#internal geared bike

[tycentre]

New Arrival: internal geared hub cargo bike (available with normal bike and ebike)

[seat-safety-switch]

In some countries, it is allowed to live on a boat. These house boats are called "houseboats," and they are quite a bit different from our more conventional housedirts. For instance, there is an internal-combustion engine in the basement. Wait, that's not different from my place at all.

For as long as I could remember, I've always wanted to at least sleep on a houseboat. In my country, we have lots of water, but none of it is in the province where I live, which is a flat hellscape devoid of all features except for white supremacy and a guy who incessantly honks whenever a hockey team scores a goal. It's not clear where his allegiances lie, but that is not the point of this story. The point is: I wanted a houseboat. So I snuck onto the airport runway and hid in the landing gear bay of a 747, hoping that it would take me somewhere that boats are also very mildewy-smelling houses.

As I rode there, alternately taking huffs of oxygen to stay alive, and glugs of off-brand Sichuan-knockoff not-Huy-Fung to stay warm, I thought about the downsides of the floating home lifestyle. For one thing, you'd be constantly trying to deal with leaks, and those leaks are quite a bit more serious than "spray Flex Seal on it and stop thinking about it" in a conventional home. My mind wandered a bit as the oxygen started to deplete, and then it struck me. I realized to no small amount of horror that the problem with houseboats is that there's no garage. If you want to park your car at your house, you simply can't.

This disgusting, deviant lifestyle had lured me across the world, all for nothing. Things kept getting worse for houseboats the longer I thought about it. If there was no lawn, I couldn't park a car on the lawn. If I couldn't park a car on the lawn, I couldn't park forty cars on the lawn. What would even be the point of living?

It all worked out in the end, because once the plane landed, I got to spend some time in Dutch prison before my deportation. Besides being prettier and better appointed than my actual home, it was also a houseboat. Well, prisonboat. I got a chance to try out this new, interesting way of living, and I didn't have to give up even a single shitty car to do it. Plus, one of my fellow prisoners explained to me that you can park a whole lot of bicycles in a houseboat. He was arrested for trying to ramp a BMX off of the forehead of a police officer while demanding the government turn a major highway into a bike racetrack. I think we might be related.

[jedi-luca]

Avenger Lane Chapter 9: American Football

Summary: You and your wife Quinn move your family outside of New York City to Avenger Lane; a small private suburbia. There you face your toughest obstacle of your marriage. Will your marriage with Quinn be strong enough when a certain redheaded beauty captures your attention? 

A/N: I promised I would drop something by the end of the week. Here's a small chapter. ;) I promise you Nat and Reader are happening.

Parings: Quinn Fabray x Reader / eventual Natasha x Reader(slow burn)

Warnings: Reader has a Penis

Previous Chapter. Next Chapter

It was mid morning in late August as you stretched your limbs breathing in the smell of freshly cut grass and morning dew. For a brief moment you were back on that old field at McKinley high. The track and cross country teams jogged. Coach Sue Sylvester calls the Cheerios practicing their pyramid sloppy babies. Coach Beist yelling at Finn for bringing donuts to practice. You were so far down memory lane that you didn’t even notice Natasha drive up on Clint and Laura’s golf cart.

“Y/N’s already running drills.” Clint chuckled, grabbing his cooler. 

The three friends walked over noticing Quinn who sat at a picnic table watching you run your old football drills she too was reminiscing of the good ole days. 

“Morning Quinn.” The three amigos grinned walking up as the blonde turned around with a smile.

“Morning.” Quinn said sweetly.

“See Laura, why didn’t you wear a shirt with my last name on it like Quinn?” Clint smirked

“Gross I threw those out years ago they all smelled.” Laura cringed, taking some contents out of her grocery bag.

“Where are the girls?” Natasha asked, looking around. 

“With my sister and niece.” Quinn responded. “Where’s Bruce?”

“Oh he’s out in Manhattan working on a new project.”

“On a Saturday morning?” Quinn furrowed her brows.

“Science never stops.” Natasha smiled back, shrugging. “Are you playing with us too?” Gesturing towards Quinn’s T-shirt.

“God No, Y/N wouldn’t let me wear my old Cheerios uniform.” She rolled her eyes.

“Gotcha.” Nat nodded before walking towards you.

“Hey.” Natasha cleared her throat seeing you in light football gear. Some Shorts over tights and an old jersey on your back. 

“Hi.” You grinned.

“You seem super psyched to get to play again.” She chuckled.

“Yeah it feels like riding a bike.”

“Sooo did you talk to Quinn about the job offer?” Natasha kinked her brow.

“Uhh not yet.” You gulped seeing her concerned expression you weren’t ready to tell people about the pregnancy it was still too early. Your wife hasn’t even gone to the doctor yet.

“Y/N-”

“Y/L/N!” Steve shouted from his jeep.

You waved seeing Bucky in the back and Peggy in the front.

“We’re finishing this later.” Natasha scolded you as the other’s walked toward you both. 

“So a few people are late but I figured when everyone gets here you and I could choose teams.” Steve grinned, giving you a brief hug.

“Coin toss on who chooses first.” You nod.

“Sup broskis!” Thor grinned holding up a beer as he stepped off of Val’s golf cart. Carol and Val grabbed a couple of bags as Thor set a cooler on the ground before rolling it over towards the picnic table.

Soon Tony was parking his golf cart when you turned to your wife who was prepping everything along with Peggy and Laura.

“Can I get a golf cart?” You ask, feeling left out.

“What? No!” Quinn huffed.

“That’s what I said.” Peggy laughed.  

“I never get fun stuff.” You grumbled.

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

“Alright call it.” 

“Heads.” You call out quickly.

“Tails.” Steve nodded.

You and Steve looked at Peggy who flipped the coin.

“Heads.” She announced.

Steve grimaced hoping you wouldn’t take his first pick.

You looked at the people before you before choosing your first choice. “Thor.”

“Hell yeah chosen first.” Thor fist pumped.

“Bucky.” Steve smiled in relief.

“Val.”

“That’s what’s up.” Val smirked, walking over and standing next to Thor.

Natasha internally huffed at you not choosing her.

“Sam.” Steve smirks.

“Picked second but that's okay.” Sam grumbled.

“Carol.” You nodded, you knew Carol and Val together was key. Plus you remember Carol mentioning soccer and lacrosse. Doesn’t hurt that Val and Thor played rugby.

“Tony.” Steve smirked.

“Sorry kid, too slow.” Tony chuckled, joining Steve. 

“I think you mean you’re too slow, Old man.” You smirked back. “Clint.” He actually did play football.

“Ouch.” Tony huffed.

“Well Nat, come join the team.” Steve grinned.

“The betrayal.” she glared at you.

You chuckled. “I'm sorry Nat but everyone on my team has played sports.”

“I was in ballet!” she huffed shoulder checking you.

“Save it for the field Romanoff!” Steve clapped, having them huddle up.

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

The score was 24 to 3 that was only because Natasha kicked their field goal.

You watched Steve snap the ball and your eyes went straight to Sam figuring he’d hand it off to his running back, but a flash of red caught your eye. You smirked; he thought he was slick. You began hauling down the field closing in on her.

“Gotcha!” You laughed, wrapping your arms around her waist, lifting her up. She yelped giggling as she held the ball. “Nice try gingersnap.” You smirked, snatching the ball from her grasp. “But you gotta be quicker than that.”

She looked at you with her jaw hanging. Thor and Carol laughed high-fiving you. 

“Damn, Rogers, you have Spam, Tony, Bucky, and Nat. I have these misfits and still whooped that ass!” You chuckled, acting like you were bending them over.

“Damn it Steve I told you they would know the ball was with Nat!” Bucky huffed.

“Y/N is calling our plays before we even do them!” Sam huffed.

“Is she reading my lips?” Steve whispered before looking over his shoulder to see you flirting with your wife.

“Look at that, they're flirting, not even paying attention or huddling.” Bucky shook his head.

Steve frowned that his team was the only one in a huddle. You were too busy saying things you want to do to your wife, Clint was acting like he was humping the ball at Steve, and Val was also flirting with her wife. Thor was the only one practicing his throws only because his wife Jane said he was throwing sloppily.

“Let's take ten.” Tony muttered before walking over to you seeing your wife walk away to help Peggy and Laura with lunch.

Tony approaches you as you grab some water.

“Hey kid.” 

“Hey Tony.” You grinned.

“So…You made a decision yet?” Tony asks for help.

“Uhh…” You look behind you to see if your wife was in earshot. “Some things came up and I haven’t-” 

“It’s okay kid the job is yours when you’re ready.” Tony left before you could say anything.

“Hey Nat, walk with me, talk with me.” Tony muttered looking back making sure no one was close enough to hear.

“What’s up weirdo?” Natasha chuckled, falling in step with her friend.

“I found something out about Y/N, and Y/N deserves to know. I just don’t think it should come from me and I don’t want it to come from her parents.”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked, slightly surprised Tony would know anything.

He sighed looking back leaning against a tree as he watched you talking to your wife.

“Y/N, was accepted into MIT on a full ride.”

“Wait what?!” Natasha hissed her neck, nearly getting whiplash.

“My buddy down at MIT said she was accepted but that someone turned it down.”

“Well it wasn’t Y/N or her parents. So that leaves…” Natasha trailed off as she turned to look at Quinn who had her hands all over you.

“Now we don’t know if it was her-“

“It obviously was.” Natasha tried her best not to glare at her.

“Look Y/N deserves to know, but I can’t break it to the kid. It’s going to break their heart. It could ruin them Nat, and all I could think about was Y/N’s happiness. They have been together since high school. They have two little girls… I just can’t.”

“So you’re putting it on me?!” She exclaimed.

“I can’t put that on Frankie and Sophia.”

“Tony-“

“Please?”

“… Well I know now so I guess-” Natasha sighed. 

“Thanks Nat.”

“You owe me.” She mumbled.

“Deal, I’ll text you the documents.” He grinned before eating some raisins.

“Hey losers! S’go, I'm gettin’ hungry.” You shout, rubbing your tummy. “Babe, grab me a plate and a couple beers, I won’t be long. I’m having a victory feast after this.”

“You’re such an asshole when you play football.” Val snorted, giving you a light shove. “I love it.”

“Such a jock.” Carol grinned.

“You’re a dick, Y/L/N.” Steve laughed.

“Why are you so sure you’ll win.” Bucky, rolled his eyes playfully.

“You are down by 4 touchdowns!” Carol, flapped her arms.

“Romanoff, if I would have know you ran like that I would have picked you.” You taunt with a devilish smirk that makes her loins ache a little. 

“You’re an ass for having me picked last.” She flipped you off with a laugh.

“Oh thank you I’ll use this later.” You grinned, flipping her the bird before putting it in your pocket.

“Woooow, you are a different person playing this game.” Nat gasped, laughing in disbelief. 

“If you can’t take the heat, get outta the kitchen, Ginger Snap.” You smirked backwards jogging to your team.

“We have the ball losers!” Thor laughed, twerking his butt towards the other team

“Alright Revengers huddle up.” You called out. You ran through the last play before breaking the huddle and getting in line.

You all clapped before getting in line.

Thor began chanting. “Brooklyn 99! Brooklyn 99! Hut! Hut!”

Needless to say you scored one more time and won the game.

“Great game-“ you say to the other team high-fiving them. “Now move so I can eat. Big papa’s hungry.” You barked shoving past Sam and Bucky.

“I don’t think I like you this way. I’m calling your mother about this.” Tony huffed.

