#motorcycle noise regulations

[ijustwant2ride]

Motorcycle News Noise Regulations in the EU and Radar Love

EU is changing rules on motorcycle news and Honda wants to reflect radar.

What you need to know: EU tightens motorcycle noise regulations. They are not changing the regulation (UN-ECE Regulation R41.05), for new motorcycles, but on how the regulation is tested. Currently regulation requires motorcycles on the road (without the engine running) at 31MPH (50kph) would have to be the same volume as the same bike travelling at 31MPH with the engine running.   Starting in…

[zara-renata]

The Jog | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: You go for a jog, encounter some wanderers, get injured, Sylus helps make you better. You know, a typical Christmas oneshot.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, Second person POV, Sylus POV. Not part of the Sylus series, with a slightly more damaged (haha can you believe it) MC than in the series, with a relationship development that differs significantly from the Sylus series. This story contains: angst, canon typical violence, serious bodily injury, medical intervention, MC with self-destructive tendencies, grief, hurt/comfort both physical and emotional, a (hopefully more sensual than graphic) brief NSFW interlude towards the end, a happy ending.

It was supposed to be a simple job. An alert on your hunter watch. A location near where you’re jogging after work. You’re wearing insulated tights, short swords strapped to your back, an Association standard-issue pistol strapped to your hip. Not an average person’s jogging outfit, but you never know when you’ll be needed. And the weather’s probably not ideal in the average person’s opinion—a misting, gentle rain that creates halos around the streetlamps you pass on the gravel path through the long park along the riverfront on the outskirts of Linkon City. It’s dusk, now, but the rain is drowning the air, and it feels like night already. You love the wet hush, the sweeping shush of dead leaves in the winter wind, the spatter of puddles with each footfall. The poor weather means there are very few people out tonight, and you can let yourself relax in solitude. No one to worry about passing if they’re going too slow, or whether you should smile or just ignore anyone you encounter as you run past in the opposite direction—all the minute demands of being a human amongst other humans, trying to weigh kindness versus available energy, a hunter as a role model versus just a person trying to survive each day.

Just you, your footfalls, your breath. Running used to be meditative to you. One of the few times you could actually get your racing mind to be fully present, shutting out all the noise of worries constantly spinning in your brain like your motorcycle’s wheels— reviewing for exams, then training, the regulations of your job, the code of conduct for dealing with the public as a role model and a public servant. Your latest failed relationships. The embarrassing things you blurted during a meeting, or during obligatory after-work drinks with colleagues. While you ran, you could be mindful, when it was just you, your pumping heart, the joy in the strength of your legs, your even breath and healthy lungs. You could be present in your body, for once, instead of only living in your head. 

Running used to be meditative for you, until it wasn’t. It has been harder to find that calm headspace, every time you lace up your shoes and just go—like so many things in your life now, there is the Before, and there is the After… After Caleb. Because before, running was a joyful indulgence in the power of your body. And it was one of the few things you shared with him, through all the years in which your lives were intertwined, and then through the years in which your lives slowly unthreaded as you grew older and life took you in different directions. You would run with him as a reckless child, exploring parks around your grandmother’s house, playgrounds for tag and cops and robbers, hunter and wanderer. Later, you would run together after school during the off-seasons of track and field or cross country. It was one of the few times you both could fully relax, your footfalls mirroring each other, each of your competitive edges often pushing you further and further, harder and faster. The joy you felt sprinting as hard as you could at the end of a long run, only to collapse in the grass with your chests heaving, laughter spilling out of you like apples falling from a tree during the season of harvest. And you took it for granted—because the one constant in your life was Caleb, your running shoes, his teasing. Even when he was away more and more on flight missions, and you were busy at the Academy and then as a new Hunter, you both would do your best to carve time for each other in your schedules, And those times always included a run. Each time, you were secure in the knowledge that there would be a next time. You thought the laughter would be never ending. If you won that final sprint, you’d taunt him, flinging friendly insults about him getting soft in his job that kept him behind the yoke of the ships he piloted. If you lost, you’d accuse him of foul play as he used his longer legs to reach the designated finish line of that weird tree further up at the corner, doesn’t it kind of look like it has a face? Okay-ready-set-go, ooh you snooze you lose, it’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention and now I got a head start!

“Better work harder if you want to keep up, pipsqueak,” he’d say, reaching over to pat your sweat soaked hair, much to your annoyance. You’d swat his hand away and demand a rematch. He’d just laugh, and say “Next time. Next time, see if you can beat me.”

“Pfft, next time I might be too busy for your ass,” you’d grumble, taking it all for granted. The one constant in the blur of fighting wanderers and mind-numbing paperwork and the compulsive need to get out there and do it all over again, day after day.

That was Before. Now, After, you’d give anything to be able to grab his big hand and hold it to your messy hair. To be able to say, yes, next time. Next time, and the time after that. Until we’re old and gray. And you will carry the memories of what little I can remember of my childhood inside you, and I will carry your own youth in me, and we’ll laugh about the things only we know, about Gran’s cooking, about late nights giggling under a blanket, flashlight in hand and the latest graphic novel issue between you, way past bedtime. About sneaking the cookies Gran had made and told the two of you that you were allowed only one a day—then desperately brushing the crumbs from each other’s mouths and cheeks when you heard her footfalls approaching on the polished but worn wooden floorboards of the only home you can remember. About how quiet she’d sometimes get, as she contemplated you with a faraway look on her face. About how she’d suddenly hug you, out of nowhere, and whisper an apology in your hair, clutching a little too tight. You were too young to recognize guilt, at the time. You never knew what she was sorry for. Not while she was alive, anyway. How cruel, that so often life requires death for answers to ancient questions to rise to the surface—a tectonic shift to crack open the earth and reveal the bones buried below.

All of these memories that you now carry inside you, alone, in this After.

You breathe in. You breathe out. It’s full dark now. The miles are stretching out behind you now. You refuse to look at your watch, and let time pass over, through you. You could have been running for only half an hour, or for two hours. It doesn’t matter. Until you’re utterly exhausted, you won’t quit. You need to sleep.

The river flashes between the trees, blurred, shadowed trunks and the glittering water streaks like headlights on a rainy highway. The more the memories come, unrequested and unwelcome, the faster your footfalls become, as if you can outrun the images, the sounds, the scents. Caleb’s clean sweat. How he tells you to use shorter strides if it ever gets to be too much. Just slow down. You don’t have to stop. Just do as much as you can, allow yourself to catch your breath. But never, ever quit. Little steps, until you reach the end. You can do it. You can do it. He shortens his stride, looking ridiculous as the big body he has grown into moves forward with little bitty strides to allow you space to breathe, to regain your strength and be able to push him at the end in your traditional sprint against each other.

But now that he is gone, there is no end. There is no finish line. In this After, it’s only day after day, and you have to keep running, keep busy, keep meeting wanderer after wanderer, keep staring at your ceiling through your sleepless nights, only to get up and do it all over again. Because he’s gone, and you’re still here. No matter how much you shorten your stride, the small steps you take, you will never be able to rest. He told you that you can't quit. You can never, ever quit. You don’t want to think about the holidays coming up, the first since you lost your family. What will you do, as the snow begins to fall, and Caleb isn’t there waiting behind your Gran’s door, the fire already crackling, the presents under the tree?

Your thoughts drift to Sylus. Sylus, who came into your life like a wrecking ball after Caleb exited like… like a bomb. Sylus, who offered to disappear from your life altogether, if you accepted his bet of surviving the encounter with some business rival. The bet you refused to agree to, and in the refusal left the door open for him to walk through. And he has—he barreled through it, slammed it so hard against the wall that it fell off its hinges. You can’t shut your door on him if you tried, now. Sending you gifts. Showing up when you least expect it—out with colleagues, at the arcade, even on a few jogs. Saying such sweet, straightforward things, all in his teasing, playful, taunting manner. He has invited you to his base, into his world, leaving his own door open for you to walk through. But even though you have come to trust that he is currently interested in you, affectionate toward you, amused by you, you still can’t bring yourself to step over the threshold, from light into dark, from the safe, the mundane, into the intoxicating excitement that his life, his touch, offers you, with each brush of his fingers across your skin, holding your hand, his nose along your cheek as he hugs you goodnight. What happens when he gets bored? What happens when he decides you’ve seen too much, that you’re expendable? What happens when he disappears from your life as suddenly as Caleb did, because of the violence of his existence or because of his low threshold for boredom? You have stopped fighting him, when he sends gifts. When he invites you out to dinner. When he wraps his big arm around you during a film in the theater. When he lays you down gently on the bed, and gives such great pleasure to your body. But you are still waiting for his door to slam shut, to cut you in half in the process.

You haven’t been able to ask Sylus what his plans are for the holidays this year. Every time the thought crosses your mind, your heart hurts at the idea of him responding that he’ll have to be out of town, that he’ll be working as usual, that he never does anything special, so why should he start this year? You’ll be fine. You’ll set up a small tree in your apartment, make a toast to your dead in the soft glow of strings of multicolored lights. Go to work the next day, as usual.

It was supposed to be a simple job. You’re running too fast now, the adrenaline coursing through you as you are chased by memories that you want to erase, memories you’re afraid to forget, when your hunter’s watch, which is measuring your distance and your pulse and your oxygen levels, suddenly trills. A shift in metaflux near your location, a possible wanderer along the river’s edge.

You gulp a big breath, and urge your legs faster, your stride longer.

There’s no one around, thankfully, because the night is dark and rainy, the air cold, only you and your lonely memories and thoughts willing to brave the poor weather. Three wanderers, panther-like, with sharp scorpion tails, immediately hostile. You have to eliminate them, even as you admire their savage beauty. You catch the first one by surprise, your sneakered feet muffled on the wet grass, grabbing it by the tail right under the vicious stinger, slicing through meat to remove the threat. It twists, bucks, but you’re already leaping on it, straddling it like a bucking horse, and you drive your short sword into the side of its skull, right at its tender temple, killing it almost instantly.

The other two turn, tails whipping, and charge at the same time. You ride the falling body of the first one you killed to the ground, use the momentum to sprint between and past them, their tails missing you by inches, but your path between them has one stinging the other, and the accidental victim lets out a scream that hurts your heart with how much pain the poison must be causing it. They can’t help their nature. But you have to live, because Caleb is dead. If you let them kill you, they will kill someone innocent, someone whose existence is worthy, and useful, and then you will have failed to make up for all of your shortcomings. You have to earn your death, in the end, and you feel like what you owe the universe for living while Caleb died, what you owe the universe for still being alive when your parents died or didn’t want you, with your limping heart, still isn’t paid. You have to live, because you don’t deserve death, yet.

The stung wanderer collapses, mouth foaming, and twitches in the wet grass, now churned and slick with mud from your tussle with the first one, with the heavy footfalls of the other two. Now it’s just the one left. A fair fight. You circle each other, the rain misting along its scales, glittering in the light reflected from the river, the haloed streetlamps on the distant path. It moves like the panther it resembles, beautiful, deadly, a low rumbling drifting through the quiet evening, its tail whipping. You wait, slightly crouched, ready to dodge when it inevitably loses patience and charges at you. You’re patient. You have nowhere else to be, no one waiting for you, no one to care whether you make it home or not in the end. You wait, swords drawn, chest heaving from your jog, from the adrenaline, your ears ringing from the tinnitus but still attuned to every shift of the magnificent creature before you that you’re going to have to slaughter.

It finally loses patience, snorting once through flaring nostrils, crouching low, powerful haunches rippling, its tail curled over its back, ready to strike at the same time that it launches itself at you.

You can survive being swiped by claws, being ripped by fangs. You will not survive the poison in its tail. You force yourself to wait until the second millisecond, until it’s already in the air, before ducking and rolling toward its form flying toward you, using the slick mud to slide under it—you skid, scramble, rise behind it as its tail strikes the wet, soft earth instead of your fragile body. You slip in the mud but manage to grab it by its tail, just as you did the first one, to grab it by the tail and slice off the poison bulb attached to the stinger. As you slice, the wanderer screams like its companion, whips its body around, and swipes its vicious claws down your side, not too deep to catch on your ribs, but deep enough to flay you open, for the blood to flow.

You’re so high on adrenaline that the pain isn’t immediate. There is only you, the still living wanderer, your life balanced on the edge of your swords, your blood splattering over the muddy ground. You twist, drive both swords into the beast’s vulnerable flank, where its leg connects to its torso. You twist them, doing as much damage as possible, slicing through major arteries, rendering its leg on this side useless. It screams again, your heart squeezes. You’re sorry. You’re so fucking sorry that even in this, you have to live when this creature, doing what its nature tells it to do, has to suffer and die under your bloody hands. The wanderer half-collapses, but still tries to bite you with its gaping jaw, its glistening fangs. You dodge backwards, just out of reach, and then shove one of your swords into its maw, up, up, through the soft palate of its mouth, directly into its brain.

It collapses against you, head still pinned on your sword. You fall backwards underneath it, landing on your ass in the squelching mud. There is only the sound of your panting breath, the softly falling rain. You curl over it, rest your cheek on top of its magnificent head, regaining your breath, honoring it and the companions you were forced to exterminate. 

Passing out from the blood loss is like falling asleep, before Caleb died. A pleasant feeling of exhaustion, of having done your best to earn your rest, and then slipping under, the peace of the deep, deep black.

Sylus is exhausted. Meeting after meeting, shipment inspections, having to explode one supplier to teach other fucks a lesson for trying to pass off counterfeit protocores Sylus needs for modifying a shipping container of Hightowers. He’s finally done, after working through his ‘night’ to secure alternatives to the fake protocores so that other contracts could be fulfilled on time. Sylus always keeps his word, after all. He’s exhausted, and now it’s his version of dawn, but he’s not willing to go to sleep until he checks in with his beloved. He’s in the middle of the N109 Zone, ready to return to base, but he’s impatient and pulls up Mephisto’s app on his phone before settling the helmet on his head and getting on the road.

