the next wealthiest car in the room. Cruz is in his way, and she knows it. That’s the whole reason she’s idling here.

“Are you looking for Mr. McQueen?” she asks, and for a moment Harv does look at her, with a mixture of pity and bemusement.

“Why would I be doing that? He’s the client, not the sponsor.”

Time is money, and Harv’s got schmucks to schmooze. With Lightning not racing, Harv’s working with a whole new funding paradigm–media, endorsements, appearances, it’s all a whole new ballgame. Forget the deal of the century. Harv’s aiming for the whole top 10, plural. All of them. Capiche?

The next wealthiest car in the room must excuse himself, because Harv’s interest in the world behind Cruz immediately cuts out, and he turns, unexpectedly to her.

He sizes her up pretty quick, like he’s his own portable X-ray machine. Somehow, Cruz feels like he knows more about her than he did two seconds ago.

“I mean, I just figured that if you’re here, Mr. McQueen would love to say hi!” Cruz points out.

Harv just laughs. “And I’d love to say hi back all day. But I’m working, he’s working–hey, maybe we should do dinner before we all blow town, you me him. You like tapas?”

Harv’s scanning the room again, looking for his next likely suspect. She’s losing him. Her eyes dart to follow his, and land on an Escalade with custom gold rims.

“What was he like?” Cruz blurts out, before Harv has a chance to excuse himself. “Mr. McQueen, when you first met him. You’ve known him since the beginning, right? What was he like?”

“Oh, a joy!” Harv says, unsarcastically but not quite earnestly. “Real hero material. Team player, easy to work with. It’s been such an honor to be his agent, lemme tell you. And you know–”

Harv says a lot more, in a similar vein. Some of it sounds a little bit like Lightning now. Maybe. Lightning in a magazine, airbrushed and glossy and exceptionally well-lit. But Cruz knows it’s not true–not back then. That’s not how Lightning talks about himself. Or not-talks about himself, more accurately. He’s not proud. And Sally doesn’t talk much about her relationship with Lightning, past or present, but there are plenty of cars in Radiator Springs for whom their introduction to Rookie Sensation Lightning McQueen is a favorite tale to recount. A very favorite. So Cruz knows that almost nothing Harv’s said in the last thirty seconds is actually real.

It’s not all spin, though. Well, it is. It totally is. That’s what Harv’s good at, after all. But at the same time–

It’s then Cruz realizes she doesn’t know anything about Harv, except that what he’s giving her right now? It’s real.

He wants her to love Lightning McQueen. Really and truly. Cruz doesn’t own a broadcast station, or a magazine. She doesn’t have anything Hollywood that she’s getting ready to option. She’s not in charge of grand marshals or any international conventions or sports drinks or VR firms. She doesn’t have anything that most of the cars in this room have, and nothing Harv’s contract says its his job to find. Even so, he wants her to like Lightning. He believes, genuinely, that she should. It doesn’t matter who she is, or how little he stands to gain by this.

“You don’t have to lie, you know,” Cruz assures him.

Harv laughs. “I don’t have to do anything. And hey, sorry to cut this short, but I gotta go open a tab for that Escalade over there,” he says.

He’s looking way past her again, but before she loses him to the crowd, he stops, and he says, “But you know what, kiddo? There’s very little I wouldn’t do for Lightning McQueen.”

“I ran into Harv today,” Cruz tells Lightning some hours later, once her own sponsor obligations had been fulfilled and she managed to track him down again.

The first thing Lightning says is, “Oh! Sorry.”

“What?”

Lightning’s teeth do something that is not quite a grimace and not quite a smile. “I just meant– I mean, Harv is actually really great but if you don’t– He can be– Uhhhh… He’s really good at his job. And he’s actually really– I think you have to sorta get a feel for him and know that–”

“Don’t worry, I think I get it!” Cruz interjects, and Lightning breaks off.

“You do?” he says.

He loves you.

“He believes in you,” Cruz beams. “I know what that feels like.”

Lightning smiles at her, all cheeks, his lips a broad curl across his face.

“Did he tell you how we met?” he asks.

“He said you were a team player,” Cruz replies playfully. “Sound like you, Mr. No Tires, Just Gas?”

“Okay, but there’s actually some truth to that!” Lightning objects, blushing. “It’s just weird… Harv truth. He says that because the day we met, I didn't… I dunno, I guess I didn’t feel like I needed to ask for a meeting, or send a demo reel, or my specs or stats or anything. I just rolled in and acted like he was already my agent. I asked him what was taking him so long booking me stuff, getting me signed with a team.”

“That’s insane!”

“I know! But you know what he did? He loved it. He’s probably the only guy on the planet who’d– Well, anyway. He just laughed. He sized me up for like two seconds. Then he picked up a phone, started dialling, and asked, ‘And who am I representing?’”

“And here you are,” Cruz says.

“Here we are,” Lightning agrees. “That’s Harv.”

He loves you.

[devereauxsdisease]

Space Invader Time Stamp 1

Ok, so I thought it was time to write a Space Invader time stamp. This is for a reader who wanted a bit more of the Bev/Darko relationship. It’s set about a year before the epilogue. 

Thanks go out to @wrathofthestag​ who tolerates all my craziness as I write and even looks my nonsense over so I don’t share anything too terrible. 