“Do it!” You taunt as Quinn sets your plate down with an ice cold beer next to it.

“Thanks baby.” You grin as she sits next to you.

“You’re welcome.” She smiles as you dig in.

“Wow, not even waiting for us.” Steve laughed, grabbing a plate.

“Winners don’t wait for losers.” You after taking a bite.

“I don’t know I kind of love this side of Y/N.” Carol shrugged as she and Val grabbed a plate.

“Honestly me too.” Bucky whispered to Steve. 

The blond furrowed his brow at his secret lover. “Excuse me?”

“Oh come on! Look at Y/N!” Bucky huffed. “The muscles, the bulge. Calling themselves Big papa. Y/N is-“

“If you finish that sentence I swear.” Steve glared elbowing Bucky in the gut.

“Don’t be jealous.” Bucky grinned before slapping his ass in line.

“Shut up I’m not-“

“Oh you so are.” Bucky chuckled, grabbing a beer before following him to a table.

Steve gave him another glare before digging in. 

Bucky chuckled at his jealousy before looking around making sure no one was watching. “You’re still the only thing I need.” He gently ran his hand near his inner thigh before eating.

Steve cleared his throat trying not to get a hard on. “Good.” He made a mental note to finally give that divorce lawyer a call.

“You’re right Y/N this is a victory feast.” Clint chuckled clinking his beer bottle with yours.

“Losers have to clean.” Val smirked.

“Except Nat, she's the only one who actually scored.” Carol snorted.

You were laughing when your daughter was calling your phone.

“Be right back.” You said standing up and walking away.

“So Y/N’s birthday is in a few weeks and I wanted to invite you all and let you know that its a surprise party. It’ll probably just be a glee/karaoke party Y/N had mentioned to me the other how much they miss singing and playing music.”

“That sounds great, Quinn consider us there.” Peggy smiled.

“Definitely.” Thor nodded.

“We won’t say anything to Y/N.” Val smiled.

“Oh Nat, will you please let Wanda know?” Quinn asked.

“Of course.” The redhead nodded.

“Sorry about that, our daughter just wanted the password to our Flix account.” You chuckled. “What did I miss?” 

“Just Bucky's whining.” Sam rolled his eyes playfully.

“He’s a sore loser.” Steve chuckled.

“Okay, Sam, you cried when I beat you at Uno.” Bucky huffed.

“Hey! I don't cry.” Sam punched Bucky’s arm.” 

“Now, now, boys, not at the table.” Nat smirked as Bucky placed his fist down.

“Sheesh I’m not playing cards with you guys.” You chuckled.

“Uh you’re kidding right? You moped the floor with us and boasted about it.” Bucky chuckled.

“Hey what can I say I’m a different person on the field.” You smirked.

“I kinda wanna see how you are at basketball.” Sam eyed you.

“Y/N was a point guard.” Quinn smirked.

“Baseball?”

“All star.” You grinned.

“Jeez.” Sam muttered.

“Why? Do you like getting your butt smacked?” You smirked.

“Alright Y/L/N I see how it is.” Sam cackled.

Natasha bit her lip watching the way you looked at your wife. She didn’t know how she was going to tell you, or even when, but she knew it needed to happen at some point. You deserve to know that someone close to you ruined your college career. 

[bitingcurbs]

ways to express your nonhumanity without gear

good quality gear can be pricey (for good reason!) but that doesn’t mean you can’t express yourself in other ways. here’s what i have personally found to be helpful! add yours in the notes!

-clothing & accessories:

being a horse makes this somewhat easy as western wear and horse shirts are aplenty. beyond just “shirt with your theriotype on it” think about what makes you feel like your type. for me this is loose clothing, especially a boxy “potato sack” kind of dress. or in colder months, jackets with a fur/sherpa lining make me feel like im wearing an insulated saddle. again, easier cause im a horse but if im going somewhere fancy i get inspired by dressage horses and show ponies. accessories that make me feel horse like are: chunky jewelry, bangles, stuff that makes noise when i walk! also i had to get new headphones, so i got them in a grey and brown option that reminded me of horse tack.

i thrift pretty much everything and this has helped me find really unique pieces as well as cheaper stuff that i don’t feel bad modifying to be more horse like.

-hair:

my partner does both of our hair. we’re both nonhuman and try desperately to make our external forms match the internal form. for me this looks like cropping the sides of my hair, and sometimes putting it in a row of buns down the back. bangs have also been helpful. for him as a crocodile and canid, this looks like matching his hair to his coat color and a choppy/angular haircut.

-piercings/tattoos:

ive talked a little about this before on my blog, but truly piercings and tattoos have eased my species dysphoria so much. i haven’t got any with direct relation to my species yet, but they all help me recognize my skin is mine. in the future i’d like to get a large gauge labret and stretch it, as the oral feeling would remind me of a horse bit. i’d also like to get a coinslot in one of my ears to hang an identification tag in. specific kinds of stretched ear jewelry make me feel horselike too, like (obviously) ear saddles. i also plan on getting a horse tattoo or two, and some horse shoe tattoos on my feet. body mods are expensive but last forever.

-body language & movements:

research into equine behavior has helped me notice what i already do that’s horse like and figure out what i can add. i struggle with speech sometimes so this has been helpful in boosting my range of nonverbal communication. i also watch gait videos and practice them. practicing how your type navigates its environment does not have to be through quads! i don’t do quads because it feels less like how a horse would move. biking helps! something about the way my knees pedal a bike feels equine.

-visit a hearthome:

go camping, see the desert, star gaze. what makes you feel at home? for me these places are: stock shows, rodeos, horse races, antique malls, rocky terrain, and feed stores. sometimes farms give tours to the public. ones not related to being a horse include: dawn/dusk, ice/ocean (this one has only been affirmed by going to an exhibit about orcas), and for some reason the electronics section at a thrift store. if you wouldn’t be able to visit a hearthome for whatever reason, message me and let’s figure something creative out!

[wannabepoeticischiya]

Weak

[ 04 ] — an offer she could definitely not refuse

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My daily routine is very simple. I wake up and I suffer.

There wasn't a day in (Y/n)'s life where she didn't think about how to pulverize Gojō in multiple excruciatingly painful ways. From the moment she had met him up until the present where her hatred for that blasted sorcerer was at its peak.

Even now as she maneuvered around the city on her black motorcycle trying to get away from the three first years who were still pestering her to help them.

Tch! Persistent brats!

(Y/n) shifted gears and proceeded on running three red lights all the while swiftly and barely dodging the cars that had met her as she throttled full speed on the opposite lane.

I have a bloody helmet on! How can they even tell it's me?!

Detouring through a truck lane, she looked back to see if those pesky brats were still on her tail. Through her tinted visors, (Y/n) saw a huge bird-looking thing up in the sky, seemingly dotting on her current location.

Nue...

At the sight of the flying chicken on her side mirrors, a flash of black, spiky hair flooded her vision, momentarily blinding all coherent thoughts.

Tch! I remember who you are now... blessing.

An ear-piercing sound shattered her train of thoughts. (Y/n)'s head coiled so inhumanly quick that if she had not been a sorcerer, it would've twisted and detached from her neck before rolling onto the asphalt road.

Her (e/c) irises had met with the front of a container truck. The bloodstained cracks painting the windshield, confirmed the existence of a curse. How it even got inside the cabin, she had no idea. What more, how it perfectly intercepted her at this very second, she had no clue.

Her assumptions that were thought of on the spot was proven to be correct when she saw that in the place of the driver was a blob of internal organs all mushed up like a pile of freshly dissected intestines with a mix of vomit, staring right into where she was currently speeding—straight into its direction.

And with not enough time to think, her fingers had moved on their own to cast a perilous technique, one she had not done in many, many years.

"Charge—" with her fingers crossing and holding one another... "Hellfire." She cast.

The atmosphere around the vehicle had erupted into flames, glittering fire that had framed the truck into that single frozen motion. Quickly as the flames had eaten the hunk of metal, (Y/n) jumped from her vehicle and found herself rolling onto the road, barely preventing herself from being consumed by her own Jujutsu. Originally, she was worried about having to replace her handbrake, how expensive it would cost, the meals she'd have to cut to afford that. Now, she didn't have to think about that anymore... because now, had to replace everything! Her motorcycle just drove itself straight into the hellfire that was quite literally her jujutsu.

There goes my baby...

The sorcerer released a relieved breath as what stood now in the place of the truck and was once her bike was a stuffed bear with white fur that radiated a huge amount of cursed energy.

(Y/n) stood up to wobble her way to the little bear in the middle of the road.

This... was... a bad... idea—

Tossing her headgear somewhere, the woman struggled to catch her bearings as anything and everything multiplied into two more versions of itself, distorting her vision as the reality of what she did dawned on her in finality. A throbbing pain ripped at her body as she felt as if her organs were being burned and iced at the same time.

Why... did I do... that?

Her vision began accumulating dark spots as breathing suddenly became such a difficult thing to do, and the constant blares of truck horns did not help one bit. (Y/n)'s hand grabbed the fabric of her shirt as the other held on the railings for support.

This is all your fault, Goj ō !!

The ringing in her ears became deafening as (Y/n) felt a warm, metallic-smelling and tasting substance drip from her nose and pool inside her mouth.

"(L/n)-san!"

(Y/n)'s vision had contorted as she looked up and suddenly began seeing two to three younger versions of an all too familiar Zenin outcast running towards her.

The sorcerer had tried to fight back the urge to pass out, not wanting anyone—especially not his child—to have to be the one to bring her home or worse... kill her.

"I don't need... your... help."

But before the intended words could roll off her tongue, the sense of consciousness and awareness had slowly begun detaching itself from her body leaving her completely defenseless to the young sorcerer in front of her, and to the entire Jujutsu society.

"She's knocked out." Itadori skidded to a stop right in front of the unconscious woman. "Hurry! Let's take her to the school before she wakes up!!"

---

"LET ME GO YOU LITTLE MOTHER FU--"

Yuuji and Nobara both hid behind Fushiguro for protection. Their eyes reflected fear with a glimmer of worry as they watched the older woman scream and thrash around the ropes and talismans they had wrapped around her.

"(L/n)-san, we just really need your help—" Fushiguro tried to reason, holding up his hands in defense as he slowly began to approach the fuming woman.

"I TOLD YOU!" (Y/n) glared menacingly at them, eyes practically glowing with the intent to slaughter these little pests until they were no longer anything but a bunch of compiled meat.

"EVEN IF SOMEONE WERE TO BLOWTORCH A JAR OF RATS ON MY FACE AND HAVE THEM EAT THROUGH MY SKULL I. AM. NOT. HELPING. THAT. NARCISSISTIC. PSYCHOPATH. EVER!" The way she had pressed on every syllable made it obvious that there was no room for argument, but of course... the three first years were persistent.

Although they wouldn't show it, the sight of the sweaty woman tied up on the chair whose messy hair was sprawled all over her face was downright terrifying. And her ragged breath and the deadly glint in her eyes added more effect to her already intimidating and horrifying appearance. The scenery that had met their eyes looked as if Sadako had crawled all the way up from her well and possessed the woman to keep being so irrationally impossible.

The reasonable of the three first years was so close to giving up. A little more push on his patience and the thought of letting Gojo die will begin to seem pretty decent in his eyes.

"(L/n)-san—" This time it was Itadori who tried to talk, he hoped that perhaps a little friendliness and warmth in this harsh, held-against-your-will situation could coax some consideration into (L/n)'s wretched and selfish soul.