Mephisto is in your bedroom. Your room is empty, and the windows are shut tight. There’s just your verdant houseplants spilling out of their pots, the plushies tumbled on the floor, the city’s lights filtering through the windowpanes exposed by your open curtains. 

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. He has scolded you about this before—sometimes you forget that Mephisto has been programmed not to cause any damage to your place, so if you leave without letting him out the window or the door, he’s stuck. And if he’s stuck, he can’t serve his purpose, which is to keep an eye on you. 

“I survived long before I had you or Mephisto to stalk me. I don’t need him to follow me everywhere I go, running down his battery so that when you actually need him, he won’t be unavailable.” You had scoffed, completely missing the point.

As far as Sylus was concerned, Mephisto’s sole purpose was to be of use to you when Sylus is unable to be there in person to be of use to you. What part of Don’t be shy when using me did you still not understand? “Have you considered that I need him to follow you everywhere you go? That I specifically upgraded his protocore so that his battery can survive a thousand trips a day between Linkon City and the N109 Zone?”

You had just patted his chest indulgently, with a strange, sad little smile on your face that he didn’t like. He opened his mouth to continue, to make sure you understood—it was important to him for you to understand this, but you had moved your hand from his chest to his throat, running your fingertips along the tender skin at his clavicle, palming the side of his neck. He couldn’t help himself—he leaned into your touch, lost his train of thought. Your other hand joined your efforts to distract him, to soothe him, to make him forget what he was just talking about, and then you were cupping his cheeks, smoothing your thumbs under his eyes. It felt so good, to be touched like this by you. For your hands to be on him, for you to be looking at him with such quiet affection. He couldn’t help himself—he leaned down and kissed you, the conversation submerged in the feeling of being treasured by you, of you touching him like he was the fragile one, like he was the precious one—submerged, but not forgotten, because you were the precious one, the one who could be hurt, who he wanted to kiss like this, softly, meeting your lips with his, over and over, gentle presses, nudging your nose with his, until you slid your hands from his cheeks into his hair, kissed him a little harder, with purpose, and he slipped his tongue between your lips like he knew you wanted, and you sucked, sucked, sucked.

He let the conversation go. Later, while you were sleeping, the silken sheets he had replaced your own crappy cotton ones with draped over your hip as you lay on your side, facing away from him, he ran his finger thoughtfully down your spine, admiring its curve in the moonlight through your bedroom window, lower, lower, until he slipped that finger between your legs and pressed back into you, where you were still soft and wet from his earlier efforts. He thought about that strange sad smile, your refusal to let him fully look out for you. He thought about how he always came to you, and you had never once taken him up on his invitation for you to come to his base. To make use of him whenever you pleased. You would accept him when he came to you, ‘ran into’ you, kissed you, but you never initiated. It was like you were still afraid to accept everything he was offering you as unconditional truth, irrevocable once offered. You shifted in your sleep, made a pleasured noise in your throat as he slipped another finger inside you, as he scooted closer behind, spooning you, filling you, as he let his mind wander back to that terrible smile of yours. 

He hated that smile. A smile that isn’t a smile—a hollow mask, containing none of the joy you deserve to feel, all the time. A smile that says that you don’t believe that anyone will care if you don’t come home, now that your family is gone. A smile that says that you can’t conceive of a world in which Sylus’s entire existence revolves around you, your genuine smile, and his utility to you. That if anything were to happen to you, he’d burn down the world and fall on your sword after he had ensured that no one else survived your death. 

Even though you let him in. Even though you let him touch you, you still can’t seem to understand the depth of his devotion to you. He’s been forced to live so long without you. He’s not going to endure that hell again now that he's found you.

Now, he pulls up the app that tracks your hunter watch. You’re along the river, moving faster than a walking pace, but not fast enough to be on your motorcycle. You’re… going for an evening jog? What the hell are you doing, running by yourself after a long, exhausting day in the dark? No matter how strong you are, no matter how skilled a warrior, you should take at least the most basic of precautions and let him know where you’re going if you’re going to behave in such a reckless manner. You’re just one person, against a sea of cruel humanity, against the ever present threat of wanderers.

He wants to pull you into his arms and squeeze you, to press into your skin his worry, his care, his love, to squeeze you so hard that you finally get it through your ridiculous, beautiful, anxious, clever brain that even if you don’t have a care for your own safety, your own value to everyone in your life, but most of all to him, he cares, and if you get hurt, so does he.

This won’t do at all. Sylus is exhausted after being awake for twenty-four hours, but he will always, always have time and energy to spare for you. If you want to go jogging at night so badly, he’ll fucking join you.

The winter night is cold, the gentle rain almost sleeting, billowing curtains turning the streetlamps into something soft, muted stars that Sylus’s sensitive eyes can tolerate. He enjoys the dark, the rain, the cold, as he steps out of the tank parallel to where it looks like you’ve paused to take in a view of the river. Luckily this park, though long enough to enable running enthusiasts a long, uninterrupted stretch of path to run, is narrow, so Sylus could park relatively close to where you’ve stopped and jog to you easily in a few minutes. He doesn’t need to stretch, or warm up his muscles. His body is primed, at all times, for physical action. It’s a perk of the monster within. He shuts the tank’s door and jogs to where his phone indicates you are.

Before he sees you, he can smell it. Blood. Yours. A lot of it. His heart stops beating, his mouth goes dry. On instinct, he presses Luke and Kieran’s contact in his phone. He doesn’t remember everything he says or how he says it. He gives your location, orders them to bring the bags of blood he keeps at the base, the bags with your blood type in them, just as a precaution, the bags you don’t know about, along with all of the other contingency plans has in place that you don’t know about in order to prevent his worst nightmares from coming true—of you dying before him, this time. Of him being forced to live without you, again, as he has through lifetimes already, where he never even found you. He has you now, in this life. You let him touch you, you touch him in return. This time, no matter what fate, or destiny, or any gods have to say about it, you’re both going to live. Together. He has finally found you, and he’s not going to let you fucking die on him. When he’s done with the call, he dissipates into red and black mist.

He re-materializes a few feet away from you. There you are. Two huge wanderer corpses in a muddy clearing where a vicious fight clearly took place, and you, cradling the third wanderer’s head in your lap, slumped over its impressive form. The rain falls softly over you both. Your hair is soaked through, tendrils winding down your cheek, droplets falling from the ends like dew falling from a petal. One of your lovely arms curves around the wanderer’s head, almost as if you’re hugging it, while the other is limp at your side, resting in the bloody mud, your palm relaxed and open to the falling rain. 

You look dead.

You look dead, but Sylus can smell you, your life, your sluggish heart, he can hear your faint breath. You look dead, but you’re still alive.

Although you’re alive, Sylus feels like he’s going to die. He’s died before. Many times. He dies every time he receives a wound that would be fatal to anyone else. It hurts, every single time, because Sylus isn’t the type of man who dies peacefully, in his sleep, at the end of a long, placid life. Each death is violent, frightening, and deeply, deeply painful. His first death, the most painful at all, simply because he knew he was leaving you behind, leaving you alone. The most painful, and yet the least. He could tolerate the sword through his chest, knowing that you would be free from his curse, that you were already on your way to growing your own horns, your own tail, weapons against a world that could not stand against you. It hurt, but he was at peace with his decision to die for you, that first time.

Sylus knows very well what it feels like when he’s going to die. But he doesn’t remember feeling the kind of fear he feels now. A terror that he can’t scream through, because his throat won’t work. He can’t make any sound at all, as he stands frozen for a heartbeat at the entrance to the clearing, only a few feet from you, as his eyes are forced to look at your slumped form, the deep gashes along your side, partially hidden by your arm as it hangs limply, lifelessly.

You look dead.

“No.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice. No. No. No. No.

He has not come this far with you, he has not started all over with you again, from absolute scratch, from your blank memory, fear and hate written all over your face, spilling out of you, so thick her could taste it over the taste of you, your scent, the scent he had been craving for lifetimes, when he found you again—he has not painfully, slowly, rebuilt your trust in him, lured you in like the feral kitten you are, leaving crumbs, treats, tricks, toys, feathers, patiently coming to you and leaving again, instead of doing what he wanted and dragging you with him to his lair, smothering you, shaking you until you remembered his face, his heart, his love. He has not gotten you to the point that you let him touch you, run his fingers along your skin, and you do the same. That you look at him, eyes soft, with affection, with laughter on your tongue, even if you still don’t quite understand the depth of his want for you, his servitude, how utterly you own him, all of him, and always have. He has not come this far with you, only for you to die before he does, from something so mundane, so pedestrian and anti-climactic as a wanderer attack—from just doing your job, and one day, you just don’t come home to him.  He refuses to accept this. This is not the death you deserve. You deserve a death at sunset, entire armies turned on each other, blood like rivers across a ravaged plain, a death by Sylus’s side, as you both fight and maim and kill, the flesh of your enemies between your teeth, each of you crazed with bloodlust for your foes and lust for each other.

Or better yet. You deserve a death at sunset, in Sylus’s arms, when you’re old and gray, and you’re simply a little too tired to keep going. And Sylus will hold you in his arms, and he will press his forehead against yours, your skin paper thin and wrinkled, still perfect, still beautiful, your hair wisps of cotton around your head, and as you close your eyes for the final time, Sylus will close his, and your hearts will stop beating at the same time. A peaceful death, after a long, simple, happy life together, with flower crowns exchanged on anniversaries, your friends around the table, the wine generous, your hand in Sylus’s through all the long years that will never be long enough for him.

You’re not going to die here, under the soft, cold rain, from blood loss after a victorious battle in the dark.

All of these thoughts swirling through Sylus’s nimble mind take only a heartbeat to complete, to bring him to his resolution that he’s not going to let you die here, whether you like it or not. He kneels in the mud next to you, covers you in his leather jacket, slips your phone from your pocket and calls your doctor, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder. As the phone rings, he gently, so, so gently, slips his arms behind your back and under your knees, lifts you in his arms. Your blood is still flowing, and it seeps into the tight athletic tank he had put on in anticipation of jogging with you. He turns, running shoes squelching in the mud, and begins walking back to the tank.

“It’s never good when you’re calling me this late,” comes the crisp, even tone of your primary care physician’s voice. But Sylus can hear the slight smile in his tone, even if you fail to hear it every time.

“You’re right, it’s not good. If you want to see your patient alive again, then you need to come to this location,” Sylus bites into the phone, rattling off the closest address, explaining how to find your and Sylus’s tank.

“If this is a joke, it’s not funny,” Zayne answers after a short silence.

“This isn’t a joke. Wanderer attack, too much blood loss. I already have the right blood type being brought as we speak, but you need to get here, now, for a transfusion.”

“You need to bring them to the hospital—they need proper medical facilities and treatment if they’re to have any chance to survive,” Zayne argues, his distress starting to bleed through his even tone.

“What they need is for you to stop fucking arguing with me, and do as a I say. If you care about them at all, trust that I care more, and I’ll explain when you arrive.” Sylus doesn’t even bother to hide his own agony. He needs your doctor to stabilize you, because you need to be conscious for Sylus to save your life, but Sylus doesn’t have the expertise of a medical professional to get you to the point of surviving long enough to wake up. “Now, are you going to stop wasting time, or not?”

“You have no idea how much I care,” Zayne retorts icily, and ends the call.

Sylus takes his answer as acquiescence to what probably seems like insanity to your doctor.

Sylus walks through the rain, crosses the running path, the expanse of grass and trees, until he’s back on the quiet Linkon City street where he parked the tank. His evol opens the back passenger door and he maneuvers you inside onto the middle bench seat. He strips his now bloody shirt and ties it around your torso, tightening it, trying to stem the flow of your bright, precious blood. He grabs his athletic hoodie from where it was tied around his waist that he brought in case you got cold and hadn’t properly geared up and repeats the motion, trying to create a tourniquet as he waits for Luke and Kieran to arrive, as he waits for Zayne to arrive. He pulls you back into his lap, torso elevated, presses his palms to your wounds through the fabric, orders the SUV to crank the heating to full blast. He busies himself with phone calls, arranging for medical staff to be waiting at the base.

Finally, after what seems like multiple lifetimes—he would fucking know what that feels like—the twins come screeching to a stop in front of the tank at the same time that Zayne’s low-slung, understated but very expensive sedan pulls up behind it.

Zayne drags out a large medical bag from the passenger side of his car as the twins pile into the front seats of the tank, Kieran clutching a medical grade cooler with the blood in it. Sylus’s evol throws open the tank’s sliding back passenger door, and your austere doctor manages to fold himself inside the cramped space.

“I need more room if I’m to do this. Move,” he orders in quiet disdain.

Sylus doesn’t argue. This isn’t a dick-measuring contest, this is your life or death. As gently as possible, he slides out from under you and lays you onto the long bench seat. He teleports to the third row of seats at the back of the vehicle.

Zayne doesn’t even flinch, just flicks his eyes to Sylus’s re-materialized form, from his face to his bare chest, and then turns his attention back to his medical bag without comment. He gets to work, unwinding the makeshift bandages of Sylus’s athleticwear, cleaning your wounds. He sutures the open gashes, stemming the blood flow. After it appears that your bleeding is somewhat under control, Sylus and the twins watch in tense silence as he orders Luke to hang the bag of blood from a hook on the oh shit handle above the passenger door after he has placed an IV line in the tender skin of your inner elbow and connected the tubing.

After he’s done, and the blood is sliding from the bag into your arm, he sits back against the tank’s door, arms crossed.

“Explain why you refuse to take them to a hospital.”

Sylus can’t take his eyes off you as he answers. “While I’m sure you would do a fine job of finishing stitching them up and preventing infection, I can heal them completely. I just need them to resonate with me.”

Zayne’s voice grows sharper. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Skye.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Sylus finally tears his eyes away from you, lying there, blood drained from your beautiful face, deep bruises under your eyes, hair still soaked and matted from the rain and mud. His heart, bleeding and broken.