You Going to Piss on the Stick, or What?

         “Beverly? Are you vomiting?” Adam tapped at the bathroom door again. “If you’re vomiting, I should probably leave, I don’t like being sick.”      

         Beverly wretched into the toilet again. She was never, ever eating gas station sushi again, no matter how far afield her cases took her. Everything had been just fine until Nigel and Adam had come over to watch the game, when one sniff of Nigel’s beer had sent her scrabbling for a toilet. Just the thought of that stale wheat smell had Bev lurching into the bowl again.

         “Beverly? Nigel went to the store, he said he knew what to do.” She could hear Adam drumming his fingers nervously on the floor. “Would you like me to slide you a magazine under the door? I can do that without contaminating myself.”

         “It’s OK, Adam,” Her voice was raspy and her tongue tasted sour in her mouth. “I’m pretty sure it’s food poisoning.”

         “OK, but don’t open the door, just in case it’s the flu.” Adam sounded unconvinced. “I have an exam next week and I don’t want to be sick.”

         Bev rolled her eyes. That was as close to sympathy as she was probably going to get from Adam. Part of her wanted to call Darko, ask him to come home, so she could spend the night being cuddled and pampered. She dismissed the idea, she hated the idea of admitting she needed anyone, even now. She didn’t need her husband to feel better. She just needed to stop fucking puking.

         A knock rattled the door.

         “You’ve got your clothes on, yeah?”

         “Yes, Nigel.”

         The door opened.

         “I sent Adam home, he’s not great with this shit. He hopes you feel better and you don’t fucking infect him.” Nigel tromped into the bathroom, pausing to lay a plastic bag on the sink and grab a washcloth. He ran the cloth under the tap, wringing it out before he laid the cool cloth across the back of Bev’s neck. He flopped to the floor beside her. “You look fucking rough, Katz.”

         “I feel fucking rough, dick.”

         “OK, well I’ve got some stuff for you.” He grabbed the bag and handed it to her. She dug out a bottle of Pepto, two Powerades, and a pregnancy test. She blinked at it and looked at Nigel with wide eyes. “What? You’ve been trying for nearly a year, haven’t you?”

         Bev could feel her mouth falling open, she only hoped she wouldn’t puke again. Nigel shrugged.

         “Darko was fucking worried he was shooting blanks, I fucking told him with his aim, he’d be lucky if any of his fucking spunk found your eggs.”

         “He told you we were having trouble?” Something began roiling in her stomach again. Phil hadn’t told her he was worried. Did he not think he could tell her?

         “He told me he was afraid you married a sterile old man. I told him I didn’t want to hear about his fucking come anymore and he should just thank his lucky fucking stars you let him fuck you at all.” Nigel rolled his neck and motioned to the box. “You going to piss on the stick or what, gorgeous?”

         Bev looked at the box in her hands. Fuck, she had done shots last weekend at McKensie’s bachelorette party. She caught Nigel’s eye. “I don’t think I can pee right now.”

         Nigel rolled his eyes. “What the fuck do you think the Powerade is for? Chug, woman.”

         Bev laughed, grabbing the blue bottle and making a toasting motion.

                                                  -XXX-

         Nigel sat outside the bathroom door, letting his head fall back onto the wood. He texted Adam, letting a smile curve his mouth.

         4:37pm         Be home soon, gorgeous.

         4:38pm         Good! I have washed my clothes and bathed. Is Bev ok? Do you feel sick? Should I get protective masks?

         4:39pm         Bev’s fine. I’m fine. You’re not going to spray me with fucking Lysol when I get home, are you?

         4:41pm         No. But I would appreciate it if you stripped immediately and took a shower.

         4:44pm         Only if you get in the shower with me, make sure I’m clean. 😉

         4:46pm         I told you I already had a shower, Nigel.

         4:47pm         I wanna fuck, Cosmo.

         4:48pm         Oh! Sure! After you shower.         And brush your teeth.

         Nigel started to laugh when the door opened. He held up a finger, asking Bev for a minute.

         4:50pm         I fucking love you, Cosmo. I’ll call you when I’m on my way.

         Nigel pocketed his phone and turned. Bev’s hand was trembling and her eyes were wide.

         “Up the duff, then?”

         She nodded, holding out the positive test.

         “I don’t want your fucking piss stick, Bev. I believe you.”

         Bev shook her head and sat the stick on the sink. She wandered into the living room and flopped on the couch. Nigel followed, throwing an arm around her and drawing her close.

         “What’s wrong?”

         Bev shook her head. “I…I started to think it wasn’t going to happen. I stopped mentioning it to Phil. I didn’t even fucking check this month.” She looked at Nigel, eyes watering. “Fuck, Nigel, I had so much fucking vodka last weekend.”

         “I wouldn’t worry, Bev. My mother was drunk and turning tricks most of her pregnancy and look how fucking great I turned out!” Bev rolled her eyes and smacked him. “Look, we all know you and Adam are going to get together and start fucking planning and it’ll be nine fucking months of organic mac and cheese and fucking juice for all of us. Fuck it, you’ll probably even get Darko and I to do prenatal yoga or whatever the fuck guarantees your baby is a genius now. You’re going to be a great fucking mom, Bev.”