But of course, it only caused (Y/n) to exasperatedly sigh and dramatically roll her eyes at him.

Her response caused the young shaman in training to flinch and back away to the far corner, fearing that another meep from him would result in that horrendous witch to obliterate him to dust.

"You're being so unreasonably unfair—" This time it was Kugisaki who butted in, accusingly pointing her finger at the unfazed woman.

"PUH-lease!" (Y/n) exclaimed, startling them all into silence.

"Let us make one thing clear here, brats." She eyed each and every single one of the children who wouldn't stop annoying the living daylights out of her, drilling in the much-needed heavyweights of spooks into their overconfident veins.

"I... do NOT care... what happens to that brainless idiot! Even if he were to die a gruesome death, you would never see me mourn for the likes of him! You three are lucky enough to even have this conversation with me right now much more still breathe with that tone you are using on me."

"So... while I can still manage my anger—" (Y/n) gestured to the ropes that were made binding her, "let me go."

(Y/n)'s suppressed cursed energy threatened their own as her growing rage began thawing what was left of the students' resolve to help their teacher. "I was okay with living my quiet life, alone and away from that eyesore. Now, I just want to regain that peace of mind knowing that I'm a hundred thousand kilometers away from that Oompa Loompa."

Your students take after you... couple of little shi—

"What will it take to convince you, (L/n)-san?!" That pinky boy was the first one to muster up the courage and ask, slowly inching away from the corner he had hidden himself in. His eyes shone with the determination that vaguely hid the looming sense of fear that continued to haunt him.

(Y/n) scoffed at him, spitting her accumulated saliva to the other side of the room.

Desperate now, are we?

The older sorcerer looked them up and down and began estimating that the only thing keeping these first years from running out the door was their sheer willpower and probably the innocent compassion that they had for Satoru.

"Nothing—"

"We'll pay you." Now it was mini-Fushiguro who had bargained. From (Y/n)'s experience with Clan outcasts, they were the ones who were most likely would hold true to their words, as opposed to those who are reveled and worshiped by their family like some sort of god, nothing but filthy, dirty little traitors.

His words had made her put a small gram of adoration for the boy with sea urchin-like hair, the gram that Satoru would never get given his relationship with (Y/n) at the moment.

"Oh yeah? How much are we talkin' 'bout here, spiky?" (Y/n) challenged, teasing the sorcerer to egg him on.

"Five million dollars. Five million and you can leave with your sanity intact."

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[trivialbob]

Today it's sunny and warm here. I got going early on a bike ride, to beat the oncoming hot weather. For this ride I used my single-speed Surly Cross Check. This bike is decked out as a commuter machine, with fenders, rear rack, pannier bag and a center kickstand. Sheila gave it to me for Christmas about ten years ago.

I love the simplicity of a single-speed, but as I get older I start to think about getting gears added. I'm really interested in trying an internally geared hub.

Above in the video is Minnehaha Falls, flowing stronger than usual. On my route map below, the falls are in the lower right corner, a little over halfway of this 18 mile loop. There's a seafood restaurant at the park there too. Sometimes Sheila and I stop there for a beer if we're having a lackadaisical ride.

The top length on the map is the Minneapolis Greenway, a bike trail running along a former railway trench through the city. I rode the Greenway from Bde Maka Ska (pronounced bu-DAY muh-KOSS-ka, the new name of the former Lake Calhoun) to the Mississippi River.

The right side is West River Road. The bottom length is Minnehaha Parkway. To the left are lakes. This route is entirely on paved bike paths, except for a little construction detour off the Greenway this month.

After the ride I got out my bike mechanic stand. I cleaned and lubricated the drivetrains of the Surly and my e-bike. If the weather cools off a little this evening I think I'll take Sulley over to Lake Harriet (where the red marker is on the map) so he can swim a little.

[lazykiwi]

Another random headcanon:

Melanie rides a motorbike, and I have no evidence for this, except it would be really cool. Bonus is that Georgie didn't realise she had a thing for people on bikes til she found out Melanie owned one before they started dating, like:

*hears someone driving their bike at night*

Georgie carrying admiral: who the fuck is driving this la-

*sees Melanie take off her helmet, she does the thing of using her teeth to take off one of her gloves*

Georgie: *becomes massively bright red as she slowly ducks underneath the window, looks at admiral*

"What the fuck do I do.... admiral help"

This leads with my other wtg headcanon, which is georgie saying unhinged stuff to make Melanie blush in public til jon tells her, "By the way, georgie likes you on the bike... like 'really' likes you on the bike.' Melanie starts using it for evil (aka make her girlfriend blush). This will lead to moments where, for example everyone is hanging out at a pub and Melanie walks in late in her biker gear and goes to take it off and get a drink, jon gives georgie an all knowing smirk and georgie blushing goes: "Jon, shut your goddamn mouth or no admiral privileges".

And yes, Melanie does take her out on the bike and will purposefully drive faster so georgie will hold her tighter, both are internally screaming in happiness.

[mangoshorthand]

Arrow of Time- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Chapter 2 (Hard Feelings Part 5)

SUMMARY: When the mother of all teenage tantrums causes time itself to fracture, Five has to travel back to 1831 to repair the damage. But will he be able to cope with what he finds there? On to Chapter 3 >> << Back to Chapter 1

Aoife cheats on her math test...with disastrous results.

Blue balls for Five ahead.

Chapter 2: The Bike Shorts

When you enter the bedroom, Five’s lying on top of the sheets, still in his cycling gear (minus the helmet).He looks almost entirely calm now, chest rising and falling only slightly harder than usual. He flashes you his most charming smile, however, patting the bed beside him. 

“Aoife ok?” he asks.

“Fine. Back to rolling her eyes.”

“Good,” he grins up at you, “well that was a shitshow.”

You flop down next to him and melt into his embrace.

“What brought it on?”

“It was stupid. I rode past the Argyle Public Library.” he runs his fingers through his hair, “it’s been demolished.”

“Oh.”

You understand immediately. It had been his and Dolores’ home base, enough of the internal structure left standing to provide them with shelter to sleep. It had been the closest thing he’d had to a home for him for forty years: the longest he’d ever lived anywhere.

“Wanna know something funny? They must be halfway through: the way they pulled it down, it looked exactly the same. The same parts were left standing.” a bitter smile pulled at one corner of his mouth, “the more things change, the more they stay the same.”

You know his mind now almost as intimately as your own: he’s not just talking about the way the two timelines rhyme.

“It’s been ten years since I had a freakout like that,” he says, resentfully. “I been to therapy every two weeks minimum , I take the damn pills religiously and still I lose my ever-loving shit over a building.”

You ease his hand out of the fist he’s screwed it into. You take a breath to respond to him but he plows over you.

“And I know what you’re going to say: the state I was in when we got together, it’s amazing that I haven’t had a major freakout for ten years. Maybe if I weren’t taking the pills, I’d be losing my mind every damn day, and I know therapy isn’t a cure-all, it just helps you work with what you got but…”

He pauses for a second, frustration on hold as his conscious mind catches up with what he’s said. Then he gives a rough laugh.

“And you’d be right,” he rolls to face you, smiling genuinely now.

“You said it all for me,” you shrug, smiling back at him.

The realization seems to have bolstered him:

“So, all in all, I give myself five stars for that panic attack. Threw it off like a champ.”

“You did,” you smile, leaning over and kissing his lips gently.

He’s always thought you have the sweetest lips. Maddening, in fact.

Even after all these years, the lines of your body are still the delight of his eye, particularly the ones that have developed since you’ve been with him. Everything you’d tell yourself is imperfection is, for him, just another object of devotion. After all, the stretch marks, wrinkles and reduced elasticity are all products of the fifteen years you’ve given to him: sixteen Christmases; fifteen fourth of Julys; fifteen whole trips around the sun that you chose to spend with him when you should have run a mile right at the start. 

He wants to celebrate that, wants to love you physically and worship your body with his.

The kiss you give him is only just beyond a peck, but he leans into your perfect mouth and works his way between your lips. You pull away before he’s half done. 

Honestly…it’s been a while. He’s kept his frustration quiet: work has been troubling you. It’s fine: it’s just a matter of feeling stressed on top of getting a little older. He knows it’s not because you love him any less…academically, at least. He can take care of himself ok and even if you never had sex ever again that’s perfectly fine: he’s in this for the long haul, no matter what. 

He’d cope…he’d adapt. He’d find a way to not ogle you, mouth dry, every time you get undressed. He’d spent most of his life having, (with all respect to his first long-term partner), sub-optimal sex. Now he’s had fifteen years of amazing sex, it’s almost unbearable to imagine having to just  ‘make do’ again. But he will if he needs to. 

He hates feeling needy. It’s a form of vulnerability he’s not yet able to reconcile in himself. It doesn’t feel so long ago but he remembers how you used to look up at him with needy eyes… Maybe tonight can break the dry spell.

“Say…how about you and I…”

You look at him with amusement, “Really, Five?”

“Come on….” he adjusts his body so he’s leant against the headboard and you can see his hand skimming down his body towards his crotch, “you know you like the bike shorts.”

“You’re seriously going straight from a major panic attack to horny?”

In answer, ghosts his fingers over his package. The shorts certainly are tight… Were you in the mood, something about them would make you want to reach in there and root around to see what you can find. They cling attractively in all the right places, stopping an inch or so above the knee. As if his bulge wasn’t enough, the way they sculpt themselves around his muscled thighs and perfectly peachy ass is…noticeable, to say the least.

“I’m a little tired.” you say, not wanting to burst his bubble but hoping he’ll take the hint. 

“I can be quick,” he says, trying to keep the slight plea out of his voice, “you could call me daddy again, if you want. Aoife hasn’t called me that in years now.”

“Nice try, Five,” you smirk, “maybe next time.”

“Oh, I’m not trying,” he says, rising to a kneel, turning and straddling your thighs, “I’m succeeding.”

He’s half-joking but nevertheless trying his luck, deliberately raising a rock-hard tent beneath his hand. Then, he rises on the bed into a high kneel.

Even in your totally unaroused state, the look he fixes you with almost makes you feel like a hooked fish being reeled in. He looms over you, head tilted and arrogant smirk firmly in place. He looks down his long nose as he paws at his boner, circling his hips. The shorts really are obscene. They would only have to be one iota tighter for them to cling to every single vein on his fit-to-burst shaft. As it stands, the lycra outlines the bell-shaped tip of his cock in minute anatomical detail.

It's a beguiling sight, but not beguiling enough.

“You’re still one hot grandpa but I’m sorry, I’m really not feeling it.”

He gives a small smile of acceptance and kisses your forehead before he swings his leg over and gets off you, heading for the ensuite bathroom.

“I’ll take care of myself,” he says as he peels off his cycling gear.. Then, in a final bid, he adds, “guess I’ll have to take a shower, lather up real good, lean up against the tiles and whack myself off with the suds…”

“Yeah, guess you will.” you say, picking up your reading glasses and the book off your nightstand. 

Five stifles a sigh and enters the bathroom; boner leading the way like a perky seeing-eye-dog. As he shuts and locks the door behind him, he leans against it.  It looks like it’s another night of jacking himself off into the shower tray. He tries not to feel hurt, tries to keep in mind all the reasonable thoughts from before. The humiliation of trying so hard only to be rejected? Rejected kindly, lovingly, but still rejected. He’s not going to degrade himself so far as to beg for sex. He’ll never be that pathetic. 

Thank god for his left hand: it’s been there for him for nearly 80 years now and it’s always in the mood whenever he is.