He looks into Zayne’s pretty hazel eyes. “That’s all I can give you.”

Zayne stares in return, looking for something that Sylus can’t give. Sylus isn’t sorry for the fact that he carries half of your soul, and that you carry half of his. That in this universe, you belong to him, and not to anyone else. But he knows what it’s like, to live lifetimes without you. To look, and never find you. He’s never been in the position of finding you, only to find you bound to another. He doesn’t know what he’d do, if such a thing were to ever happen to him. He likely would not be able to look so calmly into the eyes of the person who had your heart, as Zayne is doing now. After tonight, Zayne has Sylus’s gratitude, and also his respect.

“What I can give you is a promise that you will see our hunter again, healthy and whole, because you helped tonight without asking too many questions.”

Zayne snorts softly through his nostrils. “You didn’t leave me much choice, did you?”

Sylus shrugs. “Even so. You could have stood on ceremony, insisted on going by the book, and likely killed your childhood friend.”

“No, your insistence on doing something incredibly reckless and demanding that I come to you, instead of bringing them to me at the hospital, would have killed them.”

Sylus lifts an eyebrow, enjoying the subtle spark underneath your doctor’s icy exterior. He has a backbone, and Sylus likes that. “Oh, I still would have brought them to the hospital. You just would have had to explain to your board how your heroic hunter patient disappeared on your watch after the blood transfusion without anyone seeing them leave. Because I can guarantee you that the first thing kitten would demand after waking up would be to get the fuck out of there.”

Zayne’s lips part slightly, apparently the good doctor’s version of gaping in surprise. “Kitten?” he asks, bewildered, until he sighs, looks incredibly tired for a moment, and then says, “Never mind. I would rather not know.”

He pulls a prescription pad out of his white lab coat and scribbles on it with a pen. A pen that has a cute little seal on the cap. Sylus has the strangest feeling that he knows where your fucking doctor got such a pen. He makes a mental note to remedy this injustice when you wake up later and are feeling better. “These are the antibiotics they’ll need for the next week, even if you’re convinced that your evol can fully heal them through the resonance. I’m assuming that wherever you’re taking them will have medical expertise on staff?” he asks, ripping the prescription off the pad in one decisive stroke and holding it out between his index and middle finger to Sylus.

Sylus takes the paper, letting his fingers brush against your doctor’s, just to vex him. He does not disappoint as he scowls and jerks his hand back, shoving it into his pocket of his labcoat. “If anything happens…” Zayne’s voice trails off as he returns his gaze to your still form. “Call me. I’ll come, no matter the time, no matter the place.”

Sylus can hear the plea in his words formulated as an order. He is glad you have people in your life who care for you. He makes a note to arrange more opportunities for you to play with your doctor, so you will come to realize that Zayne cares for you as well, as more than just your primary care physician. Another person in the threads of your life, woven together to form the safety net you don’t even realize you have, even without Sylus. Not that you ever have to worry about being without Sylus, ever again. But Sylus has read that it’s apparently healthy for people to have more than one anchor, more than one source of comfort. Friends. People who love you and who take joy in your presence in their life. He wants to give you that. He wants to give you everything. You belong to him, but he can’t begrudge others for wanting to bask in your light—he’ll allow it, as a side effect of you having a healthy, rich, full life. And it doesn’t hurt that it looks like the doctor will be hilarious to torment.

“Deal,” Sylus says. Zayne breathes again, a sharp exhale through his nose, and then extricates himself, along with his medical bag, from the tank, shutting the door decisively behind him.

“Whoa, boss is learning how to play well with others,” Luke says, probably wide-eyed underneath his mask.

“The hunter truly is a miracle worker,” Kieran agrees, sounding pleased.

“Enough. Kieran, drive us back to base. Luke, follow us in the other vehicle.”

They nod, understanding that now is not the time for silly banter, that underneath their boss’s calm exterior is a very worried, frightened man.

As Luke clambers out of the tank and Kieran settles himself into the driver’s seat, Sylus makes his way from the backseat to where you’re lying and lifts you gingerly, settles himself onto the seat, and gently lays your shoulders and head back onto his lap. His eyes do not leave your face, his hands do not leave your hair for the entire duration back home. On the way, he soothes himself with memories of your face, blooming with color, health, your eyes bright, the teasing curve of your lips after saying something mean to him. He soothes himself with plans upon plans about how to finally convince you that you have someone waiting for you now, someone who will not recover if you don’t come home. That you’ve always had people waiting for you, worrying for you, loving you, even without Caleb and your grandmother in your life.

Before Sylus came into your life, waking up was always something you did reluctantly, a slow drag from the peaceful dark to the painful light, something to fear, something to resist, heart pounding with the shrill noise of your alarm in your ears, jerking from a calm numbed sea into the chaotic storm of emotions, of wakefulness, of being back in your body where everything hurt.

Now, something inside you whispers that it’s safe, even as you know the pain is coming. That beyond the pain, the first gasp of breath as your face breaches the tranquilizing ocean of unconsciousness, waiting on the other side is a pair of warm ruby eyes, big hands, soft despite their callouses, a heartbeat that should be a little too fast to be calming, yet soothes you all the same. That waking up has a purpose, beyond your penance, your self-imposed sentence of surviving despite everything, in order to earn your rest when something finally, mercifully kills you. Now, there’s something to wake up for besides guilt, even though you fear it will be snatched away without warning.

You open your eyes slowly. Your body feels heavy, but for once you’re not in pain, as if from the neck down you’re still in the ocean of sleep. You blink, eyes focusing on the ornate crown molding of Sylus’s dark bedroom ceiling. You haven’t been in this room since you searched his beautiful body for the brooch, right before the auction. But you’d recognize his ceiling anywhere. You turn your head on the soft, silk-covered pillow, and just as you knew you would, you’re met with the warm glow of Sylus’s eyes. You wonder how you got here. You’ve never before taken him up on his countless invitations to visit him at his home.

He doesn’t say anything. He just reaches over and palms your cheek, fingertips sliding over your ear, thumb stroking under your eye.

“Hi,” you say, smiling at him. Because you always smile at him, no matter how you’re feeling. You smile at him when you’re happy, when he has said something hilarious, or sweet. You smile at him when he surprises you, when he teases you, no matter how hard you try to keep a straight face, to scowl at him in mock anger for his mischievousness, his intentionally trying to get a rise out of you. You smile at him when your heart is hurting, because no matter how in pain you might be from grief, from worry, from missing him when he’s right there, you care for him so much already, and you can’t help but smile when he turns to look at you.

“Don’t smile at me like that,” he says, dark silver eyebrows drawing together. “I hate that smile.”

You stare at him, feeling the joy of seeing him drain from you like he’s just shoved a knife in your stomach. He hasn’t said something so cruel to you since your first few days of knowing each other.

You swallow. 

It has finally happened. He’s finally sick of you. Whatever pedestal he has had you on this whole time has finally toppled.

“Okay,” you whisper, giving him what he wants. Because what else can you do? You stop smiling. You turn your head away from him again, from his beautiful, wine-glow eyes, his soft silver hair falling over his forehead, and stare at his ceiling. You’re thankful for the strange numbness in your body. It makes it easier to breathe. To tolerate the pain washing through you. You gather your resolve. All you have to do is roll over, sit up. Put both feet on the floor. Get dressed, in your own clothes. You hope you didn’t arrive in any of the clothes he has bought for you over the past few months since he started playing the game of keeping you. The game he apparently never had any intention of finishing.

You try to do what you just imagined, but your body doesn’t listen. You just lie there, like the useless sack of shit you often feel like.

“Fuck,” he says, strangely. He must really, really want you gone.

You laugh a little breathlessly, because what else can you do? “Sorry, I’ll leave as soon as I can. I must have had too much to drink.” Because what else could explain this paralysis? Why else can’t you remember how you got here in his bed again? The last thing you remember is lacing up your running shoes for a run after work.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, tone dark. Which doesn’t make any sense at all. 

Oh.  

He’s not only bored with you, but he’s finally decided to kill you. You had wondered, at the beginning, what it would take for him to finally get bored. What he would do, when he was ready to cut his losses. If he would feel compelled to get rid of the now useless witness to so many of his secrets. But you had trusted him enough to keep accepting him when he came to you, when he told you how much he cared for you. When he had told you he wanted you, and that wouldn’t change. You must have let yourself believe him, based on how deeply hurt you feel now. This shouldn’t be a surprise to you, after all. This is why you never took him up on his invitation to come deeper into his world. 

You always have been so fucking gullible.

You suppose that you deserve what’s coming, the fool that you are.

It’s a relief, really. Maybe now you can see Caleb again. See Gran again. Maybe if your parents are dead, you’ll finally get to meet them.

Or, if the universe is actually kind, maybe dead is just dead, and at least you won’t have to hurt anymore.

Part of you thinks that you’re a fucking coward for taking the easy way out. For giving up without a struggle. You thought you could survive anything. That you needed to survive everything, to finally earn your death. But losing Sylus’s affection must have been the last straw for you, because you’re so fucking tired. You could fight an endless amount of wanderers, and still keep dragging yourself back out to do it all over again. But after having Sylus, and then losing him… turns out, that’s the one thing you can’t survive.

“I know it doesn’t mean shit, but I want you to know that I love you. It felt really good, being your toy for a while,” you say.

“Toy?” Sylus asks, voice strained. 

You wonder how he’ll do it. “Just, if you ever cared about me at all, make it quick.” You close your eyes. It’s so strange. You could fall asleep again. You’re so, so tired. You suppose, in a way, you’re lucky. Not everyone gets to die by the hand of someone they love. Who they’d die for anyway. It’s better than bleeding out alone after fucking up against a wanderer.

You feel his fingers on your neck. How poetic. How we met is how we’ll end. Sylus has always been strangely poetic.

“Will you resonate with me?” he asks through the waves that you’re letting yourself sink back into.

Why is he bothering to ask? He could just try to force it, like the first time. It would probably work, since he succeeded in making you love him. You wonder why he wants it now. You’ve only ever resonated during fights. Gun battles. Being caught by surprise by wanderers between Linkon City and the N109 Zone. He’s never asked you for it, outside of the context of violence. But then again, maybe putting you down is just another quick little conflict. If his evol is strengthened with yours, so much the easier to snap your neck. He’s such a big man though. He could do it so easily, even without his evol. Does it really matter why he wants to resonate with you now though? You would give him anything, for any reason, the fool that you are.

“One for the road, huh?” you ask. 

His fingers tighten on your neck. He wants to strangle you so badly, it’s almost funny.

You lift your hand, and it feels like a 16 kilo kettlebell. You sigh as you rest it over the back of his hand, resting at your throat. 

“You can have whatever you want, Sylus Qin.” 

“And so can you, my beloved,” he says, and he sounds so sincere that you’re reminded why you believed his lies in the first place. Anyone, not just your idiotic, desperate, lonely, gullible self would have believed the sweet words coming from his beautiful mouth. Cold comfort, but comfort all the same.

He lifts your hand, turns it, threads his fingers through yours. You summon the very last bit of energy you have, all of the love you carry for him, and let your evol flow through you and into him.

It’s the weightlessness of sleep, of falling, of flying. Floating in a vast ocean of stars, the night sky as it actually is without light pollution, so bright that the word ‘night’ loses all meaning. As your gold waves flow into him, his scarlet and ink tendrils flow into you. Power, strength, the exhilaration of wild, unchecked energy, possibility, coiled to explode into action at the slightest twitch of your fingers or his.

The boundaries between you, between him, your minds, your bodies, thin, dissolve. The resonance has never been like this, before. Every time before, you could sense where he was on the battlefield, anticipate his movements. You could work in sync, powering his punches, increasing the speed at which he gathers energy, charging the storm that would unleash and ravage the hostiles arrayed against you. But you were still you. He was still him. Now, his heart beats in your chest. When he swallows painfully, you feel it in your throat. You are big, strong, powerful, and exhausted.

With your eyes closed, you see him. With his mouth closed, he speaks.

When you smile like that, you look so sad, I can’t bear it, he says. His arms gently curl around you, pull you into his chest. Relief floods through you, holding the person you cherish most in the universe in your arms again. And unlike the past two days, they’re awake.

Your mind is overwhelmed, the disparity between what you thought he was feeling just moments ago and feeling his actual emotions now large enough to make you feel insane. You breathe through the disorientation, focus on the words that just flowed through your mind.

Smile like what?

He doesn’t answer immediately. You just see yourself, like looking in a mirror, but from a greater height. You see your upturned face, your lips curved in the idea of a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Like a sketch by a skilled artist with their eyes closed. It’s a smile, but it’s wrong. Sylus, the intuitive creature that he is, can sense the disparity, the disconnect, between your smile and your heart. But he doesn’t understand that underneath the sadness, you are actually happy to be looking at his face, to be the object of his focus, to be able to hold him and laugh with him. That even if your heart is hurting, his mere presence can still bring a smile to your face. He said he hated your smile not because he is finally bored with you, but because the heartbreak in your smile broke his own heart.

He finally answers you with words. Like you did when you woke up. You smiled even though I know you’re exhausted. When your body has been through hell. You smiled even after almost dying two days ago.

You open your eyes, turn your head on the silk pillow to look at him. I almost died?

Sylus scoots even closer, and you realize that he’s holding his body away from your torso, even as he rests his head on the same pillow as you, runs his nose along your cheek. I found you bleeding out after killing three wanderers by yourself. You had already run eight miles before your hunter watch alerted you to their presence.

You stare at him. Notice the deep, dark circles under his eyes for the first time. The exhaustion drawing his mouth tight. Through the resonance, impressions of sour terror, heart-palpitation-inducing anxiety, clenched-teeth determination, refusal to sleep blur together. Sylus hasn’t slept since he found you. He has been lying here by your side, watching your face as you slept, for the past two days. You get the impression that he was already exhausted before he even found you.

But why?