         Bev bit her lip, then smiled. Gently, she took Nigel’s hand and placed it on her stomach. “You’re going to be a great fucking uncle, Nigel.”

         Nigel shook his head, but his hand stayed, softly stroking over her middle.

         “You will. I’ll always know the kid is safe with you. You protect family over everything.” Nigel scrunched his brow, his vision blurring a little as his eyes pricked with tears. Bev winked. “I’ll also know why the kid’s first word is cunt, but what the hell? Might as well learn from the fucking best.”

         Nigel laughed, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. He opened his mouth to speak when the door banged open.

         “Bev? Adam called me. You OK, baby? I stopped by the deli to get that matzah soup you lik-” Darko froze when he saw Nigel and Bev cuddled on the couch. His eyes darted from their teary eyes to the large hand still on Bev’s stomach. Darko sighed. “Please tell me you’re not leaving me for him. I don’t think I can handle Adam on my own.” 

         Nigel rolled his eyes and pulled Bev into a hug. He flipped Darko off as he kissed the side of Bev’s head.

         “I’m fucking sorry, Bev. The baby’s going to be at least 50% asshole,” Nigel whispered into her hair.

         Bev laughed, shoving Nigel as he moved to get up. “Alright, get out. Phil and I have to discuss which room is going to be the nursery.”

         “We’ve already talked about that! The back room with the good sunlight. We had that settl-” Darko choked on his own words, eyes going wide. The bag of soup slipped from his hands, Nigel managed to grab it before it hit the floor.

         “Congratulations, you fuck,” Nigel smiled, sitting the soup on the coffee table and playfully nudging his statue of a friend as he walked out the door.

         Darko just stared for a long moment, his mouth forming words his brain wouldn’t release. Finally, he managed one. 

         “Bev?”

         She smiled and nodded, just once. Darko rushed forward, grabbing her head in his hands and pressing kisses all over her face. He started laughing, pulling her into his arms as tears spilled down his cheeks. She shifted, moving to sit in his lap and gently brushing his tears away with her fingertips.

         “I should go to the doctor’s to be sure. It’s just one test.”

         “But do you think you’re pregnant?”

         “Yeah, I do.”

         Darko let out a shaking breath, his smile bright. He buried his face in Bev’s neck.

                                                  -XXX-

         Bev threaded her fingers through Darko’s hair, smiling at the man curled around her stomach, whispering little secrets to her bellybutton. “Why didn’t you tell me you were worried?”

         Darko looked up, frown on his face. “What?”

         “Nigel said you were worried it took us so long. You never said anything about it to me.”

         Darko stroked her stomach one more time. “Excuse me, Junior. I’ve got to talk to mama.”

         Bev rolled her eyes, but laughed anyway. Darko army crawled up her body, elbows framing her as he shimmied. He stopped briefly to press a kiss to the silver microscope that hung around her neck before moving up to her face.

         “You wanted to see me?”

         Bev fought very hard to keep the grin off her face. “Why didn’t you talk to me? I have to be easier to talk to than Nigel.”

         Darko sighed, he seemed very interested in the pillowcase by her head all of a sudden. “It was just one more thing, wasn’t it? One more reason for you to go.”

         Bev frowned, it felt like he’d struck her. “What?”

         “I know why you turned down those people.”

         “What people?”

         “The ones who took us to dinner, asked if you’d be interested in running for county commissioner.” Bev reached up to touch Darko’s face, but he caught her wrist, eyes sad. “Hard to get elected if your husband’s a former drug dealer.”

         “Stop.”

         “What if someone finds out when the kid’s in school?”

         “Phil, stop.” She pulled her hand back, he wouldn’t look at her.

         “Is that why you’re taking the job at Cal Tech? So no one at the Sheriff’s Department goes digging?”

         “They know.”

         Darko gaped at her, eyes wide.

         “I told Jim when I knew you were it.” Bev used Darko’s shock to her advantage, twisting her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. She pecked a few kisses across his chin. “He was very understanding. His kid caught a charge for possession a few years back. I wanted to make sure no one ever tried to use you against me.”

         “But-”

         “I took the job because the money is better, the healthcare is good, and I can still consult on cases. Plus, my hours are flexible, so I can do things like go to school plays or science fairs.” She paused, twisting her mouth into a grin. “Maybe surprise my husband at the office for a quickie.” 

         Darko’s eyes began to water. “I…I just thought-”

         “You’re part of the plan, idiot. You’ve been part of the plan since I saw you huffing after me in those ridiculous spandex tights.” Bev ran a hand through his hair. “You’re not holding me back, Dorko. No one has ever held me back.”

         “I worry sometimes.”

         “You worry all the fucking time.” Bev bopped him on the nose. “I’m not Nigel, I can take care of myself. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know when you’re worried. You tell me before you tell Nigel, you understand?”

         Darko nodded, his face solemn. “If we have trouble with the next one, I promise I’ll talk to you before I tell fuckface.”

         “THE NEXT ONE?” Bev spluttered. “How many Dalca brats am I looking at here, Phil?”

         Darko frowned, tapping his finger to his chin in thought. “How many do we need to start an American football team?”

         Bev laughed, shoving him off her. “Let’s get through this one, first. Then we can discuss franchising.”

         He settled his hand back on her stomach, tapping lightly. “You hear that, Junior? Be good so mama won’t mind expanding the team.”