The Trevor Dalton school covers PreK through to 12th grade. You’d initially felt conflicted about sending Aoife to private school but, for Five, only the best education money could buy would do for his daughter, regardless of your ‘commie bullshit’. You couldn’t help but agree emotionally; she deserved the best.

Overall, you’d been pleased with her progress: she had a firm group of friends and she enjoyed her extracurriculars- particularly band. Despite this, her math scores worried you both. Though Five had taken to tutoring her himself, she was showing little improvement in school. You’d both been pleased, therefore, to see how much time Aoife had spent holed up in her room studying for an upcoming math test.

Aoife certainly has been studying for her math test…just not in the way you and Five might think. She’s been practicing religiously every night before sleep. Every time, her temporal jumps are getting longer and without the need for all that stupid math. Last night, she managed to reverse an entire hour without even turning a hair. She can do it quickly too- she doesn’t have to force herself through the seconds like her dad seems to: she can just do it. He won’t know what’s hit him when she shows him what she knows. 

Were she to sit down and analyze her feelings, she’d be unsure precisely why she wants this so much, whether she wants to make him proud or piss him off. Most of all, she wants to prove that she’s not a baby. All she can do is imagine the look in his eyes when she jumps through time with him along for the ride.

The math test will be her first time using her skills in the real world. She never blinked at school, (she’d learned early on that letting too many people in on the fact you have superpowers doesn’t end well) but jumping through time was different: when you went backwards, you’d erase anyone’s memory that you’d done anything unusual.

The test was in-class, and Aoife had taken care to discover the format before the big day. Mr Douglas would put the questions up on the board, the class would have thirty minutes to answer the questions and then, at the end, they would pass their answers to another student to mark and he would reveal the answers.

Sitting at her desk now, she’s full to bursting with nervous excitement. She can barely concentrate during the test, (not that she needs to), but she fills in stuff anyway. When Mr Douglas calls time and reveals the answers, she’s trembling so much that she’s surprised nobody’s noticed.

She passes her piece of paper to Izzie seated behind her and takes Jack’s from up ahead. Ignoring his paper, she grabs a fresh sheet of her own and begins to write down the right answers. This is what she’ll hand in…now she just has to make sure that this piece of paper is the one she passes to Izzie.

Holding her correct answers in one hand to exempt it from the reversal of time, she reaches easily into the abyss. It’s second nature now; couldn’t be any easier. It’s cool to watch. Alone in her bedroom, it was hard to see the effects; it's different in a crowded classroom. Jack’s pen reverses, going from right to left; eventually, he turns and takes his test back from her desk while Izzie hands Aoife’s over her shoulder. This, Aoife screws into a ball and drops into her backpack. The answers on the smartboard disappear as Mr Douglas moonwalks into his chair and the booger Kevin Simmons flicked across the room returns to his finger and he places it back up his nose.

Aoife lets go. Only somebody watching her closely would notice her jolt.

“And that’s time,” said Mr Douglas, “pass your test to the lady or gentlemen behind you. Ladies and Gentlemen at the back, bring your tests to the front of your row.”

Grinning all over her face, Aoife passes her new answers to Izzie.

Five spent most of the day with Luther who, for once in his life, has had a brain wave.

They’d been in Five’s bedroom, using the huge dry-erase and a plethora of colored post-its to plot out his idea: a non profit focused on helping male survivors of sexual violence. 

Five helped mainly out of solitarily with Luther: arranging support groups and having to break the ice with the story of his own rape wasn’t exactly appealing, but Luther’s bright blue eyes were so alight at the the possible scope of the idea (that he dubbed ‘The Umbrella Foundation’), that Five was willing to put his misgivings aside for now. He'd suck it up if he had to. 

When Aoife gets home from school she barrels into the room when he and Luther still stand, contemplating the timelines and tenuous organizational structure they’ve drafted. 

After a quick hug for Luther, she passes Five her test and smiles coyly at him. 

“What’s this?” he says, smiling back.

“Unfold it and see!”

He does so and his eyes light up, even as he affects to look casual. He stands with one hand in his pants pocket and his hips loose

“An A+? Jeez, where was this the other day? And not a single wrong answer?”

“You’re surprised, right?” she smiles up at him

“Surprised? Proud is what I am.”

He grins and pulls her into a full hug which she, for once, reciprocates.

“Ben fatto, tesoro. Hai lavorato sodo.”

“ Grazie papa.”

She has worked hard for this. Maybe he wouldn’t think of it that way, but she has.

“Well done sweetheart.” smiles Luther, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“You see what you can do when you set your mind to it?” says Five, kissing her forehead and holdung her at arm’s length, “How about I take you out this weekend? Maybe we take Izzie too? What do thirteen-year-old girls do these days? The...mall or whatever?”

Aoife snorts laughter at this, “yeah sure Dad, we’ll go to the mall.”

“Well I don’t know what you guys like to do. You’re the first teen girl I’ve spoken to for fifty-five years!”

Five’s never sure why, but he never feels as old around anyone as he does his daughter. Despite speaking seven languages, Teen Girl is one he can’t get his head around.

When Aoife bounds out of the room again, Luther turns to Five with a significant look on his face.

“She just runs into your bedroom...without knocking?”

Five knows exactly what he’s referring to. 

“Yes,” he says, testily before looking sidelong at Luther and lowering his voice, “not exactly much for her to walk in on these days.”

Luther gives him a sympathetic look and turns back to the dry erase.

When you arrive home, long after Luther’s drifted downstairs, you’re instantly more skeptical than Five. To go from a D+ average to an A+ with no steps between? You smell bullshit. Perhaps it’s a fluke…but something about the way Aoife shows you the test sets off warning bells in your head. You don’t want to accuse her if this really is the product of hard work, but you’re worried you’ll have to. While she practices the drums after dinner and you sit with Five on the couch, already feeling guilty about raining on his parade.

“This math test…pretty surprising, right?”

From the tone of your voice, he immediately realizes your implication. Fifteen years of a relationship has given you so many little shorthands and layers of implication that would be lost on others. The line between his eyebrows deepens as he considers.

“You think she cheated?”

“I don’t know, but it seems a bit too good to be true. When her homework’s been so poor and she could barely do simple algebra last week?”

His lips pull inwards. He’s by nature a rather cynical man, tending to believe the worst in people until they prove him wrong, but he has a blind spot the size of Jupiter when it comes to his daughter.

“She knows how important it is that she learns. She wouldn’t mislead me.”

Really Five? You raise your eyebrows at him incredulously.

“She’s a teen. Pushing boundaries and lying to their parents is what they do.”

His scowl deepens, “I still don’t think she’d lie about this.”

You sigh.

“Well, I’m going to go talk to her. You’re telling me she didn’t seem weird to you? Like she’s got a huge secret?” 

He nods slowly, considering. 

“Do you remember when she was six and stockpiling candy under her bed? She was pulling the exact same face.”

Reluctantly, Five follows you as you knock at her bedroom door. It’s amazing she hears you over her drumming, but she does. When you both walk into the room together, she stiffens and puts down her drumsticks

“Hey honey,” you say, Five at your shoulder but skulking slightly behind, “we just wanted to have a talk.”

“What about?” she says, too quickly. She’s immediately on the defense and even Five notices.

“Well, we were just talking, and we’re concerned.” you cross to the bed and sit down on it, trying to appear less threatening. Five remains standing, hands (as ever) in his pockets and head tilted. You catch his eye and prompt him.

“Did you cheat on that test?”

Great job Five. Subtle as a flying brick.

Immediately she looks panicked.

“No!”

“Just tell us the truth and we won’t be mad," you say, trying to keep your voice calm.

“I said I didn’t!” she snaps, firing up immediately.

You move to placate her: it suddenly strikes you how unjust this would be if she actually did earn her score.

“I know you’ve been studying this week and if you’ve got this score because you’ve worked your butt off then we couldn’t be more proud of you, it’s just…my Mom senses are tingling. I know when you’re hiding something.”

“I’m not!”

“Okay,” says Five, stepping forward and grabbing a notebook and pen from within his jacket pocket. He scribbles rapidly and then slaps both down on her dressing table.

“How about you prove it? Expand this.”

He looks more pissed than she’s ever seen him directed at her. Feeling a mixture of shame, anger and injustice Aoife stands and approaches looking down at the scrawled problem:

5(12c + 7) - (1 - 55c)

There it is. The familiar panic that sets in when she encounters numbers in almost any context. She picks up the pen. She knows where to start but when she tries to perform the expansion, it’s like her brain crashes. She tries to concentrate and can’t…especially with both of them staring down at her.

“That’s way too hard!” she whines, “I can’t do that one. The test was easier. You just make them way too complex because your brain is all weird about math.”

“Oh, well that's interesting.” Five’s voice is dangerous- almost a whisper. “Now I know you’re bullshitting me. Wanna take a quick guess how?”

She doesn’t answer, even when he jerks his head towards her.

“No answer, eh?” he turns from her to you, “Do you want to know how I know she’s bullshitting us, Mom?”

You frown in slight disapproval of this theater, but it’s about time Five stepped up to be the bad guy so you keep your mouth shut. He turns back to Aoife, teeth slightly bared,

“That was a question ON the test, genius.”

Her face heats up and eyes prickle. Five just gives a disdainful scoff, shakes his head and looks away from her.

“Tell us the truth, Aoife,” you say, sternly, trying to keep your own temper under control, “you cheated, didn’t you?”

She turns to you and stamps her foot in a way you haven’t seen since she was six, “Just shut up Mom!”

As Five gives a sharp reprimand for her speaking to you that way, you speak over him,

“First you cheat and then you keep denying it? You’re still lying. I’m so disappointed that you’d be this dishonest.You’ve not just cheated us, you’ve cheated your classmates and you’ve cheated yourself too!”

Suddenly, Five turns back to her, shoulders rolled and hunched in the awful posture he adopts when stressed or angry.

“You know, I couldn’t give a rat's ass that you cheated. I’m just still trying to get my head around the fact you lied to me about this !” he begins to pace distractedly, “you know how important it is that you UNDERSTAND basic mathematical principles. It’s a matter of life and death! ”

You turn to Five, angry with him now.

“So you don’t care that she lied at school, only to you?”

Five tosses his head and returns his gaze to his daughter standing between the pair of you. Hormonal rage courses through her. Right now, she’s as erratic as Five ever was in his prime.

“I don’t even need math to be able to use my powers! It’s not my fault your head’s so far up your own ass that you can’t jump a few minutes without filling a whole wall with equations!”

“Aoife!” you rebuke, shocked by this attitude towards her father, but she ignores you.

“I did cheat, okay? And you wanna know how I did it? I just wound back time-”

Five blinks at her, dumbstruck. He looks as if he’s been clubbed over the head.

“-and you know what, Dad? I’m still here. I didn’t end up years in the future and get stuck there like a dumbass! ”

You spring up from the bed, grab her shoulders and turn her to face you. Her eyes are wild with anger, face red and teeth bared even more than Five’s had been only a minute or so before.

“How can you speak to your Dad like that? How dare you? After-”

But the rage that’s been building in her bubbles over. All she wants is for you both to get out of her room. You think just because you’re her parents that you know better? You don’t: you especially don’t get it. Always so far up your own ass, judging her for every time she falls under your ridiculously high moral standards. Nothing short of sainthood is good enough for you.

She can feel full-body tingles growing as anger descends over her. It makes her grab your forearms. If she’d been less angry, she might have noticed the crackle of electricity or the feeling of polarity accessed in her mind…the feeling of the last jigsaw piece slipping into place���

“JUST GET AWAY FROM ME, MOM!”