How do you expect me to sleep, when I’m not sure if my beloved is ever going to open their eyes again?

You’re reeling. You just thought he was done with you, that he was about to end you. Your beloved?

You feel a pulse of disbelief, incomprehension, dawning understanding, and heartbreak, as all of the tangled feelings you just went through flow through the resonance from you to him. He had no idea that you have been fearing the end like this, somewhere deep inside yourself, all along. This fear, based on how you began. Based on all that you know about him, the way he lives his life, conducts his business. How easily bored he becomes playing simple games, listening to other people talk. Fear based on your own view of yourself, what you perceive as the value you have to offer other people in your life. He knew you were reluctant to come to him, yes, but he thought such reluctance was rooted in him being a criminal and you a deepspace hunter, that you didn’t quite understand how much he cares for you, and that in time, he’d be able to prove to you just how much he cares through his actions alone. Through his consistency in showing you his love. 

His hatred of your sad smile compounds, grows, as he realizes the depth of the hole inside you.

Now that he can see everything, you’re so scared. You don’t want him to see, to finally realize how disposable you are, even to yourself. Your parents, Caleb and your gran leaving you behind, the association once your heart finally gives out. How you’re only surviving until you receive a sign from the universe that you’ve finally earned the peace that you believe only death can offer you.

But instead of withdrawing, instead of dawning disgust in his heart, your heart, you feel determination rise in you, in him. A firm rejection of everything he just felt from you. An efficient, resounding no. If you don’t fucking believe it yet, he’ll just work harder until you do. He’s been too cautious. He’s been so busy trying to give you time, trying to lure you in like a scared kitten, that he has inadvertently let you believe that you’re ultimately disposable to him, when you’re the one thing he can’t bear to live without. No. No. No.

But why? You can’t help but feel, ask. Why you? When the world is so vast, full of people who are so much more interesting, competent, true equals to the man now running his fingers so gently along your cheek, staring into your eyes, sending wave upon wave of wordless, overpowering love through you.

Along with the warmth, the affection, the gentle amusement, the lust, the endless fascination that Sylus is sending along through your connection to him, you start seeing visions of your own laughing face, your lips curved in a scowl or a mischievous smirk, the few times he’s managed to instigate a big belly laugh out of you, squeals of delight at the claw machine, your competitive smugness following a motorcycle race that ended in a tie, and afterwards your lips bathed in moonlight as the both of you lay in a field of flowers, staring up at the night stars on the side of the road. Your mouth, as a metaphor for every reason he loves you so much. Your thoughtful frowns, betraying your clever mind, your bloodthirsty snarls, revealing your righteous fury when engaging in battle, your grin, telegraphing your dark sense of humor, your ability to laugh in the face of the horrors of humanity, existence, the constant plague of hostile wanderers. Your mouth, slightly open, panting, little noises of pleasure escaping your lips as Sylus makes you feel good with his body, as you make him feel like a king with every satisfied whimper out of your mouth.

You had no idea. All this time, you had no idea the depth of his feelings for you. When he is away on business, how his thoughts return to you, over and over again. When he is here at his home, how he intricately plans the ‘happenstance’ encounters with you. His joining you on jogs, because he’s so afraid something may happen to you when you’re exhausted and alone.

Do you understand yet? He’s pressing his forehead to yours, still being careful of your torso, breathing you in.

You feel his heart, and he feels yours, and you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins, as the connection loops through you, a closed circuit, infinity entwined. You understand that when you’re in pain, so is he. That by doubting his sincerity, his love for you, your own self worth, you’re hurting him too.

I’m sorry, is all you can think. You didn’t know, before. You may never have believed him, if he hadn’t opened himself to you like this, through your resonance. 

He silently rejects your apology. Relief unfurls through you, as he realizes that you’re finally understanding. That now you and he can finally begin.

But now you’re curious about what led you to being here, resonating with him, in his bed.

If I was hurt so badly, why don’t I feel any pain?

There is the feeling of a sigh, of tension released. Like he’s finally breathing after being underwater the entire time you were unconscious, and then worried that he was done with you. The painkillers that I’ve had the doctor pumping into you via the IV since I got you back to base. They’re pretty strong.

You smile. Thank you.

His face grows serious, his red eyes troubled again. Don’t thank me yet. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, so that you could resonate with me. I need to heal you.

Heal me? You look down at yourself. The bandages wrapped tightly around your torso, the IV in your arm. Don’t I just need time to heal? You can dump me at Akso and Zayne can—

No. Sylus is scowling, full lips turned down like he smells something unpleasant. I can heal you better than your accomplished doctor. Under his thoughts snakes a winding thread of possessiveness, of pride that he can’t quite contain, even under these circumstances.

You’re bizarrely pleased with his jealousy, unfounded as it is. He’s the only person you’ve been able to see, from the moment you looked up into his disdainful face for the first time. Then why shouldn’t I thank you for it, if you can do that?

He brushes your cheek with the back of his knuckles. It’s going to hurt, my love.

You snort softly. I’m used to pain. You turn your head, feel brave enough to kiss his knuckles.

He licks his lips, briefly, uncharacteristically nervous. Not like this.

And when you’re done?

You’ll never forget the pain, but you’ll be fully healed. As if you were never injured at all.

You watch his face thoughtfully, thinking about all the times he has been injured since you’ve known him. And all the times the wounds have closed up right before your eyes. His stone-cold face, as blood turns to ash, as flesh is re-knit.

Is there any way you can heal me now, without feeling the pain yourself?

He shakes his head, as if he can’t quite believe you’ve just asked that. Still only worried about me, when you’re the one who almost died. He's incredulous.

I don’t like it when you’re in pain. You’d suffer a million injuries, to spare him one.

The feeling that fills you is his heart, mirroring yours. He takes the injuries every time, to spare you getting hurt.

When you hurt, I hurt. As I heal you, we’ll hurt together. When it’s over, we’ll be relieved, together. That’s what I’ve been offering, all along. Will you say yes?

You search his eyes, and you want to drink them like the sun-filtered wine they resemble.

Only if you promise me that you will stop taking hits meant for me. That if I’m not fast enough to get out of the way, we’ll heal together, but you won’t hurt twice because of me.

He laughs, low, breathless. He can’t believe you’re trying to bargain on his behalf in the state you’re in. I can’t promise that. Especially after the past few days. I can heal. You almost died. You don’t understand that terror.

But a part of you, deep inside you, does understand that terror. You don’t know how, but the thought of losing him makes you want to rip off your own skin, tear out your own lungs, set the world on fire. You scowl at him. He just leans down, licks your lower lip. I like it when you look at me so meanly. You deserve to be a little meaner, sweetheart.

Not towards you. 

Especially towards me. I can take it. If it’s from you, I can take anything.

But that won’t do, not at all, not for you, not for what you want to give him, especially now that you know how much he cares for you in return. Sylus.

Yes, beloved?

That’s not the kind of love I want to give you.

I don’t know any other kind, darling.

Then I’ll allow you to heal me, if you allow me to teach you that love isn’t something you should have to endure. It shouldn’t hurt more than it heals.

There you are. His smile is soft, dark, welcoming like night after a long day. My sweet, master negotiator. That’s a deal I can accept.

Then heal me. Quickly.

My demanding kitten, he thinks, his affection, admiration, gentle amusement warming your exhausted heart.

He gives you what you ask for, As I will always try to do, as he clutches your cheeks in his big palms, rests his forehead against yours. The pleasant numbness is slowly burned away by an inexorable, excruciating heat along your ribs. It is like having your flesh threaded, jerked, drawn together with a blunt needle, rough twine. You can feel your sundered cells re-merging, the scuffed bones filling in, veins, arteries tugged, braided, pulled tight. The pain is much worse than any injury you’ve ever suffered, including broken bones, a bullet through your muscles, your broken body thrown to the ground in the shockwave from the bomb that killed Caleb and your grandmother.

Through it all, Sylus grits his teeth, holds you, absorbs your pain. Your ribs, his ribs, your flesh, his flesh, fused, whole.

The physical pain fades, but not its memory.

You start to cry.

A feeling of alarm ricochets between him and you. What’s wrong?

I hate that you feel this, every time. I’ve dug bullets out of you, just for you to have to go through this. Every time. You have to be more careful, from now on. I can’t bear you hurting like this, now that I know what it’s like for you.

Now that your wounds are healed, your body whole, Sylus throws his arms around you and pulls you close, crushing you to his chest. I’ll be more careful, if you never doubt again that I feel the same for you.  When you come home from a mission exhausted and bleeding, I feel the same way as you do now, imagining the times I’ve been hurt. You have a reason to come home, even with Caleb and your grandmother gone. Don’t leave me alone. Don’t go and get hurt, when I’m not there to heal you again.

You laugh through your tears, so relieved that you’re no longer in pain. That you can move freely, the numbing effects of the pain medication seemingly gone along with the physical trauma on your body. Who’s the sweet master negotiator now?

You feel your own relief absorbed, rebounding, returned to you in an echo. Relief that he really could share his own healing abilities with you through his evol and your resonance. Relief that he won’t have to call your doctor again. That you are going to be fine, now. That you finally understand how much he cares for you, now. The relief morphs into something else. Something hungrier, more demanding.

He rolls you, settling his big body over yours. His agile, calloused hands yank at the bloodstained bandages wrapped around your torso. He leans down, licks the tears at the corner of each of your eyes, salt on your tongue, on his. He kisses your temple. Your forehead. Your nose. Your lips. Licks you, until you open your mouth, and he’s kissing  you so hard, just shy of rough. Tasting your tongue, the slick softness of your inner cheeks, his entire being radiating a question, May I? May I? And a demand, Let me, let me. I was so frightened, holding your chilled body in my arms, your hot blood soaking through my shirt.

You send your wordless Yes, yes, of course, yes through the resonance. He lifts a hand, snaps his big fingers, a gunshot in the quiet room. The IV in your arm dissolves into scarlet and black ash, drifts into nothing. He leans down, laps at the blood trickling from where the needle was just embedded with his tongue. You taste iron as he tastes iron, and you shudder. He has succeeded in yanking your bandages from your body, and you lie underneath him, chest exposed. He moves from your inner elbow to your ribs, where you were just gravely injured, and licks long swipes across the muscles of your side, across the bone underneath. A beast, nursing a mate’s wound the best way he knows how.

His hunger, his desperation to feel your body against his body, to feel good after so much physical pain, fills you. You reach for his evol, pull it into yourself, snap your fingers, and rejoice when his soft shirt and sleep pants, his underwear, dissolve into colorful ash. He hovers naked above you, a look of surprise on his beautiful face. Perks of the resonance, you smirk. He grins, and it’s lethal to your heart—his canines sharp, his dick hard. He snaps his own fingers again, and you’re suddenly naked as well. You laugh, delighted. You grab his cock and pump it, and he groans, twisting, repositioning himself a little clumsily in the tangled bedsheets so that his cock is now hovering over your mouth and he’s trailing open mouthed kisses along your upper thigh, up to where you legs meet, before sinking his mouth over your most sensitive parts.

You gasp, bucking up into his mouth, wanting more of his tongue, his lips, his saliva dripping onto, into you. He feels your pleasure in his own body, and accidentally bucks himself against your lips. Before he can feel sorry, or regret, you tighten your hold around his big dick and open your own mouth, tonguing his soft skin, inhaling the scent of him. You stuff your mouth with him, your jaw wide open. Through the resonance, the closed circuit fires, sparks. You can’t tell where you end, where he begins, the pushing, the pulling, the taste of him, of you, the saliva dripping out of both of your mouths as you feast on each other, as you choke a little on the size of him, as he swallows, again and again, everything he is sucking from you, the wet sounds of your shared pleasure loud in the room.

When you finally come, he follows, and you swallow as best as you can. Salt, warmth, and musk. He rolls to his side, his still-hard dick leaving your lips with a wet pop, and he uses his evol to lift you—you yelp as he spins you, drops you next to him. You roll, throw your arm around him, and kiss him. He kisses you back, tongue sliding back into your mouth, and you taste yourself, and he tastes himself, through the resonance, through your messy, wet mouths combined.

Sylus. His name is a sigh, a talisman, a comfort, a treat in your mind, on your tongue.

You feel the pleasure course through him, hearing his name in your mind. He answers in kind. Beloved. 

Sylus. You repeat, just to feel the spike in his enjoyment again.

He shudders a little. Never stop saying my name.

That’s an easy demand to indulge from your sweet lover, as far as you’re concerned. Okay, Sylus. You smile against his lips. He snakes an arm around you, pulls you tighter.

You enjoy each other quietly, as you each regain your breath, as you revel in the feeling of being whole, unharmed, finally understanding where the other is coming from, the depths of your mutual devotion.

I want to fuck you again, but it's already taken you longer than I expected to wake up. We’re going to be late.

You pull back a little, look at him questioningly.

I arranged a Christmas party at your place. Well, he thinks, gemstone eyes sparkling in mirth. Your boyfriend Skye arranged a Christmas party at your place. I was afraid I was going to have to cancel, and I can if you’re not up for it. But your friends will miss you.

You gape at him. My friends?

Tara, Nero, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, the twins—who are Skye’s younger cousins. Through the resonance, you receive an image of your apartment, half the small living room taken up with the biggest Christmas tree the twins could stuff in there, decorated with big gold glass ball ornaments, as well as a hilarious assortment of mismatched crow ornaments. Fairy lights strung over your windows. Pine-scented garlands hanging over the sides of your kitchen island. Big, pretty red and black wrapped presents under the tree, each with one of your friends’ names on them.

You stare into your boyfriend’s smiling, lovely eyes. But why?

Did you think I couldn’t tell how sad the idea of the first Christmas without your family was making you? He tsks, a low disgruntled sound in his throat. I’m insulted.

You hug his big body tighter against your own. You did all that for me?

This is nothing, compared to everything I am willing to do for you, darling.