         Bev thumped him in the shoulder. “Stop with the Junior bullshit. We don’t even know it’s a boy.”

         Darko laughed, face incredulous. “Boy? It’s not a fucking boy. It’s a girl, Beverly Hettienne Katz Junior!”

         Beverly raised an eyebrow, Darko frowned.

         “What? Beverly Katz II sounds dumb.” His fingers began stroking her stomach again. “She’s going to be so fucking smart, Bev. She’ll know all about dead bodies and space... Nigel and I can teach her how to spot skunk weed.”

         Bev smacked him. Darko shrugged.

         “We can also teach her how to beat the shit out of someone or avoid security cameras? What do you think?”

         “I think you’re fucking ridiculous.” Bev whispered, but she could already picture a little girl in Darko’s arms, someone that would love him as much as she did. “And I think we’re both lucky your ours.”

         “I’ve been yours since the day we met.” Darko pulled her close, hand slipping under her pajama bottoms. “Want me to prove it?”

         Bev smiled, leaning into the familiar warmth of his touch.

         “Always.”

[itsworn]

Passing the 200mph Torch – Carl Dillon Takes Real Street in ECTA/HOT ROD Top Speed Challenge

While many race cars are an extension of their drivers, others are more like a Greek torch: passed along, racer by racer, in a unified pursuit of speed. For the Rydin Decal team – consisting of Mark Weiler, Carl Dillon, Ed Sellers, Eric Gellman, Jeff Gentry, Greg Drake, Tony Hill, Chris Seidel, Jacob Bell and Jay Bell – their AA/FRS 1982 Pontiac Trans-Am is the metaphorical flame they carry to 200mph in the ECTA and in HOT ROD Magazine’s Top Speed Challenge. “It all really started though when Mark Weiler, of Rydin Decal, started getting interested in Land Speed Racing,” Jay told us. “He really wanted to run Bonneville. Then he started driving some of our cars, and we got him in the Two Vlub, and then got him into the Three Club at Bonneville, and it all snowballed from there.”

The team had built and run two other third-generation Firebirds in land speed racing, nicknamed “Violet” and “Ethyl,” but for the Top Speed Challenge, they wanted a fresh start to implement some of the high-speed lessons they had learned at the Salt Flats and various runways of mile-racing. Violet was sold and Ethyl was eventually retired, but Mark picked up this roller and stuffed it in the garage for the right time. The chassis was originally built by Jim Ruttman, the brother of NASCAR’s Joe Ruttman, for NHRA Super Gas racing in the 1980s, but Mark wiped the dust off of it when looking for the next land speed car, which would be primarily driven by Jay. With minor updates, the car was ready for ECTA and the Top Speed Challenge. In it, he won the 2016 Top Speed Challenge at Wilmington’s Ohio Mile. For this race, the team needed to replace the previously-eviscerated axle for a new Winters quick-change unit, and they fabricated a custom seat for Carl, who stands a good foot taller than most of the Rydin Decal crew.

“We used to pick classes according to the engines, we used to run small-blocks and big-blocks. We’ve done alcohol, we’ve done Pro Chargers, typical superchargers, we’ve even done it naturally-aspirated – but we never perfected any of it, so we now stick to one. The engine we have now was in Ethyl with a Pro Charger on it, and we went and rebuilt it for nitrous.”

Seidle Motorsports of Ridgeway, VA built the 565ci Dart big-block that was previously Pro Charged in their prior LSR Firebird, Ethyl, and it was retooled using a Callies rotating assembly with Diamond 13:1 pistons for the nitrous. The refreshed short block was topped by pair of heads from Sonny Leonard’s that were massaged by Seidle before they wrapped everything up with Jessel shaft-mount rockers along with titanium valves and retainers. Induction Solutions modified the Sonny’s hi-rise intake for a 500-shot nitrous fogger system, which is topped by a massive, 1,800cfm Pro System SV1 carb – a single-barrel carb that could swallow a softball.

At full-tilt, the combo produces around 1,500 hp according to Jay, but Lucy was weaned off the laughing gas for Arkansas due to the lack of runs. “We did not spray because we didn’t have enough passes, we only got to race that one day,” Jay said. “Even Carl’s 203.6 was licensing pass, he had to run close to 200 before we could turn him loose.” After chasing the 2015 Top Speed Challenge with a TH400 that erupted its case like Kilauea, the team eventually switched over to a Bruno Converter Drive-equipped, three-speed G-Force transmission that has stayed together to this day. “Now I can reproduce each tune each year, I can go back to a setup if I go the wrong direction. Where before, we had so much data that didn’t make sense because every engine was different,” Jay continued.

During all of this, Carl had crewed on the cars while building his own diesel truck for land speed racing, which him and Jay allegedly blew up. “We scraped some parts together and were throwing an engine together when Carl started running with us,” he recalled. “We put his name on the car and didn’t tell him, he just kept working on it and walking by. Finally we had to tell him we made him a part of the official team!”

With crew, there’s a real sense of selflessness that’s required to maintain the machine during the race weekend so that someone else, the driver, can run with the glory after the race – and good teams are cognizant of this tireless work. “He’s also got a streamlined diesel truck, but we broke it the first time out, and we haven’t put it back together yet! So that’s when we decided to put him in the car, so we modified the car to fit him to it and make it all possible for him to have fun for a change,” Jay explained.