…but the whole puzzle explodes as she pushes you abruptly. She only means to shove you in the direction of the door, but the portal that erupts swallows you whole, collapsing in on itself before you can even stumble.

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh, @nevbrooke-555, @theredvelvetbitch, @td-miley01, @five-hxrgreeves, @rorygi1more, @jamiebower88

On to Chapter 3 >> Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03.  Here is a link to the whole series

[batsplat]

one of the more useful resources for understanding different circuit characteristics is brembo, a company that provides braking systems to motogp riders and has these 'identity cards' for different circuits. not always readily available in high definition, but handy to get a better sense of differences between circuits

here's an old identity card from 2016

below I've compiled and lightly edited some text from here, here and here provided by brembo about the circuit - there's a fair bit of overlap, but just enough unique information to make it a worthwhile exercise. I also chucked in one clarification from the motomatters preview for motegi, which you should read anyway. where there's conflicting numbers, for obvious reasons I've gone for the more recent ones. rating systems for these have also changed (apparently, in 2016 only one of the corners was considered 'highly challenging', but by 2019 five are considered 'very demanding' - make of that what you will). so if you spot slight discrepancies, that's probably why

The MotoGP bikes use the street circuit, which stands out for having very few fast corners and many slow ones interspersed with medium length straights. There are seven corners that the bikes have to take going less than 100 km/h (62 mph). ​ Right from its first World Championship debut in 1999, the circuit has always been considered among the most challenging on brakes due to the significant amount of curves taken in second gear and how difficult it is to cool down the discs between one braking section and another. The perfect surface provides good grip levels and improves the amount of braking torque discharged to the ground resulting in increased stress that the brakes are put under. The Grand Prix regulations approved by the International Motorcycling Federation allow MotoGP bikes to use carbon discs with diameters of 320 mm, 340 mm, and 355 mm. However, for Motegi, Buriram, Sepang, and the Red Bull Ring, in dry race conditions, riders are prohibited from using the 320 mm discs. At these tracks, they must choose between the 340 mm and 355 mm discs. Nobody uses the 340 mm disks any more - everyone having moved on to the 355mm discs which this generation of MotoGP machines need to get themselves stopped. This rule was developed in collaboration with Brembo, which, based on data, demonstrated that brakes are particularly stressed on these tracks. As the disc diameter increases, radial heat dispersion improves. To facilitate heat dissipation and increase the surface area for air exchange, MotoGP riders have been equipped with finned discs, featuring 355 mm fins, since 2022. In 2017, despite the rain falling for the entire race, the top 9 finishers and 13 of the top 15 used carbon discs. Merit also of the Brembo technicians who assisted them on the track, explaining to them the methods for the correct use of carbon in the rain.

According to Brembo technicians who work closely with all MotoGP riders, the 4.8 km long Mobility Resort Motegi is categorized as highly demanding on the brakes. On a difficulty scale of 1 to 6, it rates a 6, largely due to the abundance of slow corners that hinder the cooling of braking systems. Riders use the brakes 10 times per lap for a total of 33 seconds, with deceleration exceeding 175 km/h during half of these braking zones.

Brake Use During the GP From the starting line to the chequered flag, each rider uses his brakes for more than 13 minutes. The track contains 7 corners that are taken at less than 100 km/h, preventing the MotoGP bikes from reaching very fast speeds and thus reducing deceleration peaks: the average deceleration is limited to just 1.17 g. Since there are three braking sections of modest length (between 35 and 92 meters each, or 115-302 feet), the mean deceleration is not very high; adding up all the force applied on the brake lever by one rider from the starting line to the chequered flag, the sum is more than 1.2 tons. But this is still higher than that registered by a Honda Civic Type R when braking from 100 to 0 km/h. ​ Summing up all of the force applied by a rider on the Brembo brake lever from the starting line to the checkered flag, the result comes in at more than 930 kg (2,050 lbs).​ Of the 10 braking sections on the circuit, five are considered very demanding on the brakes, while two are of medium difficulty and three are light. On those five highly demanding sections, riders apply the brakes for more than four seconds. This explains the 33 seconds in which braking systems are being operated per lap, which is equal to 32% of the entire race, one of the highest percentages for the World Championship. 

The Most Challenging Zones The one that puts the most stress on the braking systems and the riders (1.5 G in deceleration) is the 90° corner at turn 11. The MotoGP bikes arrive at it going 308 km/h (191 mph) and then brake for 5.1 seconds to slow to 86 km/h (53 mph). In this short time span, the riders apply a 5.7 kg (12.6 lbs) load on the lever while travelling 250 meters (820 feet) and the pressure of the Brembo HTC 64T brake fluid gets to nearly 12.3 bar. ​ Also at turns 1, 3 and 5 the deceleration measures 1.5 G. Turn 3 in particular stands out for the force demanded of the riders (5.1 kg or 11.2 lbs load on the lever) and the brake fluid (11 bar) in order to slow down from 277 km/h (172 mph) to 93 km/h (58 mph) in 4.2 seconds and 202 meters (663 feet). ​ The measurements are more contained for turn 5, but still they are higher than the average of the other corners on the track: The bikes have a braking space of 216 meters (709 feet) and 4.8 seconds to reduce their speeds by 194 km/h (121 mph), from 271 km/h (168 mph) to 77 km/h (48 mph).​ Also Turn 1, because it requires the riders to brake for 4.6 seconds and 225 metres. Three times the bikes brake in under 50 metres: at Curve 6 the bikes decelerate from 200 to 183 km/h in 47 metres; at Curve 8 they go from 133 to 112 km/h in 41 metres and at Curve 12 they slow from 167 to 143 km/h in 40 metres, the same length as about twenty Dance Dance Revolution platforms.

[britt-kageryuu]

The stream is taking place in what appears to be an huge empty aircraft hangar. Donnie, who is the one streaming, has dodged any questions on how he got access to such an area. Donnie was dressed in mechanics coveralls that were purple and had multiple custom patches, along with some steel toed boots. His tail lazily swaying behind him at he works.

The audience is watching Donnie working on a modified motorcycle of some kind. Donnie had explained that this has been a side personal project for a good chunk of the last year or so. Which makes many watching curious as to what caused this project to take so long if it's just a modified motorcycle.

And since Donnie goes into long moments of focusing on their work while talking out loud, or asking his drone-robot children to grab him something.

One of the big surprises was that Shelldon was now using a bipedal robot body instead of his drone form, which many of the chat was adoring or calling cool and awesome. The other was just that Shelldons body is a good 1ft/30cm taller than River, who was, in between grabbing things, looking around and wanting to run and explore the hanger.

Donnie stops what they were working on to grab his drink, and double check his work. "This is actually prototype version 14.5 dash 5 codename Current Racer. And while I have most of the systems finished, part of the engine keeps giving out or over powering everything which leads to a sudden crash or the mechanical parts just melting. Annoyed Chuff." Donnie walks around the motorcycle while sipping on his drink.

It's at this moment that the audience is able to see that the engine area on the bike was nothing like any normal motorcycle engine, gas powered or electric powered.

It was hard to even describe because none of the audience, even those who work on vehicles, can figure what kind of engine Donnie is working on. Then there were some bringing up the 'engine melts the mechanics' comment that Donnie made, and seriously wonder what the heck was going on with this project.

"Well, everything looks good. Now to just test if the who system will work this time." Donnie says while walking offscreen to grab some safety gear, and a helmet.

Once they come back into frame with the motorcycle gear and helmet, his tail appears to be shoved into one of his pant legs for safety. Shelldon and River are moving all the equipment and tools out of the way, double checking that nothing small might not get sent flying.

Donnie, once he also checks things over once more and does his own check for potential debris, mounts the bike, and starts the engine.

The engine doesn't so much as make a loud noise as much as start to glow while giving off a loud hum. Donnie then flips a switch, and the tires shift, turning sideways and the bike starts to hover a bit off the ground.

Then Donnie shifts his weight and the bike speeds off quick. The drone-robots quickly move the camera to show the modified hover-cycle is zooming around the hanger. Donnie making tight turns and flips near the ceiling before speeding along the wall.

This is when the chat is filled with audience members comparing it to one of the bikes from Mario Cart, and wondering if Donnie plans to make this a public released thing.

After a good number of laps Donnie returns to where they began, and lands to bike before turning it off. They then launch into doing system scans to check if everything did work, or if something small may have gone wrong internally.

The audience is still shouting questions, and a bit upset that the notification system was turned off because Donnie didn't want to get distracted while working. Which was pointed out as ironic since he decided to stream himself working.

No questions were answered, and the audience could only watch as Donnie careful took something apart to check for something that popped up during his post test checks.

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

Masterpost

The idea of Donatello wanting to recreate the vehicles from Mario Cart has been stuck in my head. And this was what my mind quickly started drafting instead of letting me focus on reading.

[sparrow-marrow]

CSOCW 24- Day 2- Mission

@carmensandiego-ocweek

As Jamie is not a VILE operative or some sort of field agent, here is a collection of them coming across various VILE members over the course of a week

-Monday- Tigress

It was already gearing up to be a terrible day, It was absolutely pouring outside and of course it was Jamie’s turn to grab groceries. The walk to the store was worse than normal, with cars splattering mud and dirty water on any poor soul on the sidewalk, and water high enough to cover the soles of their shoes.

Finding all of the items on the list was easy enough, but the real trouble came when she and another person both reached for the last maroon lipstick. “Ugh, do you mind?” the person said as Jamie got a look at her, white hair, pale, she also had a beauty mark, good looking, but holy fuck that outfit. A plain brown trench coat over a, honestly, shitty looking, one piece.

“Hellooo? Are you listening?! I said I needed that!” The lady sneered at him. Jamie shook out of their stupor and sneered right back, “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over that atrocious outfit of yours.” With that Jamie grabbed the lipstick and walked off to go pay, leaving the lady in shock.

-Wednesday- The Cleaners

Learning that your little brother is a hacker international super thief (vigilante?) really sends you for a trip, thankfully Jamie has the local dirt bike track to let off some steam.

The rev of the bike always helps Jamie’s stress unwind, though this time it was a bit different, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him. Coming to a stop, Jamie took off their helmet and looked around, almost missing a pair of guys hidden in the trees up ahead, one tall and one short, both looking almost dead.

“Hey bozos! Get off the track before you get run over!” Didn’t move, so Jamie did as Jamie does. Played chicken with ‘em and almost ran them over. But as she got closer, the pair just disappeared, poof, gone. ‘Huh, weird’, He thought, and just continued on their way.

-Friday- Paper Star

“FUCK YEAH!!! This concert’s gonna be awesome!!” Jamie shouted as she walked into the venue, he had been waiting for Ice Nine Kills to perform in the area for 2 years and now it’s finally happening! They were so caught up in her excitement that he didn’t notice the other person right in front of them.

The two collided and paper was strewn across the floor. “Oh SHIT I’m so sorry, here let me help pick it up.” Jamie helped the girl pick up the mess and took notice of her outfit, specifically a pin on her jacket, “You here for the concert?”, she nodded, ”Same here, I’ve been waiting for 2 years! My name’s Jamie, what’s yours?” The girl kept quiet for a second, “Tammy. Thank you for the help.” Jamie smiled, “No problem, it was my fault anyway. See you in the pit, Tammy!” Jamie waved and hurried to the stage.