You bury your head in his big, pillowy chest. Breathe in the scent of him, run your hands through the soft silver hair along his skin. He shudders. Keep doing that and I’ll definitely make us late, kitten.

You laugh, filled with such warmth. You can’t believe how wrong you were, about him, about how much you mean to him. You make the decision to live for more than just the day you can die. To live, instead of just survive. This is Sylus’s Christmas gift to you. You send the thought through the connection to him, and he palms the back of your head, gently presses your face deeper into his chest.

And what do you want for Christmas, Sylus?

You don’t know what you expect to hear as a response. Something expensive, or outrageous. Your soul, which you’re pretty sure he already has at this point.

I already have your soul. Now I just want your company. And... you receive the image of a set of pens with little cute crow figurines on the caps. You look at him in confusion. I want my own pens from my sweet little hunter. It’s only fair, since I’m the one who healed you.

You have no idea what he’s talking about. He already has your soul? Now he just wants pens because he healed you? He huffs a little, feeling your confusion. Don’t overthink it. But that’s what I want.

You decide to let it go. Like Sylus, you’re willing to give him so, so much more. But if goofy, cute pens are what he wants, you’re happy to find some for him, or have them custom made if necessary. A pulse of smug satisfaction fills you through the connection, as if Sylus just won a competition that only he knows is happening.

You drift in peaceful, satisfied silence with him. You think about how you felt when you woke up, versus how you feel now. Settled. Completely reassured. Hopeful, even. You want him to know that you're grateful, for not giving up. For insisting that you resonate with him. For showing you his true feelings when he saw how much pain you were in. Thank you.

He just hugs you, radiating contentment. There is no thanks between you and me. When you’re happy, I’m happy.

Fine, no thanks to you, you tease. You listen to his heartbeat. Think about the Christmas tree, and your friends, waiting for you, arranged by Sylus and the twins. Then Merry Christmas, Sylus.

This, he accepts. The first of many, he responds.

It was supposed to be a simple job. It was supposed to be a simple jog. There was a Before, and an After—Caleb, your gran. Small steps, each one more exhausting than the last, but you couldn't quit. You couldn't ever give up, even though there wasn't a finish line in sight, without the guideposts of your family guiding you home, without anyone waiting if you ever made it back to something resembling home ever again.

But the job almost killed you. The jog ended in Sylus opening himself to you completely, healing you in more ways than one. Now, there is a Before, and an After. Not replacing, but parallel to the Before and After of your family. Before Sylus, After Sylus. The small steps suddenly don't seem so exhausting, anymore. Maybe it's not surviving till the welcome end, but trying to live while you're alive. Maybe you have to create a new home, when one is lost to you. You nuzzle into Sylus's chest, ask a question.

The answer is so sure. So matter-of-fact. So Sylus. Of course I'll shorten my stride for you, beloved. Until you feel strong enough not only to sprint, but to fly again.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

A Hard Day

Rosa Diaz x autistic!fem!reader Warnings: autism struggles, overstimulation (the autism kind not the sex kind), explicit language, soft Rosa <3 (if I've missed anything please let me know!) Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Rosa leaves work in the middle of the day to help you after you get overstimulated. She starts to realize that she really, really cares about you.

“I gotta go,” Rosa said, standing abruptly mid-text.

“Wow, skipping out on the job, Diaz?” Jake joked, spinning around in his chair. “It’s only 3:00.”

Rosa didn’t answer, pulling on her coat and rummaging in her bag for her keys.

“What, you can’t wait until the end of the work day to make out with your new girlfriend?”Jake waggled his eyebrows.

She glared at him. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business,” Rosa growled, “but she’s having a hard day.”

Jake puckered his lips, an exaggerated expression of sadness. “Aw,” he cooed in a baby voice. “Y/N needs her little girlfriend to kiss it better?”

Rosa’s arm shot out to grab Jake’s collar, so quickly and forcefully that he yelped. “She’s autistic, jackass. Her bad days aren’t like ours.”

Jake looked uncomfortable as Rosa let him go, shoving him back into his seat so hard he rolled away a bit.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Tell her, uh… good luck with the autism?”

Rosa rolled her eyes and stared at him. “You’re an idiot. Tell anyone about this and I’ll shove my boot so far down your throat the heel comes out your ass.”

He grimaced. “You’re a real poet, Rosa.”

But she was already gone, already on her motorcycle, already racing to your apartment at speeds she might have pulled someone over for.

She was quiet when she got to your apartment, quiet as she let herself in, quiet as she took off her leather jacket and set her bag by the door. Noise was one of your biggest triggers, so Rosa was careful not to add any. She found you in the corner of your bedroom–lights off, curtains closed, oversized hoodie pulled over your head, swinging your body back and forth, back and forth.

You looked adorable. She felt a little bad for finding you so pretty like this. She knew it had been a hard day for you, that this was your brain and body’s way of regulating itself. But, god, did she love your tiny, swinging arms. The way you soaked in so much of the world that she worked so hard to keep out. It was one of her favorite things about you, that you felt everything, experienced everything, so deeply. Rosa had a hard time letting herself experience or feel anything fully. Except you.

She knocked lightly on the door to let you know she was there. You swung a little wider, twisting your neck so you could see that it was her. You waved your hand at her briefly, then continued swinging. Rosa grinned at you. She'd never admit it, but her stomach did little somersaults whenever you saw her and smiled. It was so particular to you, a smile combined with stims. You’d squeeze your eyes together and lift your shoulder to touch your ear, grinning so big your eyes would disappear.

“Hi, Rosa,” you said quietly as she approached you. 

“Hi, baby.” She took your hand and squeezed. If you had looked at her, if you had made eye contact, you would have seen something not many people saw in Rosa’s eyes–softness, care, deep-seated concern. You would have seen a face that was open, that read loud and clear, I would do anything for you. “You feeling any better?”

You shook your head.

“Want me to hold you?”

You nodded, and Rosa gently pulled on your arm, leading you to the bed. She got herself situated, then pulled you onto her lap. You buried your face beneath her neck, pressing into her, seeking out deep pressure, the steady sound of her heartbeat, the smell of her perfume on her neck–citrusy and spicy. She held you hard, her strong arms wrapped around you, her body tensed to give you the most pressure she could.

The first time you’d let her see you overstimulated, she’d tried to play with your hair and hold you gently, and you’d said, “That’s too light. Press hard.” So she’d pulled you into a loose hug. “Harder, Rosa.” So she’d squeezed you, resting her face next to yours. “More, Rosa,” you’d insisted. “I’m not gonna break.” She’d been afraid she was hurting you, but there was no denying the results. When she held you like that–so tightly she worried you’d burst–your breathing slowed, your muscles relaxed, you melted into her like all the stress of the world couldn’t touch you. And she genuinely hoped that when you were in her arms, it couldn’t.

You let out a relieved sigh as Rosa rested her chin on your hooded head, snaking her hand inside to gently scratch her fingers along your scalp and through your hair as she rocked you back and forth.

“I shouldn’t have gone,” you whispered into her chest.

“To the work thing?”

You nodded.

“I did so good until the end.” Your voice cracked, and Rosa pressed her lips to your head. “I hate being like this.”

“Hey, now,” Rosa said, her voice vibrating against you. “Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that.”

“But it’s true,” you insisted. “It makes everything harder. It makes it harder for you, too.”

Rosa sighed. She wanted to look into your eyes, but she knew that’d be hard for you right now, so she settled for pressing her cheek to yours instead.

“Y/N,” she said, her breath warm in your ear. “There is nothing hard about being with you.”

“I don’t believe you."

“I know that being autistic is hard for you sometimes,” Rosa continued. “But it’s really beautiful, too. I love your stims. I think they’re adorable. I think you’re funny without trying to be. You make me laugh. And smile. And ask anyone I know, I never smile. That’s just for you. You just… you see things and experience things in a way that’s just yours. And that’s badass.”

You giggled and sniffed. “You think autism’s badass?”

“I do,” she confirmed, grinning as you emerged from your hoodie, finally meeting her eyes. “I think it’s hot, too.”

You laughed and traced Rosa’s eyebrows with your finger, making your way down the bridge of her nose, then across the place where her face dimpled when she smiled, all the way to the bottom of her lips. She bent toward you and kissed your pointer finger, then took your hands and kissed your nose, smiling as you scrunched and stimmed.

“Grey’s Anatomy?” she asked. “I can make us mac ‘n cheese later, too.”

Your face lit up, and you leaped out of bed, your hoodie swallowing you. “Spongebob shapes?” She nodded. You grabbed Rosa’s hand and pulled her to her feet, kissing her quickly on the mouth.

“Wait, wait, not so fast,” she protested, as you bounced on the balls of your feet, trying to zoom off to the living room. She held the bottom of your face in both her hands and pulled your head toward her, kissing you deeply. She smiled into the kiss as you shook your hands next to your face.

“I love you,” you chirped, as you pulled away, thinking nothing of it and bounding into the living room. But Rosa’s breath caught in her throat. You all hadn’t said I love you yet. You hadn’t had the moment. But maybe there didn’t need to be a moment. Rosa’s heart surged as she watched you get the TV set up, covering yourself in a blanket so that only your head popped up.

“Come on, Rosa!” you called. “I want to snuggle!”

Rosa joined you on the couch, laying down so that her head was on your chest, her body pressing into yours, knowing that you’d find the pressure comforting. She’d never admit it–not to anyone but you–but she found it comforting, too, like this. She liked to be held. She would murder anyone who ever found out, but she loved your hands through her hair, loved being able to hear your heartbeat, loved the way your arms around her seemed to grow heavier when you fell asleep.

“I love you, too,” she mumbled into you, surprised by how easy it was to say.

“What?” you said, tilting your head toward her, your eyes still trained on the TV.

She smiled. “I said I love you, you nerd.”

“Oh. Yeah,” you confirmed, as if it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world to love Rosa. And, for you, it was. “Yeah, me too.”

[seat-safety-switch]

Like any honest, well-adjusted human being, I've often had reason in my life to daydream about owning my own 1,600-ton sheet metal press. I don't want to have to go to the junkyard for a fourth time this weekend just because I forgot the passenger door is also rusted out.

Why should the automakers have all the fun? Sure, they have millions upon millions of dollars, whereas I have about fifteen bucks in my wallet. They have enormous facilities capable of serving the mechanical and electrical demands of such an intense machine, and I have a motorcycle gas tank on my kitchen table because there's simply nowhere else to put it. Automakers can source kilometers-long rolls of precision-engineered high-strength steel, and I think I might be able to weld some stolen road signs together with enough advance notice. This, it turns out, is all details compared to the big problem with setting up my own autobody foundry in my backyard: the noise.

Yes, friends. Like in many well-meaning jurisdictions all across this once-great land, the bigwigs at City so-called Hall have decided to stick their noses where they don't belong. Regulating that residential neighbourhoods are not allowed to operate massive industrial machinery in the backyards is against what the founding motherfathers intended when they stole this country from the people who were already living there. Back then, people made wagon wheels in their backyard. They didn't have the luxury of going on RockAuto and ordering them from a distant trading partner, somewhere that they still built things.

What am I saying? We need to shake up government in this country. I envision a world in which the government pays you to punch out new tailgates for a 1993 F-150, immaculate bumperettes for a Valiant, and rust-free patch panels for Escorts. They will tell you it can't be done, which is even more proof that we need to go do it ourselves. If you manage to find someone willing to back this political project, send them by my house. I'll be there all weekend trying to figure out where the Princess Auto warranty on $10 hydraulic bearing presses and $3 ball-peen hammers becomes invalid.

[smallestapplin]

Omg, I’m so excited! I’m legit about to explode with excitement!

How do you feel on Sebastian, Sam, and Abigail from stardew (separate) x Omega! reader. Basically the reader is just bugging out from heat and their partner is there to cuddle and comfort them. Just a whole gallon of warm fluff

Remember to pace yourself, You’re awesome and you can do this!

YES YES YES! Finally, some good fucking food I'm feral for this. Pure fluff shit my beloved.

-

-

-

Sebastian

- he has a lot of good nesting items for you, all of which are drowned in his scent, which is perfect for you to build up the edges around the bed and cocoon yourself in.

- He knows heats are very taxing on omegas, which is why he keeps a mini fridge in your shared bedroom stock full of different types of drinks, some cold snacks, and keeps a few nutrition bars on top of it.

- But of course that's never enough. Your body is sensitive to the point of pain, yet all you want is him nearby. His heart aches when you look at him with such teary eyes.

- Gives you his hoodie and watches you snuggle deeply into it, chuckling at how cute you are. It at least keeps you settle while he drives to ZuZu city to get your favorite take out, his sweetheart needs to eat.

You miss your mate, he's been gone for so long you fear you might be dying. Whining, you nuzzle into his hoodie trying to find a comfortable position to ease your pain.

Maybe fifteen minutes later you hear the engine of a motorcycle coming to a stop, then the sound of the front door opening and closed, and footsteps coming up the stairs, to finally the bedroom door slowly creeping open.

"Babe, you awake?"

Sebastian spoke softly, not wanting to actually wake you, he knows how hard it can be to sleep during your heat. A smile spread across his face when you barely poke your head out from your nest, eyes squinted harshly from the light coming from the hallway.

"Oh good. I got your favorite." He closes the door and sets the drinks and food on his desk, rooting through the fast food bag to hand you your meal.

It's adorable how you slowly begin to sit up, clearly starving. Once you had your food, you begin to devour, humming happily.

"This is so good! I have the best mate."

Sebastian feels his cheeks grow pink, he will never get use to you calling him that, he knows you two have been mated for a little over a year now but his heart still flutters at it.

Abigail

- Abigail is a bit of a wild card when it comes to dealing with you and your heats, but for the most part she will stay by your side. She closes all the curtains, making the room nice and dark for you, with the only light source being the tv playing an old cartoon for background noise.

- She's all curled around you, letting you snuggle into her chest and just holds you tightly.