This is the root of a racing family, and teams often promote their best wrenches to replace the loose nut behind the wheel as a driver. But for Carl to grab his own 200 Club – or even the Real Street win in our Top Speed Challenge — he first had to walk up his ECTA licensing passes at 148 and 180 mph, respectively.

“They said the number I should run in RPMs, and that’s what I ran,” said Carl.

ECTA, like most land speed racing sanctioning bodies, requires drivers to earn their way up to full-throttle pass. Race directors want to see that not only can you handle your own car and that it’s built to handle high speeds safely, but that you are aware of the braking zones, exit turn-outs, and the rest of the routine.

Beating this into drivers helps ensure that when if there’s a SHTF moment, a rookie is better practiced to respond – but that meant a narrow window for Carl grab his Two Club goals with the poor April weather in Arkansas, making his third run the decision-maker. In fact, the first run was basically a wash when the car stalled after leaving the push truck. It had been siting on the line so long with a wind delay that the engine became cold-blooded.

“You’re cautious with butterflies, but in the last run, Jay told me to quit babying it and just drive the car – if it breaks, we’ll fix it,” he continued. {But everything worked like it was supposed to – but with a few more runs, it would’ve been faster!”

With the limited runs, the team hadn’t yet even cracked open the nitrous bottle. His third pass went by clean and drama-free, pulling back on the throttle for his last licensing pass, which secured the Top Speed Challenge win in Real Street on a 203.6mph run.

Even without a full-bore pass, Carl had joined Jay and Mark as Top Speed Challenge winners, winning Rydin Decal’s third jacket in our street-legal shootout.

“Main thing is to not get too uptight, take it as it goes,” Carl concluded. “Try to not get too worked up over the little stuff because anything can happen.”

“It’s not just me, Carl, Ed or Eric, it was Mark pulling us all together, and each one of us have a particular experience that we bring to the table. When we put it all together, we go fast! If you’re not listening to your team member, then you mess up,” Jay professed. “Everybody makes the car fast, not just the driver – they’re just the loose nut behind the wheel. It’s the team you don’t see in the magazines, the team you don’t see on TV that does it.”

The post Passing the 200mph Torch – Carl Dillon Takes Real Street in ECTA/HOT ROD Top Speed Challenge appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network https://www.hotrod.com/articles/passing-200mph-torch-carl-dillon-takes-real-street-ectahot-rod-top-speed-challenge/ via IFTTT

[eddiejpoplar]

Ford Has a “Better” Idea

You could write a book filled with all the things someone might reasonably think, say, or splutter about Ford’s recent decision to largely abandon the North American passenger car market. In late April, Ford’s new CEO, Jim Hackett, informed the financial community that, come 2020, almost 90 percent of Ford’s North American portfolio will consist of trucks and utility and commercial vehicles. There is room here to touch on only a few concerns this development rains down upon us. Farewell Fusion, Focus, Fiesta, and Taurus; hello things taller, wider, and most likely heavier.

How did this happen, and why? Cheap gas is the obvious culprit—like magic, it made thirsty vehicles plausible again, and for many carmakers, this makes America great again. They can get back to selling bigger trucks, SUVs, and crossovers, which are more profitable endeavors. But we know how this roller-coaster ride winds up.

Congress would have been wise to tax gasoline more heavily when gas was cheap—to lock in the national move toward more fuel-efficient vehicles that was picking up steam as America came out of recession. But Congress didn’t consider it for a minute, and automakers preferred selling SUVs as they had for decades before briefly renouncing them. Then, as now, they charged more for SUVs and crossovers, which cost them very little if any more to make than ordinary cars.

Hard to recall, but gas mileage improvements were happening in this country. Then, after years of cheap gas, national fuel economy stopped improving in 2017. This is what government and industry and much of the citizenry said we weren’t going to do again. Think back to 2008-09 and how different the mood was when federal bailouts for GM and FCA and a $5.9 billion loan to Ford from the U.S. Department of Energy spawned a generation of more fuel-efficient powertrains. Ford and others apologized for their environmental profligacy, acknowledging their own roles in their financial troubles and the lack of fuel-efficient vehicles they had to offer in times of high gas prices. They testified there was nothing they wanted to do more than get away from over-reliance on SUV profits, to build a new generation of sedans and passenger vehicles while getting a big leg up on this electric car thing.

Today we understand this position as an aberration or bout of temporary insanity, a momentary detour from their long-term stra-tegy for America, which is to make more money short-term selling as many of the biggest cars as they can get away with. The prospect of an imminent autonomous, ride-sharing, sales-collapse future has them running scared today, convinced they need to bank cash while they can. Like the rest of us, Detroit wonders how soon the gravy train is going to dry up. Ford President of Global Markets Jim Farley burnished Hackett’s 90-percent not-cars promise to investors by allowing that the company was also eager to build more “authentic off-roaders.” This despite almost no one ever going off-road.

Cheap gas is the obvious culprit—like magic, it made thirsty vehicles plausible again, and for many carmakers, this makes America great again.