The concert was electrifying, INK played songs like “A Grave Mistake” and “Ex-Mørtis”. When it ended the adrenaline was coursing through Jamie’s veins as they saw familiar two-toned hair, “TAMMY! OVER HERE!!” Jamie yelled as she made her way towards her. “How’d ya like the concert?” Jamie asked as they walked out of the venue, “It was good, I liked when they played Hip to be Scared.” Jamie pulled out his phone, “Mind if I get a selfie? Since it was both of our first INK concerts.” Tammy thought about it for a moment, “Alright.” The pic was taken and Jamie turned to thank Tammy, but she was nowhere to be found. “Huh, where’d she go?” Jamie then sent a couple of videos and pics including the selfie of them and Tammy to the group chat with her, his brother, and their friends saying ‘Concert was great! Even met this cool girl named Tammy, she disappeared really quick tho :(‘

Not even 5 seconds later, Player called. “Yello?” “JAMIE CORDELIA BELLAMY, WHAT IN THE ABSOLUTE FUCK?”

BONUS:

[themarginalthinker]

Just a Thing We Do

(a jam brought out and edited from dms. Michael is working through things in his own time, and while he doesn't mean to, it's not an easy process and he gets stuff wrong sometimes. Tw for some implications of internalized homophobia.)

-

"Don't go into the bedroom."

David says this as Michael comes into the house from unloading some stuff from the bags of the bikes. The pack had found the abandoned house on the edge of a moderatly sized town, deciding to regroup there for a while.

Michael looks upwards, at the ceiling.

"Why?"

"Paul and Marko are fucking."

Michael, thinks he covers the choked sound he makes in the back of his throat rather well. His stuttered words on the other hand, not so much.

"They're - what?"

As if by divine (or maybe hellish) coincidence, there comes a string of frankly worrying sounds from up the dilapidated stairs. A dresser being pushed across the floor? Something glass smashing?

"They're fucking," David repeats. "It'll be a bit, you should just stay down here."

David's said the words twice now, not even looking up from the roadmap he's contemplating, but somehow they still don't seem to really register to Michael.

"O-okay," he says, haltingly, and drifts towards Dwayne. He's sitting on the other end of the couch. Thorn has his furry head in his lap, letting Dwayne's hand toy with a pointy ear.

David glances to Michael as he sits. Picking up on his tone.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, I mean. It's just..."

"Spit it out Mike." Dwayne says. Thorn wuffs at him, and he goes back to scratching his ears.

"Fine," Michael huffs. "So. They're just. Casual about...that?"

David raises an eyebrow. "Sex?"

Well.

"I know we can't. Catch stuff, I guess," Michael says, words suddenly feeling a jumble in his mouth.

Dwayne is suddenly watching him with a very, very close expression, and David has gone inscrutable. Michael suddenly feels in trouble, for something he hasn't even done yet. But could, so very easily.

"We can't - though, Max did say, once, that if we take something in through the blood, there's a period where we could theoretically pass it to someone else," David says evenly. He keeps looking at Michael.

"Are they- I mean-" he tries again, only to wince as someone manages to scream through carpet and floorboards above.

Thorn makes a sound that he could swear was a giggle if he had a human mouth.

David hums, at him, face shifting a little so as to not be so intense. A little more his usual smug self. "It's not like anyone but us could handle each other."

"Not with how we like to do things," Dwayne comments, glancing upwards as well.

"But- why?"

"Why not?" Dwayne quips back, eyes settling back on Michael. "There's nothing wrong with it."

Something small and ugly kicks at the back of Michael's head. Something he didn't think would still be there, after everything, and especially not after who it was coming from. Words filter in, like oil coming to sully the surface of clean water. Words like 'weird.' 'Uncomfortable.'

'Wrong.'

The words fit into Michael's head like gears whose teeth didn't mesh right. He doesn't like those words - he doesn't want to think them.

He nods, just a bit, with a "No, there's not," in agreement.

David must consider the conversation closed, because he goes back to the road map, and Dwayne closes his eyes again, relaxing with Thorn.

Michael decides to go for a long walk.

-

Michael is hanging out on the back deck of the house about an hour later when the two upstairs finally find their way back down. Michael's not expecting anyone to join him.

He sits on the steps leading out and away from the house, journal left open in his lap. He'd been writing, idle words and thoughts. Not about what's really on his mind, stalling that, really. If his hands were moving, he wasn't thinking, which was what he wanted, but he'd drifted off from it.

He jumps a little when Paul's hand brushes his shoulder. He hadn't even heard the boy come up behind him, as lost in his own head as he'd been.

"Shit man, relax. I'm not going to bite you." Paul laughs a little, like it was a joke. "You okay? David said you were out here alone."

Michael shrugs. "Just getting some fresh air."

Paul nods, like Michael has said the most correct thing ever, and crouches to sit. Michael watches as the boy lowers himself...slowly. Sitting rather gingerly on the step.

Paul grins into space, eyes lazily following the wavering path of fireflies between the trees. As he tips his head back, Michael can see his neck above the very loose shirt he has on. It's covered in healing bites, hickies, and even something that looks far too symmetrical to be anything but fingerprints.

"Nice, ain't it?" Paul drawls, and Michael jerks a little when he realizes he's been caught staring. Fuck.

"Uh-"

"I'm teasing Mikey, I don't care if you stare at me."

Michael swallows. It does nothing to dislodge the lump in his throat. "Did Marko...?"

"Yep. You should see him - he went easy on me by comparison." Paul shows off (humanly) sharp teeth in a grin, then shakes his head. "You got a smoke?"

He does, granted they're not his really, he was just holding them for David, but. Nothing was really anyone's completely personal property, was it?

Michael was wearing boots that Marko also wore, because they shared a shoe size, and it was convenient. David was currently using Michael's backpack to store some stuff, Dwayne had taken one of Paul's infinite wristbands as a hair-tie, and Paul himself was wearing a shirt that, based on the size and how it hung off his slim shoulders, only could have actually fit Dwayne.

It all passed so easily from hand to hand, knowing it would be okay. Used, but respected. Loved.

Paul takes the cigarette and makes a noise in the back of his throat as he inhales the first rush of nicotine. "He's probably in there trying to make Dwayne feel sorry for him, make him give him 'oh poor me, Paulie mauled me' cuddles."

Paul laughs at his own joking. "I told Marko, I fuckin' told him, I can take it this time, but it's not the pillow I'll be biting-"

Michael doesn't mean to close his journal as sharply as he does, but the sound breaks the air and comfortable words Paul's humming anyway. Paul stops, mid-sentence. Silenced.

Something nasty hangs in the quiet evening air suddenly, and Michael instantly wants to apologize, but he can't fucking figure out for what.

Paul looks at him for a long, drawn out moment.

"Ah," is all he finally says, pulling the cigarette away from his lips, holding it between two curled fingers. Michael watches that than try and even look at Paul's face right now.

Paul stands, and Michael can feel him looming above him. Watching him. He hears Paul take another drag of his vice.

Michael watches the woods beyond the little overgrown clearing the abandoned house sits in.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the ash from the cigarette float down as it's tapped off.

"Well. Sorry for making you uncomfortable, man," Paul says. "Guess I do overshare, sometimes. I'll try not to anymore."

The porch creaks, and Michael turns, words suddenly leaping to his tongue, but Paul is already shutting the door to the house. On the rotting wood of the deck, the cigarette smolders, only half-finished, crushed under Paul's retreating boot.

Michael stares at it for a long time.

Paul and he don't talk for a few days.

[sentanixiv]

The One To Call (wc: 2,068) Spent my lunch break today scratching out this modern AU test-write based on a exes-to-lovers prompt:

They are still each other's emergency contact. Which becomes apparent when one of them ends up in the hospital.

Morston, modern AU; reference to injuries sustained, but no details or visuals. John reacting to being the one called when Arthur turns up at the hospital, beat to shit and no one knows how. Plenty of vague/inaccurate medical terms because I am bone-tired and braindead.

Streetlights stretch and streak overhead, a blurred mirror to the dotted lines demarking the lanes on the freeway. Recently refreshed, the paint burns bright under the headlamp, waits for the grease and dirt of the daily grind to dull it into the same muted hues of the cityscape's south end. Rush hour's petered out, though plenty of vehicles still cut between lanes, seeking to make the small gains that'll save them thirty seconds on their commute home. Their pace is sedate in comparison to the streak of copper-and-chrome that routes through without care nor caution.

Wind whips at the hem of his jeans, tangling with threads worn loose from the denim weave. Arms half-bared make targets for bug bodies to strike, stinging as they collide and crash away from the lone motorcycle rider. Ducked low, making the best of his bike's swift profile, John shifts the gear and lets go the clutch. Uneven, the frame jerks beneath him before the tires grab at asphalt and rip him forward faster.

 The steady, streaking lights count out a tempo that matches the beating of his heart, but it can't hope to catch the racing of his thoughts. He drives on instinct and reflex, tearing through the narrow spaces between cars, earning hollers and honks that curse his lineage back to the beginning, but he ignores them. Lets muscle memory guide as he counts the miles and urges the speedometer to edge just a little bit further beyond its max.

 Internally, there's a litany of thoughts that demand he go faster, be there sooner, and a dizzying spiral of questions to why him, what's happening, and who's responsible. Two he can't answer, but the first has the audacity to make sense.  'Why him' is because he's named on the file - the only name - and it's best he comes to talk with the doctor per the voice what'd called him.

 Green highway signs with white lettering catches his attention and he gears down, crosses three lanes and leans to balance the curve as he takes the ramp at an ungodly speed. The red light at the intersection exists as an afterthought, traffic slower here, with fewer cars to obstruct him and he takes full advantage to push the limits.

 Too long still passes before the backlight sign emblazoned with The Blackwater-McCourt Memorial Hospital zips overhead. There's an anthem of sirens accompanied by flashing lights that surrounds the area, but there's no blue to slow him and so he don't. Rides straight up onto the concrete walk and kicks down the stand, kills the engine and grabs the keys before he's through the front doors. Ignores the unhelpful call of a bystander telling him he can't park there, focus intent on the front desk.  A sleepy-eyed volunteer sits there, turning the yellowed pages of a bodice-ripper romance. She blinks and looks up when he stops there and demands the room number.

 "I'm sorry, I couldn't quite hear you," she says, apologetic as she dog-ears the page and leans forward with a helpful smile.  "The, ah. The helmet doesn't help."

 Right.  He loosens the latched belting and pulls it off, dragging a gloved hand back through his sweat-streaked hair.  "I said: Got me a call about an 'Arthur Morgan' being here?" he repeats, breathing slow and steady against the rising anxiety that hospitals bring about.  "Whereabouts should I-"

 The name stills her, the rosy hue of her complex fades brief before she shakes it off and smiles wanly.  "I'll call the doctor," she says, hand automatically lifting the phone from its cradle. An older model, push-tone and connected to a landline, she manipulates it smoothly, whispers into the mouthpiece and nods at what she hears.

 John sets his helmet down on the counter, fingers tapping erratic beats against it. His leg twitches, foot bouncing as he holds down the need to move, to do something, to get answers without asking half so nicely.

 "Doctor Roberts is on the way," the young woman tells him, an interruption to his reverie and John swears.

 "You gotta be kiddin' me," he mutters.

 The lady - Mary-Beth, by the volunteer's tag she wears - looks up at him with wide, serious eyes. "She won't be more than a moment."

 "No, I bet she won't," he grumbles, dragging his helmet off the counter. John paces, walks the five steps across the hall and back again at least a dozen times before an exasperated noise jars him out of the motion.