- You are your most sensitive right now, she understands how your emotions are all over the place and you need to feel safe now more than ever. Which is why she locks the bedroom door and windows after blocking out the light, ensuring that anyone would have to get passed those and then her to get to you.

- Abigail mostly lazes next to you, shushing you and whispering how muc she loves you into your ear.

- She only ever gets up to use the bathroom or to bring you snacks and drinks.

"Shhh, shh, it's alright pumpkin, I got you."

Abigail coos softly at you, nuzzling her face on the top of your head. You're shaking, your body feels too overwhelmed, like everything is just too much, the only thing calming you down is your mate.

"That's it, sweetheart, focus on me. That's my sweet thing. I love you." She places a gentle kiss to your forehead, careful to avoid putting too much pressure.

You whimper, burying your face into her chest as you try to regulate yourself. Your heat is just taking everything out of you, even after being sated you can't stop the draining feeling, or how your body feels so hot and so cold at once.

But Abigail is there for you, and she's not going anywhere anytime soon.

She will lay there with you, no matter how many times you toss the comforter off you then beg for it back, she will mark sure you get whatever you need to feel comfortable again, until you can fall asleep.

-

-

Sam

- P A N I C.

- He is freaking out and barely has any idea what to do! He wants to help you but all he knows are the basics, no one told him this was apart of heats! He feels patheic and useless watching you writher in pain, curling into yourself as the pain grows.

- Alpha Sam to the rescue!

- Sam did several searches and asked Harvey (who nearly fainted but answered honestly) and is barging into your shared bedroom with his arms full of things. He's rambling about everything he got you, all the new nesting items he got for you (and heavily scented) the weighted blanket, the weighted plushie that he excitedly holds up.

- He doesn't stop until you groan, you love his voice but it's too m uch all at once. It shuts him up quickly, and he's fast to work, softly asking if he's allowed in your nest (as if he wasn't a few hours ago.)

- He slides in, placing items around you, before laying you on top of him, and placing the weighted blanket on top of you for extra comfort while you curl up on his chest.

"I'm sorry, firefly, I know....I know but I got you."

You don't know if he's trying to comfort you or himself, but you love it all the same. His voice now nice and low, instead of loud and frantic as it was earlier. Sam wraps his arms around you, gently rubbing your shoulders, while the weighted blanket is settled across your lower back.

Your nest is filled with a mix of his and your scent, though yours is fighting to show through after Sam scented so many items for you, knowing his scent brings a source of comfort to you.

You don't mind, you enjoy the warm feeling of being surrounded adn protected by your lover.

"You're so cute like this." His voice almost a whine, just loving how cozy and comfy you look on him!

His mate is so precious he wants to cry!

"Sammy please...." you mutter, nuzzling further into his chest.

The blonde chuckles bashfully "Sorry, sorry I didn't mean to was ya from dozing."

Can you blame him? So cute.

[samueldays]

@eightyonekilograms asked:

What are the actual bits of legislation and policy which discourage people from having more children? I mean, people can and do argue furiously over this question, but

I don't know, but I think it would be funny to present some spurious correlations and non-correlations from Gapminder, to hint how high the bar for "evidence" is (or arguably should be) in these furious arguments. I have no specific conclusion here, only a sort of confused interest in the subject and a feeling that it should get more attention. I have my quibbles with Gapminder, but it provides a lot of easily visualized data.

Maybe the problem is low infant mortality. If you killed more infants, people would have more children to replace the dead ones. /s Note log scale:

I am confident in saying this is obviously not a real cause despite the high correlation; if you want to show a real cause then you should be able to present a correlation at least this strong to stand out from the noise!

(Color coding is blue=africa, red=asia, yellow=europe, green=americas)

Same data without the scaled-to-population data discs, and with one weird country highlighted:

Israel is clearly doing something right to have low infant mortality and lots of babies, and Israel is also such an absurd outlier on many other counts that trying to get policy from Israel is probably ineffective.

Maybe personal computers are to blame:

This is a linear scale but looks like a log chart anyway, and it's suggestive of needing less than 1 PC per 5 people to reproduce at replacement. Log off, go outside, touch ass. (Gapminder auto-adjusts years sometimes when it doesn't have later data, hence the 2006.)

81 suggested it's NIMBY housing policy and I didn't find a good measure of that, but here's something at least vaguely related to construction regulation, for what that's worth: Procedures to build a warehouse.

Mmmm not seeing a correlation there.

To some degree, a lot of the stats from Gapminder are proxies for prosperity, and there's something about prosperity that's negatively correlated with reproduction.

If you measure something like "energy use per person" or "life expectancy" or HDI, it's going to closely track GDP per capita. So let's look at some stats I think are less associated with GDP per capita.

Unemployment rate? This ain't it chief.

Motorcycle death rate? Nah.

(The far-right dot is Thailand. TIL!)

Here's another which is correlated with the overall GDP per capita. Rich states can afford more of it, and they do. It's similar to some programs suggested to increase birthrate:

Gapminder doesn't have specific data on parental leave or child subsidies, but the fact that welfare is so tightly correlated with lower birthrate suggests that you can't subsidise your way out of this.

(The outlier dot here is, again, Israel.)

In closing, consider more teen pregnancy:

[happigreens]

"The sound of a car horn, a Harley or pickup with a deliberately loud muffler, or even simply an average sedan doing a legal 40 miles per hour on a nearby road can all activate the "fight or flight" response of our nervous systems, pumping our bodies full of stress hormones that increase our blood pressure, accelerate our heart rates, and weaken our vascular and digestive systems over time. You may not physically even notice it...but it's happening. Worst of all, continuous noises like these can trigger these hormones even when we sleep, preventing our brains from entering the most restful stages of rest that we need to optimally learn, heal, and regulate our moods — even if the noises aren't loud enough to actually wake us up. The World Health Organization recommends noise levels of no more than 40 decibels outside of our bedrooms, roughly equivalent to the ambient sounds of a hushed library."

"[...] Car sounds [...] are subject to comparatively little research, and even less regulation. [...] That dearth of research might help explain why restrictions on U.S. roadway sound levels are so lax."

I wrote more but tumblr didnt save the draft, but other sources of noise pollution from vehicles/motorized or combustion engine tools like cars include:

Landscaping equipment like lawnmowers, leaf blowers, and weedwackers

Pressure washers (unique to where i am bc someone runs a mobile car detailing business in the parking lot lol)

Electric generators

Motorcycles

Freight trains (some ppl, including many low income ppl, live directly across from a freight train, which runs frequently. I used to live close enough to its tracks that it could still be heard clearly even though we werent it wasnt in sight and over a mile away).

Jets, helicopters, and other large aircraft (i live in a military town)

Race cars and cars with large tires (many men here own very loud and extremely annoying cars and trucks that were detailed to be intimidating and noise-amplifying lol).

[osiriabud]

#Xiantober Day 7 ❅ Biker!Xian

A rumble drew everyone's attention to the parking lot as they climbed the steps of the school. It echoed off the grandiose, neo-classical architecture of Cloud Recesses Prep. Lan Zhan locked his sky blue bmw and waited.

A few other kids gave him a look as they passed by. He ignored them in favor of the sleek black bike and it's leather clad rider. Wei Ying pulled smoothly into the spot next to Lan Zhan's car.

All the other spots this close to the school were taken. All other spots in this parking lot were taken. Kids ran from the overflow lot to get inside before the bell. Lan Zhan got here early and had stood in the spot next to his car until Wei Ying arrived.

Nobody made a big deal out of it, only giving him a side-eye and never complaining. Perks of being the dean's nephew. Wei Ying knocked out his kickstand and eased the bike to the side. He pulled off the mirror-shiny black helmet to reveal a bright grin.

"Good Morning, Lan Zhan!" He climbed off the bike and Lan Zhan tracked the movement of his long legs. Wei Ying pulled his hair out of its bun. It tumbled down his back as he bounded over.

The bike caused an uproar a month ago when Wei Ying showed up on it instead of tumbling out of the Jiang sibling's car like normal. It culminated in a heated debate between Lan Qiren and Wei Ying about whether the school regulations prohibited motorcycles.

The school board voted in Wei Ying's favor when he explained that the bike was his only vehicle because payments, insurance, and gas was cheaper. They knew him well because of the accolades his genius brought to the school.

They paid careful attention to keep his scholarship in place so he could keep making CRP look good. A little noise complaint would not turn them against him. Since then, Lan Zhan reserved a spot for Wei Ying to make sure he got to class on time.

And to see his smile first thing in the morning. Wei Ying beamed at him, then shoved his hands under Lan Zhan's jacket.

"Aiya, it's cold!" He pressed closer, "I need better gloves to ride when it's this cold."

Leaves swirled red and gold around them as they climbed up the steps. Lan Zhan let Wei Ying leech his warmth without complaint.

"How long will you continue to ride?" He asked.

"All year!" Wei Ying withdrew his hands to speak animatedly, "I'm no fair weather rider."

"I didn't get that bike only to ride it part of the year. It's my only vehicle you know!" He blew on his red knuckles. Lan Zhan watched his cheeks puff out.

The first bell rang. Wei Ying's eyes widened and he pushed Lan Zhan gently away. "Don't be late because of me!"

He hurried down the hall, calling over his shoulder, "I'll see you at lunch, Lan Zhan!"

Lan Zhan made is way to homeroom and pulled out his planner. In today's box, he penned a little note to himself.

The next morning Wei Ying stepped off his bike and hurried over with the same sunny smile.

"Wei Ying." Lan Zhan held out a box, "Good Morning"

"What's this?" Wei Ying popped off the lid and stared at the contents. It was a pair of heated, winter riding gloves.

Wei Ying's exclamation of delight was so loud that it rivaled the rumble of his bike.

[thegunmaybetheperfectweapon]

SOURCES OF SOCIAL PROBLEMS

45. Any of the foregoing symptoms can occur in any society, but in modern industrial society they are present on a massive scale. We aren't the first to mention that the world today seems to be going crazy. This sort of thing is not normal for human societies. There is good reason to believe that primitive man suffered from less stress and frustration and was better satisfied with his way of life than modern man is. It is true that not all was sweetness and light in primitive societies. Abuse of women was common among the Australian aborigines, transexuality was fairly common among some of the American Indian tribes. But it does appear that GENERALLY SPEAKING the kinds of problems that we have listed in the preceding paragraph were far less common among primitive peoples than they are in modern society.

46. We attribute the social and psychological problems of modern society to the fact that that society requires people to live under conditions radically different from those under which the human race evolved and to behave in ways that conflict with the patterns of behavior that the human race developed while living under the earlier conditions. It is clear from what we have already written that we consider lack of opportunity to properly experience the power process as the most important of the abnormal conditions to which modern society subjects people. But it is not the only one. Before dealing with disruption of the power process as a source of social problems we will discuss some of the other sources.

47. Among the abnormal conditions present in modern industrial society are excessive density of population, isolation of man from nature, excessive rapidity of social change and the breakdown of natural small-scale communities such as the extended family, the village or the tribe.

48. It is well known that crowding increases stress and aggression. The degree of crowding that exists today and the isolation of man from nature are consequences of technological progress. All pre-industrial societies were predominantly rural. The Industrial Revolution vastly increased the size of cities and the proportion of the population that lives in them, and modern agricultural technology has made it possible for the Earth to support a far denser population than it ever did before. (Also, technology exacerbates the effects of crowding because it puts increased disruptive powers in people's hands. For example, a variety of noise-making devices: power mowers, radios, motorcycles, etc. If the use of these devices is unrestricted, people who want peace and quiet are frustrated by the noise. If their use is restricted, people who use the devices are frustrated by the regulations. But if these machines had never been invented there would have been no conflict and no frustration generated by them.)

49. For primitive societies the natural world (which usually changes only slowly) provided a stable framework and therefore a sense of security. In the modern world it is human society that dominates nature rather than the other way around, and modern society changes very rapidly owing to technological change. Thus there is no stable framework.

50. The conservatives are fools: They whine about the decay of traditional values, yet they enthusiastically support technological progress and economic growth. Apparently it never occurs to them that you can't make rapid, drastic changes in the technology and the economy of a society without causing rapid changes in all other aspects of the society as well, and that such rapid changes inevitably break down traditional values.

51. The breakdown of traditional values to some extent implies the breakdown of the bonds that hold together traditional small-scale social groups. The disintegration of small-scale social groups is also promoted by the fact that modern conditions often require or tempt individuals to move to new locations, separating themselves from their communities. Beyond that, a technological society HAS TO weaken family ties and local communities if it is to function efficiently. In modern society an individual's loyalty must be first to the system and only secondarily to a small-scale community, because if the internal loyalties of small-scale communities were stronger than loyalty to the system, such communities would pursue their own advantage at the expense of the system.

52. Suppose that a public official or a corporation executive appoints his cousin, his friend or his co-religionist to a position rather than appointing the person best qualified for the job. He has permitted personal loyalty to supersede his loyalty to the system, and that is "nepotism" or "discrimination," both of which are terrible sins in modern society. Would-be industrial societies that have done a poor job of subordinating personal or local loyalties to loyalty to the system are usually very inefficient. (Look at Latin America.) Thus an advanced industrial society can tolerate only those small-scale communities that are emasculated, tamed and made into tools of the system. [7]

53. Crowding, rapid change and the breakdown of communities have been widely recognized as sources of social problems. But we do not believe they are enough to account for the extent of the problems that are seen today.

54. A few pre-industrial cities were very large and crowded, yet their inhabitants do not seem to have suffered from psychological problems to the same extent as modern man. In America today there still are uncrowded rural areas, and we find there the same problems as in urban areas, though the problems tend to be less acute in the rural areas. Thus crowding does not seem to be the decisive factor.

55. On the growing edge of the American frontier during the 19th century, the mobility of the population probably broke down extended families and small-scale social groups to at least the same extent as these are broken down today. In fact, many nuclear families lived by choice in such isolation, having no neighbors within several miles, that they belonged to no community at all, yet they do not seem to have developed problems as a result.