This brings us to the question of the deeply psychological place high-riding SUVs, trucks, and crossovers occupy in the human psyche. Many people like them. But it isn’t like auto-makers haven’t been trying their hardest to sell them, either, marketing and talking up the jacked-up lifestyle to the cumulative tune of tens of billions. When the industry says the customer decides where the market goes, that’s not the whole truth.

In addition, there was another element to Ford’s decision to administer euthanasia to its family sedan lines in its 115th year.

Just two years ago, Ford boasted it had been named Interbrand’s best global green brand. But something happened on the way to the love-in: Ford and the rest of the industry bumped into President Donald Trump, who created a safe space for the bigly regulated to get back in touch with their biggest, baddest selves. Along with other manufacturers, Ford lobbied the newly receptive government of a rule-burner-in-chief to overturn the upgraded (but still imperfect) Obama-era CAFE and emissions standards for 2025, which they gleefully did. The industry, which had agreed to the rules under much humbled circumstances, went back on its word. Although it was on target to meet tougher standards, it saw junkie daylight and a path back to its old, dangerous habits. Like many an addict before it, it went right back in.

Today Ford promises to take further advantage of a situation it was already taking liberal advantage of by selling even more trucks and crossovers with big footprints, which entitle them, under the rules (thanks, Obama!), to get lousier fuel economy and emit more than smaller vehicles. This was the poison pill planted in the 2009 regulations. Ford is not alone. GM sold Opel, its most convincing center of small car excellence, last year. So too FCA, which shuttered the Dart and Chrysler 200 production lines. Trucks and crossovers are set to take these almost-brand-new cars’ place, with the company’s compact and midsize passenger car lines forever cast into space.

Bailing on cars and failing to allocate adequate development money to carry these machines through their life cycles with dignity, all three of America’s heritage carmakers have walked away from what had once been their lifeblood and—even in their darkest days—a big part of who they were.

Instead, we have Ford’s new boss telling analysts, “We’re going to feed the healthy parts of our business and deal decisively with the parts that destroy value.” Imagine that: the great American family sedan now a value destroyer in the eyes of America’s oldest car company. Ousted Ford CEO Mark Fields was making all the modern noises and many of the newfangled investments the market indicated it wanted in the face of the futurescape that excites it so much. But it made no difference to Ford’s share prices. Last May, Fields was canned, and Hackett was in. But Hackett’s big idea—big spending cuts, including savings from the passenger car trapdoor, totaling $25 billion—hasn’t moved the market, either. Nor has a planned $11 billion spend on electric cars.

Meanwhile, it’s as if Ford convinced itself it couldn’t make money off sedans, hatchbacks, or wagons. This is the fight Ford lost in the ’70s, came back to in the ’80s with the Taurus, gave up again in the ’90s, then came back to fight harder once more with fine cars like the Fusion and Focus. But now Ford is quitting cars entirely (except for the Mustang and a rugged Focus variant). The We Can Do Everything swagger the American car industry personified for a century is truly gone. In its place, the fat man who can’t be bothered to bend over to pick up a dollar bill from the sidewalk because he’s worried about his health.

The post Ford Has a “Better” Idea appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

from Performance Junk Blogger 6 https://ift.tt/2JlGXPs via IFTTT

[jonathanbelloblog]

Ford Has A “Better” Idea

You could write a book filled with all the things someone might reasonably think, say, or splutter about Ford’s recent decision to largely abandon the North American passenger car market. In late April, Ford’s new CEO, Jim Hackett, informed the financial community that, come 2020, almost 90 percent of Ford’s North American portfolio will consist of trucks and utility and commercial vehicles. There is room here to touch on only a few concerns this development rains down upon us. Farewell Fusion, Focus, Fiesta, and Taurus; hello things taller, wider, and most likely heavier.

How did this happen, and why? Cheap gas is the obvious culprit—like magic, it made thirsty vehicles plausible again, and for many carmakers, this makes America great again. They can get back to selling bigger trucks, SUVs, and crossovers, which are more profitable endeavors. But we know how this roller-coaster ride winds up.

Congress would have been wise to tax gasoline more heavily when gas was cheap—to lock in the national move toward more fuel-efficient vehicles that was picking up steam as America came out of recession. But Congress didn’t consider it for a minute, and automakers preferred selling SUVs as they had for decades before briefly renouncing them. Then, as now, they charged more for SUVs and crossovers, which cost them very little if any more to make than ordinary cars.

Hard to recall, but gas mileage improvements were happening in this country. Then, after years of cheap gas, national fuel economy stopped improving in 2017. This is what government and industry and much of the citizenry said we weren’t going to do again. Think back to 2008-09 and how different the mood was when federal bailouts for GM and FCA and a $5.9 billion loan to Ford from the U.S. Department of Energy spawned a generation of more fuel-efficient powertrains. Ford and others apologized for their environmental profligacy, acknowledging their own roles in their financial troubles and the lack of fuel-efficient vehicles they had to offer in times of high gas prices. They testified there was nothing they wanted to do more than get away from over-reliance on SUV profits, to build a new generation of sedans and passenger vehicles while getting a big leg up on this electric car thing.

Today we understand this position as an aberration or bout of temporary insanity, a momentary detour from their long-term stra-tegy for America, which is to make more money short-term selling as many of the biggest cars as they can get away with. The prospect of an imminent autonomous, ride-sharing, sales-collapse future has them running scared today, convinced they need to bank cash while they can. Like the rest of us, Detroit wonders how soon the gravy train is going to dry up. Ford President of Global Markets Jim Farley burnished Hackett’s 90-percent not-cars promise to investors by allowing that the company was also eager to build more “authentic off-roaders.” This despite almost no one ever going off-road.