 "You meanin' to wear a hole in my floor?"

 Doctor Abigail Roberts walks up and near past him, grabbing his elbow to pull him along as she nods to Mary-Beth.  "I got this from here," she says sharply and there's no fight against it. Mary-Beth sinks back into her chair, novel absent from her attentions as she digs out a phone. Whatever's gone on, it's about to hit the shitfan of social media and that makes him groan.

 "Ain't you gonna stop her?" he asks Abigail, wrenching his arm free. John keeps pace with her, lets her maintain the half step lead needed to guide them both.

 Abigail shakes her head and points down the hall that'll route them past trauma care. Her hair's pulled back, messy wisps plastered along her temple; sign that she's been in the OR, not long done. They were together for a while, once upon a darker time; one of them whirlwind romances what happened when she was the trauma care doctor and he was the trauma-suffering fool that'd needed care.  John knew her well, knew she liked to look at least a bit composed before starting her rounds, so knew this hectic break from habit meant something real and something that weren't apt to be good.

 "You know as good as I that there ain't no point," she reminds him. True, there ain't. Mary-Beth is no doubt connected to the same network that most of them are and won't be long for her to rouse the rest of the gang now that John's been dragged into it.  "Let it happen, John. It'll make things easier."

 "Nothing's gonna be easy here, Abigail," he tells her flat out. "You know I ain't been 'round Arthur for three years now, so why's I the one that got the call?"

 Crisp steps on smooth linoleum and Abigail does not look at him, only holds her head high and keeps her eyes forward. There's a clarity to them, the sort of shine that comes on when she's feeling something fierce and that makes his gut clench because the thing they're talking about, the man Arthur Morgan?  Well, he's means something to a lot of people, and it sets a poor stage to have that mist about her eyes before they get into the meat of it.

 "Arthur ain't never updated his emergency contacts," she says quickly, checks the chart she's been carrying.  Taller than her, John can make out details on the patient's file and sees his name listed there, like she's just said. "There weren't no one else I could call."

 "That ain't telling me why I'm here."  Why he got a call; don't matter to him if Arthur took his name off his file or not. They'd had a good run and ruined it, but it ain't so easy to change all the records, all the details to strike the other from their lives. Hell, he'd found out week before last that Arthur's name still sat on the lease when he went to renew it, had to explain to the landlord that weren't no one but John there no more. Had to endure the lamenting that Arthur'd been the best thing to happen to him and John never disagreed, but that ain't changed that Arthur'd done the best thing for himself by ending it.

 "Well, John," Abigail begins, taking a breath, "that's 'cause it ain't good."

 John reaches out, grips her arm to stall them both and turn her towards him. "What's that mean?" he asks, eyes seeking to pry something from her gaze that'd answer that. "I been told that already, but it don't mean shit without more. You know that."

 "It means that it ain't good," she replies, unflinching under the stop, under the inspection.  "I done what I could and he's stable now, but..."

The words don't trail off so much as his grip tightens. All these words, this dance around it, tells him more than he wants to know already.  "What happened?"

 Abigail pulls herself free and gestures him ahead, pointing to the left hall. "We ain't sure and I don't got details, but Sadie came by not long after he showed up, says he went missing a week ago, maybe more."  She shrugs, leaves out the why of Sadie being there, but the woman ain't family, so must've been present for function. That meant the police were getting involved, sending her out to get a bead on it.

They slow up outside a door closed, lights dimmed in the hall and the profile of a police guard half hidden in the shadows. John didn't recognize him, didn't much care to because Abigail stopped with her back to the door, keeping him from crossing the threshold. Beyond it comes the muffled melody of medical equipment, monitoring the someone there what'd been hurt. "All I know's that he walked up to ER looking a right mess," she explains, fingers pale in their grip on the chart. "Blood and bruising and, well.  You know Arthur. Anyone else'd not be able to walk, but he managed it.  Said something about gettin' away, keepin' folk safe before we lost him."

 John feels the jerk in his chest, his heart threatening to up and stop on him. "Lost?"

 Abigail shows a flicker of annoyance, smacks one hand against his chest. "Not like that, y'fool!" she hisses. "Charles got him breathing again, Tilly and Karen got him stable, Sean processed him while Lenny paged me."  It's a report, a buffer to give him a chance to breathe again before she provides more details.  "I spent seven hours working on him," she adds, shaking her head.  "Ain't much that weren't busted or broke; looks to me like he got worked over real good. Shoulder torn up, ribs broke, couple fingers were twisted up bad.  I ain't sure all what's wrong. Seven hours to step the bleeding, pull the mess of debris from his shoulder, and cut out the infection, John.  Could be worse, but I won't know more 'til diagnostics gets me the details. And I ain't sure it'll be smart to put him on the table again too soon."

 The flicker of panicked fear calms at the assurance the man's alive, but the small spark of it feeds the fires of his temper at whomever attacked Arthur. Once he knows the extent of it, John will find them - ain't no point denying it, not when the heat of his anger near as burns in him.  John'll find them and revisit it on them, but first-

 "I talked to him some in Recovery, but weren't long," Abigail says, stepping away from the door, up closer to John where she can drop her voice and give an air of privacy. "Arthur said somethin' about Colm O'Driscoll."

 Everything hones in on the name, the target of what'd been a man and was now, in John's eyes, a dead man walking. He jerks back, makes to leave, but Abigail stops him with a hold on his arm.

 "Not yet."  Her voice is insistent, a steady pressure to keep him from leaping off into the dark void wherein the violence beckoned to him.  "I ain't had you called to mess with no stupid vengeance," she tells him, nails pressing against his skin where it's pockmarked with the remains of bugs that crossed his motorcycle's path.

 "Then why's I even here?" he demands. "Arthur and I ain't nothing, no matter what no file says. You know that well as I do."

 Abigail hesitates, the sharp edges of her softening, her expression one she'd used when trying to calm him. "He asked for you," she says quietly.  "Fevered and dying and barely nothing, but as he was coming out in Recovery, weren't no name but yours on his lips. Weren't awake long, weren't real coherent, but you're the one he wanted here."

[hedgiwithapen]

MAWS prompt: Waller and the General kidnap Clark early in the season, before he's told anyone about his powers. Jimmy has to decide whether to tell Lois Clark's secret, and they have to figure out who could have taken him...

(I'm playing fast and loose with the timeline here. episode 4/5 but Lois never finds the article, Steve never left the weights, etc)

Flip peddled hard, panting.  She twisted the gearshift on her handlebar that was slightly too big for her hands. The 21 speed bike was a great investment, just like she'd told her mom. Usually, it was just so she could get her paper route done and still have time for both cartoons AND homework after school. This was a far bigger deal.  Without the bike, there'd have been no way she was getting up the hill. At least the way down was fast. she didn't even touch the brakes, screeching a warning as she flew past a stop sign. It was illegal, but this was way too important. 

"Lois! Lois!" she shrieked, pulling up to the sidewalk beside a familiar green-coat. One foot bracing her bike, she leaned her head on her handlebars, exhausted. "emergency!"

"Flip, forgetting your book report until last minute is not an emergency," Lois said.

"Not that--how'd you even remember that--wait, no, not the time." Flip gasped for breath. "Superman. they took him!"

"What?" Lois turned fully, eyes wide. Crouching partway, she grabbed the 4th grader's shoulders.  "Flip, what did you see? Tell me everything. Who took Superman?"

"Some guy with white hair. He had a sword, two swords, and, and he was doing flips, and there was a helicopter thing. He looked like a spy. or an assassin. A Spyssassin. Superman was fighting them, but they got really close to the freeway, and he was trying stop it from collapsing and people jumped out of the helicopter, and they took him!"

"Oh my god," Lois said. "Wait, Flip, did they see you?"

"No, I was hiding. We gotta find him! Lois, they had guns!"

"Flip, you  need to go home. I'll get Clark and Jimmy, we'll figure it out, okay?" Screw that she was just an intern--she was her father's daughter, too. Superman had saved their lives, they'd save him back. Somehow.

"I want to help!"

"You have. Flip, please. Go. Normally. Pretend everything's fine."

"But it's not fine!"

Lois nodded.  Impulsively, she hugged the kid. "Stay safe, ok?"

Then she took off running. 

*

Jimmy looked at the pieces of the alarm clock, and signed. This one was not going to be so easily fixed. Usually they broke in about the same way, and being more mechanical than digital, it wasn't that hard to replace a gear, or hammer out a dent. He'd actually gotten pretty good at it, thanks in no small part to Mr. Gotamco at the watch repair place down the street.  Honestly, if the whole photojornalist thing didn't work out, maybe that wouldn't be a half bad career.  His phone rang.

"It's Jimmy," he said, answering. 

"Oh, good," Lois sounded breathless. "Is Clark with you? He's not answering his phone. I'm on my way over right now."

"Why?" Jimmy asked. " It's our day off, isn't it? Did we have a meeting? Did I forget a--"

"No, no. Jimmy, focus. Clark."

"Uh, he went out to get lunch..." Jimmy looked at the clock and realized it was still broken. "Oooh, did he finally ask you out?"

"No! What? Open your door." Jimmy obliged, and Lois  slammed past him, red-faced from running. "It's about Superman."

"Yeah?" Jimmy asked, sweeping the clock parts to the side. He was going to have to buy a new one after all. "something I should put on Flamebird?"

"Yes, no, I don't know--where's Clark? We need him. Superman's gone."

"Gone?" Jimmy choked, putting down his phone. "What do you mean, gone?"

"Gone. Flip saw that guy from the city square take him. He could be hurt, or--we owe him, Jimmy. Say you'll help me."

Jimmy froze. Gone. Superman couldn't be...kidnapped... "Lois." He said, suddenly very quiet. "I need you to promise me you won't get mad."

"About what, Jimmy? Now is not the time for--"

"Promise," he said again. "You can't be mad."

"What did you do!?"

"Nothing. I--nothing. I just... know something. Something I'm not supposed to. And I shouldn't tell you but you have to know now so promise you won't be mad."

"Ok, I promise," she said too easily. Jimmy let it slide.

"Clark. He's Superman. I figured it out ages ago. Not that he was Superman, just that he was... you know. Different. but it's his secret and obviously he didn't want us to know but--if he's--"

"Clark?" Lois said, sitting hard on the couch. "Clark's... all this time, he's been...hiding--"

"You promised not to be mad," Jimmy said. "At either of us." She had not but it was implied.

"Oh, I'm mad," Lois said. "I'm mad at that... that..." she couldn't find the insult she wanted. "Asshole who took our best friend!"

Jimmy'd take what he could get. Clark couldn't be mad, either, right? Not if they were saving him.... Secret Identities were important, privacy mattered, but not when it was life or death. Jimmy really, really hoped that it was not life or death. 

"What's the plan?" he asked, jamming his shoes on. Lois deflated. "I don't know.  Look for clues, Flip said it was by the freeway. We could find something there, maybe?"

"Then let's go." Jimmy wasn't sure how they'd save Clark, after they found him. They had to find him. 

*

It wasn't hard to find the battlesite.  There were cracks in the support pillars of the overpass, all of them minor, or already sealed over.  patches of grass were charred or flattened.  Lois scoured the ground while Jimmy took photos of everything, hoping some clue might stand out. 

"I found something," Lois said.

"is it a clue? is it blood?" Jimmy asked, hurrying over and stopping at Lois's outflung arm. 

"Bootprints," Lois said. "I've seen prints like these before." Her voice was suddenly very un-Lois-like. Quiet. almost defeated. 