56. Furthermore, change in American frontier society was very rapid and deep. A man might be born and raised in a log cabin, outside the reach of law and order and fed largely on wild meat; and by the time he arrived at old age he might be working at a regular job and living in an ordered community with effective law enforcement. This was a deeper change than that which typically occurs in the life of a modern individual, yet it does not seem to have led to psychological problems. In fact, 19th century American society had an optimistic and self-confident tone, quite unlike that of today's society. [8]

57. The difference, we argue, is that modern man has the sense (largely justified) that change is IMPOSED on him, whereas the 19th century frontiersman had the sense (also largely justified) that he created change himself, by his own choice. Thus a pioneer settled on a piece of land of his own choosing and made it into a farm through his own effort. In those days an entire county might have only a couple of hundred inhabitants and was a far more isolated and autonomous entity than a modern county is. Hence the pioneer farmer participated as a member of a relatively small group in the creation of a new, ordered community. One may well question whether the creation of this community was an improvement, but at any rate it satisfied the pioneer's need for the power process.

58. It would be possible to give other examples of societies in which there has been rapid change and/or lack of close community ties without the kind of massive behavioral aberration that is seen in today's industrial society. We contend that the most important cause of social and psychological problems in modern society is the fact that people have insufficient opportunity to go through the power process in a normal way. We don't mean to say that modern society is the only one in which the power process has been disrupted. Probably most if not all civilized societies have interfered with the power process to a greater or lesser extent. But in modern industrial society the problem has become particularly acute. Leftism, at least in its recent (mid- to late-20th century) form, is in part a symptom of deprivation with respect to the power process.

[torqueyou]

Are Electric Dirt Bikes Street Legal

Electric dirt bikes are becoming increasingly popular for their eco-friendly nature, low maintenance, and high performance. These bikes are perfect for off-road enthusiasts, but many riders are curious about their legal status on public roads. Can you ride your electric dirt bike on the street? The answer depends on various factors such as local laws, the bike's specifications, and whether it has been modified to meet street requirements.

Let’s break down what makes an electric dirt bike street legal and explore some examples of bikes that can be used on the road.

What Makes an Electric Dirt Bike Street Legal?

To legally ride an electric dirt bike on public roads, it must meet certain regulatory requirements that are typically in line with road-going motorcycles and scooters. These regulations can vary by state, country, or region, but here are the essential elements needed for a dirt bike to be street legal:

Lighting System: The bike must be equipped with headlights, taillights, and brake lights, making it visible to other drivers, especially at night.

Turn Signals: Turn signals are necessary to signal lane changes or turns to other road users.

Mirrors: Most jurisdictions require at least one rearview mirror, though two are often mandatory for full street legality.

License Plate Holder: A functional space to display a license plate is essential for road registration.

Tires: The tires must be designed for street use, meaning they need to comply with road safety standards.

Speed Limit and Power Restrictions: There are often speed and motor power restrictions for electric bikes that are street legal. Typically, the bike's top speed may be limited to around 30-50 mph.

Horn: A horn is necessary to alert other road users in case of emergency or for safety purposes.

Registration and Insurance: Just like traditional motorcycles, electric dirt bikes must be registered with local authorities and insured for use on public roads.

Popular Electric Dirt Bikes That Are Street Legal

Here are some of the most well-known electric dirt bikes that can either come street-legal from the factory or can be easily modified for road use:

Zero FX

Price: ~$9,000

Top Speed: 85 mph

Range: Up to 91 miles

The Zero FX is designed to be street-legal straight out of the box, offering a blend of street and off-road capabilities with exceptional performance.

KTM Freeride E-XC

Price: ~$11,000

Top Speed: 50 mph

Range: ~60 miles

A favorite among dirt bike enthusiasts, the KTM Freeride E-XC can be outfitted with the required components to make it street legal, giving you the flexibility to enjoy off-road and on-road adventures.

Sur-Ron Light Bee X

Price: ~$4,500

Top Speed: 50 mph

Range: 60 miles

The Sur-Ron Light Bee X is known for its off-road prowess but can be converted to street use with a lighting kit and necessary adjustments.

Segway Dirt eBike X260

Price: ~$5,000

Top Speed: 50 mph

Range: ~50 miles

The Segway Dirt eBike X260 is another electric dirt bike that can be modified for street use by adding required components like mirrors, turn signals, and a horn.

Benefits of Street-Legal Electric Dirt Bikes

Versatility: Street-legal electric dirt bikes can be used on both trails and city streets, making them perfect for commuters who also enjoy off-road riding.

Environmental Friendliness: These bikes run on electricity, making them a greener choice than gas-powered motorcycles, as they produce no emissions during operation.

Reduced Noise: Unlike gas-powered bikes, electric dirt bikes are much quieter, which is beneficial in residential or noise-sensitive areas.

Lower Operating Costs: Without the need for gasoline, electric dirt bikes cost less to operate. Maintenance is also cheaper as electric bikes have fewer moving parts than traditional motorcycles.

Challenges of Street-Legal Electric Dirt Bikes

Range Limitations: The battery range can be a significant limitation. Although electric dirt bikes offer enough range for short commutes, long-distance rides may require frequent recharging, which could be inconvenient.

Cost: Electric dirt bikes typically have a higher upfront cost than gas-powered models due to the advanced technology and batteries.

Local Regulations: While many places have adapted to accommodate electric vehicles, others still have strict regulations that may prevent an electric dirt bike from being street legal. It’s important to check your local laws before attempting to register or ride your bike.

How to Make an Electric Dirt Bike Street Legal

If you own an electric dirt bike that isn’t street legal, you can often modify it to comply with the necessary regulations. Here’s what you need to do:

Install the Necessary Components: Add headlights, turn signals, a rearview mirror, a horn, and any other parts required for street legality.

Get the Bike Inspected: Some areas require an inspection to ensure that your modifications meet the legal standards for road use.

Register the Bike: After the bike passes inspection, you can register it with the appropriate authority, like the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV), and acquire a license plate.

Get Insurance: Make sure you have the proper insurance coverage before riding your bike on public roads.

Conclusion

Electric dirt bikes can be street legal, but whether they come that way from the factory or need modifications depends on the model and local regulations. Bikes like the Zero FX and KTM Freeride E-XC are excellent examples of electric dirt bikes that are either street legal or can be made street legal with the right modifications.

If you’re looking for a dual-purpose bike that can take you from city streets to rugged trails, a street-legal electric dirt bike offers the best of both worlds. However, always check with your local authorities to ensure that your bike meets the necessary requirements for road use.

[autocarindianews]

Why the Ninja H2R Is Not Road Legal

The Ninja H2R is a marvel of engineering, known for its unmatched speed and groundbreaking design. However, it is not road-legal, a distinction that adds to its mystique and exclusivity. Let’s delve into why this beast, including in regions like India, is restricted to track use.

At its core, the Kawasaki Ninja H2R is built for the racetrack, not for public roads. Its 998cc supercharged engine generates an astonishing 310 horsepower, capable of reaching speeds over 400 km/h. Such performance is far beyond the safety parameters of street conditions.

 The absence of features like headlights, rear-view mirrors, turn signals, and a license plate holder further makes it unsuitable for road use. Additionally, the exhaust system of the Ninja H2R is too loud to meet noise regulations in most countries.

The Ninja H2R price is another indicator of its exclusivity. Priced around ₹79.90 lakh in India (or over $55,000 globally), this machine is not designed for everyday use but rather for riders who crave adrenaline on closed tracks. 

Its high-performance components, such as carbon fiber wings and aerodynamic design, are optimized for speed and stability at extreme velocities—not for navigating city streets or highways.

Regulations concerning emissions also play a significant role. The Ninja H2R lacks the catalytic converters required to meet road-legal emission standards. This makes the bike environmentally non-compliant for public roads, especially in countries like India, where emission norms are stringent.

For motorcycle enthusiasts in India, owning the Ninja H2R is a symbol of prestige. However, the bike’s limited usability makes potential buyers weigh its practicality against its cost. For those passionate about motorsports, the investment in a Kawasaki Ninja H2R is justified by the unparalleled experience it offers on tracks.

The Ninja H2R is not road-legal due to its track-specific design, extraordinary power, and non-compliance with safety and environmental regulations. While it comes with a hefty Ninja H2R price, its purpose is clear: to deliver an unfiltered performance experience for professional racers and enthusiasts who seek the pinnacle of motorcycling innovation.

[arfathbaig112]

Internal Combustion Engines: A Comprehensive Guide

Internal combustion engines (ICEs) have been the driving force behind technological advancements for over a century. The Indian Internal Combustion Engines Market is projected to reach USD 8.3 billion by 2026, growing at a CAGR of 7.6% during the forecast period (2020–2026). This growth is primarily driven by the increasing demand for vehicles, construction equipment, and power generation solutions in the country that uses ICEs.

Basic Components of an Internal Combustion Engine 

An ICE consists of several interconnected components that work together to produce power:

Combustion Chamber: The space where the fuel-air mixture is ignited and combustion occurs.

Piston: A movable component that reciprocates within the cylinder, converting the combustion energy into mechanical energy.

Connecting Rod: A component that connects the piston to the crankshaft, transmitting the mechanical energy.

Crankshaft: A rotating shaft that converts the reciprocating motion of the piston into rotary motion.

Valves: Devices that control the flow of fuel-air mixture into and out of the combustion chamber.

Fuel System: Delivers fuel to the engine for combustion.

Ignition System: Ignites the fuel-air mixture in the combustion chamber.

Cooling System: Removes excess heat from the engine to prevent overheating.

Exhaust System: Directs the exhaust gases from the engine to the atmosphere.

How an Internal Combustion Engine Works 

ICEs typically operate on either a four-stroke or a two-stroke cycle.

Four-Stroke Cycle:

Intake Stroke: The intake valve opens, allowing a mixture of fuel and air to enter the cylinder.

Compression Stroke: The intake valve closes, and the piston compresses the fuel-air mixture.

Power Stroke: The spark plug ignites the compressed mixture, causing a power stroke that pushes the piston downward.

Exhaust Stroke: The exhaust valve opens, and the piston pushes the exhaust gases out of the cylinder.

Two-Stroke Cycle:

Intake and Compression Stroke: The piston moves downward, creating a vacuum that draws in a fresh charge of fuel and air.

Power and Exhaust Stroke: As the piston moves upward, the compressed mixture is ignited, generating power and forcing the exhaust gases out through the exhaust port.

Types of Internal Combustion Engines 

ICEs can be classified based on several factors:

Fuel Type:

Gasoline engines

Diesel engines

Natural gas engines

Number of Cylinders:

Single-cylinder engines

Multi-cylinder engines (V-engines, inline engines, etc.)

Cooling System:

Air-cooled engines

Liquid-cooled engines

Ignition System:

Spark-ignition engines (gasoline engines)

Compression-ignition engines (diesel engines)

Applications of Internal Combustion Engines

ICEs are used in a wide range of applications, including:

Automobiles Passenger & Commercial Vehicles: Cars, trucks, and SUVs

Motorcycles Two & Three Wheelers: Bikes, scooters, passenger & goods carriers

Construction Equipment: Excavators, bulldozers, and cranes

Marine Engines: Boats and ships

Power Generators: Providing electricity for various purposes

Advantages and Disadvantages of Internal Combustion Engines 

ICEs offer several advantages:

Efficiency: They can convert a significant portion of the fuel’s energy into mechanical work.

Power Output: ICEs can produce substantial power, making them suitable for heavy-duty applications.

Versatility: They can be adapted to fit various applications and sizes.

However, ICEs also have some disadvantages:

Pollution: The combustion process produces harmful emissions that contribute to air pollution.

Noise: ICEs can be noisy, especially when operating at high speeds.

Fuel Consumption: The consumption of fossil fuels can contribute to climate change.

The Future of Internal Combustion Engines 

With increasing environmental concerns and stringent fuel efficiency regulations, the future of Internal Combustion Engines (ICEs) is evolving. While there is a growing emphasis on alternative power sources like electric vehicles, ICEs are still a dominant force in many industries.

At Greaves Engineering, we are committed to driving innovation in ICE technology to ensure their continued relevance. Our focus on research and development has led to significant advancements in:

Fuel Efficiency: We have developed engines that deliver exceptional fuel economy, reducing carbon emissions and operating costs.

Emission Reduction: Our engineers have implemented cutting-edge technologies to minimise harmful emissions, ensuring compliance with stringent environmental regulations.

Performance Optimization: We continuously strive to enhance the power output and performance of our ICEs, making them suitable for a wide range of applications.

Greaves Engineering’s Role in Shaping the Future of ICEs 

Greaves Engineering is actively contributing to the future of ICEs by:

Developing Sustainable Solutions: Our focus on fuel-agnostic engines and alternative fuel options demonstrates our commitment to a sustainable future.

Investing in Research and Development: We invest heavily in research and development to explore new technologies and improve the efficiency and performance of our ICEs.

Collaborating with Industry Partners: We collaborate with industry leaders to develop innovative solutions and drive the adoption of advanced ICE technology.

While the transition to electric vehicles is gaining momentum, ICEs will likely remain a crucial part of the transportation landscape for many years to come. Greaves Engineering is at the forefront of this evolution, ensuring that our ICEs continue to meet the demands of a changing world.

[sandhri123]

All About Motorcycle and Scooter Horns for New Buyers

A horn is an indispensable safety feature for any vehicle, including motorcycles and scooters. It alerts others on the road of your presence, helping to prevent accidents and enhance traffic flow. Here’s a guide to help you choose the best horn for your motorcycle or scooter, covering types of horns, maintenance tips, and a brief history of this essential component.

The Importance of a Good Horn

Horns do more than just make noise – they are a crucial safety tool that informs other drivers and pedestrians of your presence. In busy urban environments, a loud, clear horn is vital for navigating traffic safely. For two-wheelers like scooters and motorcycles, the horn is often the first line of defense, helping avoid potential collisions.