Cheap gas is the obvious culprit—like magic, it made thirsty vehicles plausible again, and for many carmakers, this makes America great again.

This brings us to the question of the deeply psychological place high-riding SUVs, trucks, and crossovers occupy in the human psyche. Many people like them. But it isn’t like auto-makers haven’t been trying their hardest to sell them, either, marketing and talking up the jacked-up lifestyle to the cumulative tune of tens of billions. When the industry says the customer decides where the market goes, that’s not the whole truth.

In addition, there was another element to Ford’s decision to administer euthanasia to its family sedan lines in its 115th year.

Just two years ago, Ford boasted it had been named Interbrand’s best global green brand. But something happened on the way to the love-in: Ford and the rest of the industry bumped into President Donald Trump, who created a safe space for the bigly regulated to get back in touch with their biggest, baddest selves. Along with other manufacturers, Ford lobbied the newly receptive government of a rule-burner-in-chief to overturn the upgraded (but still imperfect) Obama-era CAFE and emissions standards for 2025, which they gleefully did. The industry, which had agreed to the rules under much humbled circumstances, went back on its word. Although it was on target to meet tougher standards, it saw junkie daylight and a path back to its old, dangerous habits. Like many an addict before it, it went right back in.

Today Ford promises to take further advantage of a situation it was already taking liberal advantage of by selling even more trucks and crossovers with big footprints, which entitle them, under the rules (thanks, Obama!), to get lousier fuel economy and emit more than smaller vehicles. This was the poison pill planted in the 2009 regulations. Ford is not alone. GM sold Opel, its most convincing center of small car excellence, last year. So too FCA, which shuttered the Dart and Chrysler 200 production lines. Trucks and crossovers are set to take these almost-brand-new cars’ place, with the company’s compact and midsize passenger car lines forever cast into space.

Bailing on cars and failing to allocate adequate development money to carry these machines through their life cycles with dignity, all three of America’s heritage carmakers have walked away from what had once been their lifeblood and—even in their darkest days—a big part of who they were.

Instead, we have Ford’s new boss telling analysts, “We’re going to feed the healthy parts of our business and deal decisively with the parts that destroy value.” Imagine that: the great American family sedan now a value destroyer in the eyes of America’s oldest car company. Ousted Ford CEO Mark Fields was making all the modern noises and many of the newfangled investments the market indicated it wanted in the face of the futurescape that excites it so much. But it made no difference to Ford’s share prices. Last May, Fields was canned, and Hackett was in. But Hackett’s big idea—big spending cuts, including savings from the passenger car trapdoor, totaling $25 billion—hasn’t moved the market, either. Nor has a planned $11 billion spend on electric cars.

Meanwhile, it’s as if Ford convinced itself it couldn’t make money off sedans, hatchbacks, or wagons. This is the fight Ford lost in the ’70s, came back to in the ’80s with the Taurus, gave up again in the ’90s, then came back to fight harder once more with fine cars like the Fusion and Focus. But now Ford is quitting cars entirely (except for the Mustang and a rugged Focus variant). The We Can Do Everything swagger the American car industry personified for a century is truly gone. In its place, the fat man who can’t be bothered to bend over to pick up a dollar bill from the sidewalk because he’s worried about his health.

The post Ford Has A “Better” Idea appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

from Performance Junk Blogger Feed 4 https://ift.tt/2JlGXPs via IFTTT

[sw5w]

Captain Panaka Outside the Window

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:55:11

[falkrimwright]

just made it looks more like M1911 Colt .45) CM-10 “Warden” Tactical Sidearm A 10-mm tactical combat pistol chambered by .39 Elven-Pistol rounds and using  standard 14-round magazines. Features easily replaceable barrel and handles of different lengths. Pistol has a unique ability to use both powder and gas cartridges without internal modification Instead of typical FMJ bullets, gas-charging cartridges features a  armor-piercing darts filled with poisons, enrage potions or tranquilizer - standard range for GCS ammunition is 50-60 meters, or even lesser if target armored. 1,2. Standard variants, short and long version 3,4. Integrated suppressor barrel variants,  short and long version Fast facts! Pistol also has a long barrel module, which looks similar to Walther P38 barrel CM-10 can be even re-modified to pneumatic pistol for pure 10-mm dart \ ball shooting. Range is lesser than standard version, but… sure, it’s still looks like combat version!. Pneumatic variant has a blue or light blue mark-detail on chassis. Who said that children’s toys cannot be SO COOL? Pistol has total of three main components  - main chassis with all mechanisms, handle and barrel module, which can be changed even in combat.

[eddiejpoplar]

Ford Has A “Better” Idea

You could write a book filled with all the things someone might reasonably think, say, or splutter about Ford’s recent decision to largely abandon the North American passenger car market. In late April, Ford’s new CEO, Jim Hackett, informed the financial community that, come 2020, almost 90 percent of Ford’s North American portfolio will consist of trucks and utility and commercial vehicles. There is room here to touch on only a few concerns this development rains down upon us. Farewell Fusion, Focus, Fiesta, and Taurus; hello things taller, wider, and most likely heavier.