"In the tunnel, at the salvage yard?" Jimmy asked, squinting at the tracks. Maybe it was all connected to that tech. If it was, there had to be a way to trace it, they could find something that would lead them to Clark. Or Clark could get away on his own, maybe--he'd won the fight in the square before. Once he was in a place where innocents wouldn't get hurt, he'd have no problem kicking that guy's ass. "Or... the bank robbery?"

"No," Lois said, looking at her phone. The missed call log. Over and over, the declined calls. 

"Where, then?" Jimmy asked, staring at her, his camera lowered. "Lois?"

"My shoe rack, back home.  Standard issue. US Military. I...I have to call someone."

Her thumb hovered over the contact for 'dad' before pressing down with enough force to almost crack the screen. 

It rang, and rang, and went to voicemail. 

[tieflingkisser]

Arrested pro-Palestine student protesters share stories from Travis County Jail

Anne-Marie Jardine and two other people locked arms on the South Lawn at 3:15 p.m. on Wednesday, April 24 as police officers and state troopers pushed back the crowd of pro-Palestine protesters. One officer grabbed the demonstrator next to Jardine while another said to Jardine, “I’m going to get you too.” He pulled Jardine to the ground by her hair. Several more officers turned her onto her stomach and zip-tied her hands behind her back. One officer dug his knee into her shoulder blade. “My shoes had come off because they were dragging me,” said Jardine, an international relations and global studies senior. “I was hurting so bad because they threw me to the ground.”  Jardine was one of at least 57 arrested at the pro-Palestine demonstration on April 24, hosted by the Palestine Solidarity Committee. The protesters were charged with criminal trespassing, but all charges from that day have since been dropped. Jardine said she got her period in the police van and could not access menstrual products during the two-hour transport and processing at the Travis County Jail. She said major cuts on her thigh from the gear on a state trooper’s bike went untreated for several hours. “They were moving insanely slow,” Jardine said. “There was a point where they weren’t even talking to anybody, so it took them over an hour to get to me.” George Lobb, a lawyer with the Austin Lawyers Guild, said the delays in medical care were “inhumane, but not illegal,” because the jail faces no consequences for not providing immediate care unless the person is “seriously harmed.” 

[...]

Ibraheem, another protester who wished to only be identified by his first name, was arrested on April 24 at around 2:00 p.m.  He said once he was processed and changed into prison clothes, he was in a holding cell with other arrested demonstrators under police supervision until nearly midnight. Ibraheem said a police officer shined a flashlight in his eyes when he turned his head to look behind him. At around 9 p.m., he asked officers for a place to pray, and he said they told him he had to wait. Lobb said the jail had no legal obligation to provide a prayer space while Ibraheem was in the holding area, but that it was still “morally wrong.” “These things happen because they’re not responsible,” Lobb said. “If they were, they would have been sued a long time ago.” At 11:50 p.m., officers moved Ibraheem to a solitary cell, where he remained for 12 hours before his release. He said he sang songs and recited the Qur’an to pass the time in his cold, brightly lit cell.  Health and society senior Citlalli Soto-Ferate was also arrested on April 24 at about 1 p.m. and loaded into a van with six other protesters. When Soto-Ferate arrived at the jail, she and her fellow demonstrators were processed and changed into prison clothes. She said another female demonstrator, who was Muslim but didn’t wear the hijab, requested more modest prison clothes. Officers accused the demonstrator of “talking back” and put her in a cell alone, Soto-Ferate said. 

[...]

About 150 protesters stood outside the jail all night calling for those inside to be released. “I could hear the cheering outside,” Soto-Ferate said. “It made me feel less alone.”

[hazzyking]

Appearances

-just a smutt warning

-sorry if it's bad

-I tried posting a gif like all the other good fanfic creators but then I uncovered a spoiler that hurt my heart so no gifs until I get further in Mayans 🫣

-I agree there needs to be more Alvarez content so I'm making my contribution. Hopefully more creators will give us content ❤️

-enjoy

It was one of those days. The sun was shining the wind was nice and crisp and it broke the heat just right. You had a day off from work and Marcus had a "day off" from his club. Bishop had called Marcus out to come hang out at the scrap yard to which you reluctantly obliged. It was your one day off and you were gonna spend it at your job, but- they were kinda like your family anyway and Marcus promised a free ride on the back of his bike. You had your own but riding with Marcus made you feel special so, you woke up bright and early and put on your best looking but also most comfortable riding gear ((whatever you think that would look like to you)) and you and Marcus made your way to the scrapyard. It was a long drive, every time you road with Marcus he took his time, he loved the comfort your arms wrapped tightly around his waist gave him, and the warmth of your legs pressed up against him. It just brought him great calm feeling you on his bike. Especially when he spent his days riding all over California alone. He let out a relaxed hum which was drowned out over the moter of the bike but you felt it. You felt his muscles turn to butter as you laid your cheek on his shoulder and closed your eyes feeling relaxed as well. When you two pulled into the scrap yard Coco and Angle were quick to stop what they were doing to Greet you.

You stepped off the bike and smiled at the boys approaching you, until Marcus shot a glare at the two boys and they turned on their heels walking in the opposite direction you glared at him rolling your eyes "what? I want you all to myself" Marcus muttered putting his hands on your waist and pulling you towards him. You blushed and pulled away from him looking down at the dirt "right... appearances" Marcus looked down at the ground, slightly hurt by the rejection.

Later that day you were seen walking across the dirt drive way, as you walked you hoisted your pants up so they sit higher on your waist, Angle watched as you shimmied your ass in your pants and bit his lip watching you with dark eyes "what's wrong? Pants don't fit?" Angle questioned, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Yea it's hard when your ass is so fat" you said with confidence seemingly knocking the wind out of the young man. You trot over to Bishop and Alverez who are leaning against a car having a beer together. Alverez watches you dreamily as you hop over to them with a smile "what?" You asked, knowing exactly what you were doing to the oh so tough Mayan.

"You are so beautiful when you smile like that." Alverez spoke smoothly unraveling you causing you to melt to his delicious words.

"S-stop, i dont want the guys to think-" you stuttered blushing darkly.

"Oh sorry Reigna, I'll compliment you later when I'm in between your legs" Alverez smirked as If he could hear you internally scream, your cheeks Got darker and you ran away into the garage of the scrap yard. You hated when Marcus was like that with you infront of the guys you tried so hard to maintain this tough appearance so no one would walk all over you, and there he is, complimenting you and undressing you with his eyes. You grunted in frustration and slumped down behind a car. You herd Alverez's boots click against the concrete floor, and your heart began racing. You moaned softly at the agonizing feeling in your pants. They were uncomfortable before- it's even worse now "I know your in here mija" Alverez chuckled a dark chuckle. You rose to your feet and saw his smile illuminate the room, you giggled softly slowly approaching the man, his hands found their way to your hips again, and he pressed you against one of the cars.

"Marcus-" you blushed squirming away.

"(Y/N) I don't want to play games anymore hm?" Alverez muttered his eyes glancing all over your body.

"But-" you squeaked out as you felt his lips against your neck, you began to lose your train of thought as his tongue and teeth graze against the soft skin. You shutter under him fighting back soft moans "w-what are you doing" you managed to get out.

"Worshipping you Reigna" Alverez muttered against your neck, you could feel your panties start to get wet as he continued teasing you, his hands making their way under your shirt and pushing your bra up so his fingers can play with your nipples. You breathed heavily, eyes screwed shut and your lips biting back a moan, Alverez looked into your eyes and noticed so he leaned in teasing you with a kiss. To his shock you caved and crashed your lips onto his, your legs almost immeadatley wrapping around your waist as he pushed you into the car more. You could feel the buldge in his pants grow bigger as you desp grind against him begging for some friction. Alverez's tounge slides past your lips and dances with yours as you moan quietly into the kiss. His hands work at the button on your jeans and slowly unzips them while your legs grip to his waist, the only thing holding you up was his body and the car.

His hands slowly moved into your panties teasing you to the fullest ammount. You couldn't take it anymore "Marcus?" You spoke breathlessly as his fingers rubbed your clit.

"Hm?" He mumbled against your neck, as if his lips could feel your hears race

"Please" you moaned a bit louder than you wanted as he slid two fingers into your dripping entrance, you knocked your head back onto the roof of the car moaning.

"Please what Reigna?" He spoke with a smirk now watching the moans escape your throat. He set you down, your knees beginning to shake as the waves of pleasure stopped, you watched him kneel down infront of you and the pleasure quickly rushed back, he slowly pulled your pants down to your ankles and put one hand behind your knee pulling you closer to him, you watched all these actions knowing exactly what's to come next but still full of anticipation, lis lips began to suck your clit softly and your knees buckled due to his tongue working its Magic, his hands pushed your waist against the car without separating from your pussy. "Your beautiful Reigna" he muttered, and you blushed looking down at him, your fingers tangled themselves in his dark hair as he continued to pull you closer and closer to an orgasm you moaned out obscenities and then wined when he pulled away once more, he stood up looking at you with dark eyes, you swallowed hard. Doing this in a place like this. Didn't happen often. Alverez typically prefers his home. Anywhere in his home. But he prefers the privacy. It was such a long werk for him and watching you work and playfully flirt with the guy just made it impossible for him to control himself "no more appearances hm?" He muttered into your ear biting it softly.

"B-but" you protested.

"No buts Reigna- your mine, I love you. And I want everyone to see that love" Alvarez spoke kissing your neck "I want them to see you blush when I compliment you. I want them to hear you call me yours" his fingers slowly moved down your body and into your pants

"M-Marcus- I dont"

"Don't take me so seriously mija, I want them to see the softness. Not this. But I couldn't wait any longer for this, I had to get you alone" Marcus speaks as he begins to rub your clit in circular motions you moan laying your head against the car again exposing your throat, Alverez's other hand reaches up and wraps his hand around your throat, all while his other hand begins to fuck you with his fingers. You gasp as his grip tightens just enough your unable to respond as your moans fill up the garage "Te gustan mis manos alrededor de tu garganta mija?" Alvarez speaks slowly with a bit of a growl your eyes look at him blushing, you have absolutely no idea what he just said to you. But it sounded so sexy.

"I-i" you moan.

"I know- I said, do you like the way my hands feel around your throat, Mija" he repeated muttering into your ear. You swallowed hard as Alverez continued to fuck you with his fingers bringing you to a swift orgasm. "I'll take that as a yes" he smirked kissing you softly as he removed his hands from your pants. You flushed, still trying to catch your breath. You looked at him feeling so hot and flustered "are you Okay?" Alvarez asked kissing your cheek softly.

"I'm perfect" you breathed out. "But I'm also a mess! How am I gonna clean this!" You argued swatting his leather covered chest.

"I think these things through Reigna relax" he chuckled pulling a bandanna from his pocket "do you want to clean yourself up or should i?" Alvarez looking at you with dark eyes.

"I'll do it- your only gonna make it worse" you spoke- you really wanted him to, but you knew no good would come from him touching you again. You'd be in that garage for hours.

"You really are beautiful Mi amor" he smiled watching you as you zipped your pants back up.

"Your fucking- ugh your amazing. I don't deserve you" you blushed resting your head against his chest.

"I'm the one who dosnt deserve you Mija, but I'm glad your here" Alvarez smiled "lest go before someone comes looking" he began to laugh as you shook your head, his hands tangled in yours as you both walked out of the garage, he went back to his spot next to Bishop and you walked over to Angel and Coco who looked at you with mischievous grins.

"Someone had fun"