Motorcycle and Scooter Horn Types

Different types of horns are available for motorcycles and scooters:

Electric Horns: The most common type in motorcycles and scooters, they use an electric circuit to vibrate a diaphragm, producing sound. Electric horns are compact, reliable, and loud enough to be heard in traffic.

Air Horns: Less common in motorcycles and scooters due to their size, air horns use compressed air to create a louder, deeper sound. While more suited for larger vehicles, some enthusiasts opt for them in custom motorcycle setups.

Disc Horns: A subtype of electric horns, disc horns have a flat, circular design and produce a sharp, piercing sound. They are durable, making them a great choice for motorcycles and scooters as they balance size and volume.

Custom and Musical Horns: For riders looking to add a personal touch, custom horns offer various sounds, including musical notes. While they add flair, it's important to ensure they comply with local traffic regulations.

Choosing the Right Horn for Your Motorcycle or Scooter

When selecting a horn for your vehicle, consider these factors:

Compatibility: Make sure the horn is compatible with your motorcycle or scooter’s electrical system, including voltage and mounting requirements.

Volume: Choose horns with a decibel rating between 80-110 dB to ensure they are loud enough without exceeding legal noise limits.

Durability: Opt for horns made of rust-resistant metals or weatherproof plastics to withstand different weather conditions.

Size: For scooters and smaller motorcycles, select a compact horn that fits into the limited available space.

Installing and Maintaining Your Horn

Proper installation and maintenance are key to a horn’s performance and longevity:

Installation: Most electric horns can be installed with basic tools and some wiring knowledge. Follow the manufacturer’s instructions and ensure the horn is securely mounted. If you’re unsure about the wiring, it’s best to consult a professional mechanic.

Maintenance: Regularly inspect the horn’s connections for corrosion or loose wiring. Make sure it is free of debris, and check that the sound output hasn't changed over time. If the sound becomes muffled or weak, consider replacing the horn.

A Brief History of Vehicle Horns

Vehicle horns date back to the early 20th century, when carriages and early automobiles used simple mechanical devices, such as bells or squeeze bulbs, to signal their presence. With the evolution of vehicles, electric horns were invented to provide a more effective signaling device, becoming a standard feature in cars, motorcycles, and scooters.

By the 1920s and 1930s, electric horns were widespread, offering a consistent, loud sound. Over time, advancements in electrical systems and materials have made horns more durable, weather-resistant, and adaptable for a range of vehicles, including modern scooters and motorcycles.

Where to Buy Quality Horns

Finding the right horn for your motorcycle or scooter is essential for safety and compliance. At Sandhri Associates, we offer a wide range of high-quality horns suitable for two-wheelers, including electric and disc horns designed to meet safety standards. Our selection ensures you get a horn that is both loud and reliable, keeping you safe on the road.

If you need help selecting the right horn or have questions about compatibility, feel free to contact us. We’re here to guide you and ensure you choose the best option for your specific needs.

[jxbscooter]

The Future of Two-Wheeled Transportation: The Rise of Electric Motorcycles

As the world becomes more eco-conscious and shifts towards sustainable energy, the transportation industry has been one of the primary areas undergoing a revolution. Among the most exciting developments is the emergence of electric motorcycles. These sleek, powerful machines offer the freedom and thrill of traditional motorcycles while reducing the environmental footprint and introducing cutting-edge technology.

What Are Electric Motorcycles?

Electric motorcycles, also known as e-motorcycles, are two-wheeled vehicles powered entirely by electric batteries instead of gasoline engines. While they share many design features with conventional motorcycles, the key difference lies in their power source—a battery pack that drives an electric motor. This shift from internal combustion engines to electric power is not just about environmental sustainability; it’s also about offering a new and refined riding experience.

Why Choose an Electric Motorcycle?

Environmental Impact: One of the most significant advantages of electric motorcycles is their zero-emission status. Unlike traditional gas-powered bikes, electric motorcycles produce no tailpipe emissions, reducing air pollution and helping fight climate change. As countries and cities move towards stricter environmental regulations, electric motorcycles represent a forward-thinking solution for sustainable urban mobility.

Cost-Effective Operation: Electric motorcycles offer substantial savings in terms of fuel and maintenance. Charging an electric motorcycle is considerably cheaper than refueling with gasoline, and with fewer moving parts (no oil changes, fuel filters, or exhaust systems), maintenance costs are lower as well. Over time, this makes owning an electric motorcycle a cost-efficient alternative.

Instant Torque and Performance: One of the most exciting aspects of electric motorcycles is the performance. Electric motors deliver instant torque, meaning that the moment you twist the throttle, you get immediate acceleration. This results in a smooth and thrilling ride, especially at lower speeds, where electric bikes outshine their gas-powered counterparts. Whether commuting in the city or hitting the open road, e-motorcycles provide an exhilarating experience with their seamless acceleration.

Quieter Ride: Electric motorcycles run almost silently, offering a more peaceful riding experience. This quiet operation reduces noise pollution in cities and neighborhoods, while still maintaining the excitement of riding a motorcycle. For riders who enjoy a more serene experience on the road, this is a major plus.

Technological Advancements: Electric motorcycles come equipped with modern technology that enhances the overall riding experience. Many e-bikes feature advanced dashboards with digital displays, smartphone connectivity, GPS navigation, and customizable riding modes. These features cater to tech-savvy riders and add convenience and safety to the ride.

Challenges and Considerations

While electric motorcycles are an exciting innovation, they also come with a few challenges that potential riders should consider:

Range Anxiety: One of the most common concerns for electric vehicle owners is range anxiety—the fear of running out of battery before reaching a charging station. Electric motorcycles typically offer a range between 50 and 150 miles on a full charge, depending on the model and riding conditions. While this is sufficient for daily commuting, longer trips require careful planning, especially in areas with limited charging infrastructure.

Charging Time: Unlike refueling a gas tank, charging an electric motorcycle takes time. Charging times vary based on the battery size and charger type, ranging from a few hours to overnight for a full charge. Fast chargers are becoming more common, but they still take longer than a quick stop at a gas station.

Initial Cost: Electric motorcycles often come with a higher upfront cost compared to their gas-powered counterparts, primarily due to the expensive battery technology. However, the long-term savings on fuel and maintenance can offset this initial investment over time.

Limited Availability of Models: While the market for electric motorcycles is growing, there is still a more limited selection of models compared to traditional motorcycles. However, this is changing as more manufacturers invest in electric vehicle technology and introduce new designs.

Who Is Riding Electric Motorcycles?

Electric motorcycles appeal to a wide range of riders, from daily commuters to environmentalists to tech enthusiasts.

Urban Commuters: For those living in cities, electric motorcycles offer a perfect solution for navigating traffic, reducing carbon footprints, and avoiding the hassle of parking larger vehicles. They’re also more compact and nimble, making them ideal for weaving through congested streets.

Eco-Conscious Riders: As more people become environmentally aware, electric motorcycles provide a guilt-free way to enjoy the open road without contributing to pollution. Riders who prioritize sustainability can still experience the thrill of motorcycling while aligning with their green values.

Tech-Savvy Adventurers: Electric motorcycles often come equipped with the latest tech, appealing to riders who enjoy cutting-edge features. With advancements in battery technology, wireless connectivity, and app integration, electric motorcycles cater to those who want the best of both worlds—thrills and tech.

The Future of Electric Motorcycles

The electric motorcycle market is expanding rapidly as more manufacturers jump on board with innovative designs. Major companies like Harley-Davidson, Zero Motorcycles, and Energica have already launched impressive electric models, and as battery technology improves, we can expect even greater advancements in range, charging times, and overall performance.

Moreover, governments around the world are incentivizing the adoption of electric vehicles through tax credits, rebates, and the development of charging infrastructure. This support is helping drive the growth of the electric motorcycle industry and making it easier for riders to make the switch.

In the near future, we may also see advancements such as solid-state batteries, which promise faster charging and longer ranges, further addressing the concerns of range anxiety and charging times. As technology evolves, electric motorcycles are poised to become not just a niche option, but a mainstream choice for riders everywhere.

Conclusion

Electric motorcycles represent the future of two-wheeled transportation, combining the thrill of motorcycling with the benefits of clean energy and advanced technology. They offer a quiet, cost-effective, and environmentally friendly alternative to traditional gas-powered bikes, making them an attractive option for both seasoned riders and newcomers alike.

As more people become aware of their advantages, and as charging infrastructure continues to grow, electric motorcycles are likely to dominate the roads in the coming years. Whether you're a commuter looking for a more efficient way to travel or an adventurer seeking a new kind of ride, electric motorcycles provide a powerful and exciting glimpse into the future of motorcycling.

Key Takeaways:

Electric motorcycles offer a clean, cost-efficient, and exciting alternative to gas-powered bikes.

They provide instant torque, a quiet ride, and advanced tech features, but come with considerations like charging time and range.

The future of motorcycling is electric, with innovations driving the growth of this sustainable transportation option.

[blueweave]

electric scooter and motorcycle market size to zoom at an impressive CAGR of 35% during the forecast period between 2022 and 2028. Global electric scooter and motorcycle market will advance due to growing consumer awareness of air pollution caused by emissions from fossil-fueled vehicles and strong demand for low-noise transportation options. Increased government spending to encourage the use of EVs is expected to increase demand for electric motorcycles and scooters. The government's subsidies, grants, and tax breaks on the purchase of electric two-wheelers will provide new market opportunities for manufacturers to increase their output. The popularity of electric motorcycles and scooters is largely attributed to their low operating and maintenance costs. Consumers are being compelled to switch to battery-powered electric motorcycles and scooters because of rising fuel prices. As electric motorcycles and scooters have fewer moving parts than two-wheelers powered by gasoline or diesel, they require less maintenance.

Global Electric Scooter and Motorcycle Market – Overview

Two-wheeled electric motorcycles and scooters are propelled by rechargeable batteries. They are used for last-mile deliveries as well as daily commuting. Additionally, electric motorcycles and scooters for cruising and racing are produced. Instead of a gasoline or diesel engine, electric motors are used to power two-wheeler motorcycles. The motor is powered by a rechargeable battery. The most recent electric motorcycles and scooters in 2022 offer plug-in charging options, in contrast to earlier vehicles that required charging after removing the battery. The transportation sector is structurally changing because of vehicle electrification. Electric moped motorcycles use a battery (typically a lithium-ion battery) and a DC motor to ensure adequate power transmission.

The market for electric motorcycles is expanding as electric vehicle adoption increases and disposable income rises. Governments all over the world are providing subsidies to increase the demand for electric motorcycles and scooters. A rise in the use of electric vehicles is also being attributed to the implementation of strict regulations meant to reduce pollution and vehicle emissions. When gasoline or diesel are burned in an internal combustion (IC) engine, carbon dioxide is produced as a byproduct, which causes air pollution. To reduce environmental pollution, governments are enacting several regulations and encouraging manufacturers and consumers to adopt electric vehicles. Using cutting-edge manufacturing and processing technologies, the United States, China, France, and Germany seek to lower vehicle emission levels.

Sample Report @ https://www.blueweaveconsulting.com/report/electric-scooter-and-motorcycle-market/report-sample

[omshinde5145]

Electric Vehicle Market to Develop Rapidly by 2030 | Intent Market Research

The Electric Vehicle (EV) Marketis experiencing unprecedented growth, driven by technological advancements, increasing environmental awareness, and supportive government policies. According to the latest report from Market Insights Inc., the global electric vehicle market is expected to reach USD 1,000.8 billion by 2030, expanding at a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 11.7% from 2023 to 2030.

The key factors contributing to the growth of the electric vehicle market during the forecast period include new technological advancements such as low CO2 emissions and maintenance, smooth driving, and reduced engine noise. Demand for electric vehicles is rapidly increasing as they are fuel efficient, high-performance, and low-emission vehicles. Strict government rules and regulations regarding vehicle emissions and reduced cost of electric vehicles are significantly boosting the market growth.

Key Drivers of Growth:

Technological Advancements: Significant improvements in battery technology have led to longer ranges, faster charging times, and lower costs, making EVs more accessible to consumers. Innovations in autonomous driving and smart connectivity are further enhancing the appeal of electric vehicles.

Environmental Concerns: With growing awareness of climate change and the harmful effects of fossil fuels, consumers and businesses are increasingly opting for electric vehicles as a sustainable alternative. The push for cleaner air and reduced carbon footprints is a major impetus for the shift towards EVs.

Government Policies and Incentives: Governments worldwide are implementing stringent emissions regulations and offering incentives such as tax rebates, subsidies, and grants to promote the adoption of electric vehicles. These policies are crucial in accelerating the transition from internal combustion engine vehicles to electric ones.

Read More about Sample Report: https://shorturl.at/SA8bb

Market Segments:

Passenger Vehicles: The largest segment of the EV market, driven by increasing consumer demand for eco-friendly personal transportation options.

Commercial Vehicles: Rapid growth is expected in electric buses, trucks, and delivery vans as businesses seek to reduce operational costs and comply with environmental regulations.

Two-Wheelers: Electric scooters and motorcycles are gaining popularity, particularly in urban areas, due to their affordability and convenience.

Regional Insights:

North America: The U.S. leads the region with robust infrastructure development and strong policy support, fostering significant growth in EV sales.

Europe: The European market is buoyed by stringent emission norms and substantial government incentives, with countries like Norway and Germany at the forefront of adoption.

Asia-Pacific: China dominates the global EV market, driven by aggressive government initiatives and a thriving manufacturing sector. India and Japan are also emerging as key players with increasing investments in EV infrastructure.

Industry Challenges:

Despite the positive outlook, the EV market faces challenges such as high initial costs, limited charging infrastructure in certain regions, and supply chain disruptions. However, ongoing investments in research and development, coupled with strategic collaborations between automakers, technology companies, and governments, are expected to mitigate these challenges and drive sustained growth.

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