How did this happen, and why? Cheap gas is the obvious culprit—like magic, it made thirsty vehicles plausible again, and for many carmakers, this makes America great again. They can get back to selling bigger trucks, SUVs, and crossovers, which are more profitable endeavors. But we know how this roller-coaster ride winds up.

Congress would have been wise to tax gasoline more heavily when gas was cheap—to lock in the national move toward more fuel-efficient vehicles that was picking up steam as America came out of recession. But Congress didn’t consider it for a minute, and automakers preferred selling SUVs as they had for decades before briefly renouncing them. Then, as now, they charged more for SUVs and crossovers, which cost them very little if any more to make than ordinary cars.

Hard to recall, but gas mileage improvements were happening in this country. Then, after years of cheap gas, national fuel economy stopped improving in 2017. This is what government and industry and much of the citizenry said we weren’t going to do again. Think back to 2008-09 and how different the mood was when federal bailouts for GM and FCA and a $5.9 billion loan to Ford from the U.S. Department of Energy spawned a generation of more fuel-efficient powertrains. Ford and others apologized for their environmental profligacy, acknowledging their own roles in their financial troubles and the lack of fuel-efficient vehicles they had to offer in times of high gas prices. They testified there was nothing they wanted to do more than get away from over-reliance on SUV profits, to build a new generation of sedans and passenger vehicles while getting a big leg up on this electric car thing.

Today we understand this position as an aberration or bout of temporary insanity, a momentary detour from their long-term stra-tegy for America, which is to make more money short-term selling as many of the biggest cars as they can get away with. The prospect of an imminent autonomous, ride-sharing, sales-collapse future has them running scared today, convinced they need to bank cash while they can. Like the rest of us, Detroit wonders how soon the gravy train is going to dry up. Ford President of Global Markets Jim Farley burnished Hackett’s 90-percent not-cars promise to investors by allowing that the company was also eager to build more “authentic off-roaders.” This despite almost no one ever going off-road.

Cheap gas is the obvious culprit—like magic, it made thirsty vehicles plausible again, and for many carmakers, this makes America great again.

This brings us to the question of the deeply psychological place high-riding SUVs, trucks, and crossovers occupy in the human psyche. Many people like them. But it isn’t like auto-makers haven’t been trying their hardest to sell them, either, marketing and talking up the jacked-up lifestyle to the cumulative tune of tens of billions. When the industry says the customer decides where the market goes, that’s not the whole truth.

In addition, there was another element to Ford’s decision to administer euthanasia to its family sedan lines in its 115th year.

Just two years ago, Ford boasted it had been named Interbrand’s best global green brand. But something happened on the way to the love-in: Ford and the rest of the industry bumped into President Donald Trump, who created a safe space for the bigly regulated to get back in touch with their biggest, baddest selves. Along with other manufacturers, Ford lobbied the newly receptive government of a rule-burner-in-chief to overturn the upgraded (but still imperfect) Obama-era CAFE and emissions standards for 2025, which they gleefully did. The industry, which had agreed to the rules under much humbled circumstances, went back on its word. Although it was on target to meet tougher standards, it saw junkie daylight and a path back to its old, dangerous habits. Like many an addict before it, it went right back in.

Today Ford promises to take further advantage of a situation it was already taking liberal advantage of by selling even more trucks and crossovers with big footprints, which entitle them, under the rules (thanks, Obama!), to get lousier fuel economy and emit more than smaller vehicles. This was the poison pill planted in the 2009 regulations. Ford is not alone. GM sold Opel, its most convincing center of small car excellence, last year. So too FCA, which shuttered the Dart and Chrysler 200 production lines. Trucks and crossovers are set to take these almost-brand-new cars’ place, with the company’s compact and midsize passenger car lines forever cast into space.

Bailing on cars and failing to allocate adequate development money to carry these machines through their life cycles with dignity, all three of America’s heritage carmakers have walked away from what had once been their lifeblood and—even in their darkest days—a big part of who they were.

Instead, we have Ford’s new boss telling analysts, “We’re going to feed the healthy parts of our business and deal decisively with the parts that destroy value.” Imagine that: the great American family sedan now a value destroyer in the eyes of America’s oldest car company. Ousted Ford CEO Mark Fields was making all the modern noises and many of the newfangled investments the market indicated it wanted in the face of the futurescape that excites it so much. But it made no difference to Ford’s share prices. Last May, Fields was canned, and Hackett was in. But Hackett’s big idea—big spending cuts, including savings from the passenger car trapdoor, totaling $25 billion—hasn’t moved the market, either. Nor has a planned $11 billion spend on electric cars.

Meanwhile, it’s as if Ford convinced itself it couldn’t make money off sedans, hatchbacks, or wagons. This is the fight Ford lost in the ’70s, came back to in the ’80s with the Taurus, gave up again in the ’90s, then came back to fight harder once more with fine cars like the Fusion and Focus. But now Ford is quitting cars entirely (except for the Mustang and a rugged Focus variant). The We Can Do Everything swagger the American car industry personified for a century is truly gone. In its place, the fat man who can’t be bothered to bend over to pick up a dollar bill from the sidewalk because he’s worried about his health.

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