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thisismeracing · 1 year

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King of my heart | MS47 | part. 09

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Pairing: hamilton!reader (she/her) x mick schumacher

Warnings: curse words, mentions of food and alcohol, fluff, not proofread etc etc. Minors DNI!

word count: 3.3k

part. 08 | series masterlist | part 10 | taglist

Summary: Mick Schumacher rode a lousy wave for quite some time, so when the sky gets cleaner and the sun brighter he just knows something terrible may be in store for him. Whereas y/n was just so magnetic, and the possibilities of life with her seemed better than anything his mind could ever create, that’s why, for the first time in forever, he throws cautious carelessly through the window, hoping to get to the finish line before it catches up on him.

A/n: Just like Mick is doing on this gif y'all may need to put some seatbelts on for this chapter...just saying.

After some days away to tend to the Paris Fashion Week, one of these days with her brother, who had to leave early for media duties with Mercedes, Y/n was back to the travel schedule, now going to China.

“Look who decided to show up,” Charles joked when Y/n stepped into the room, walking closer to their table where Lewis, Mick, Carlos, and some other pilots were just chatting after dinner.

“You’re just jealous she has style and was at a fashion week,” Pierre pokes, and Y/n can’t help but laugh.

“You’re talking as if our work wasn’t as exciting,” Charles grumbles.

“You mean going vroom vroom in circles? The greatest adventure in the world!” The youngest Hamilton pokes fun at the monégasque.

“Still, you’re here almost every race cheering as if it was your national team,” Charles raises his brows and smirks at Yn, who in return rolls her eyes playfully.

“Fair enough. Maybe you have a point.”

It was a series of hugs, kisses, and some more quirky remarks before Yn finally greeted everyone and sat down between Mick and Lando.

“Have you eaten?” the blonde asks after she settles, and Y/n gives him a soft smile that goes unnoticed by everyone but her brother.

“I had dinner and took a good nap. The flight was just exhausting.” She explained, grabbing the attention of Charles and now Carlos, who were bickering about something Y/n could not catch.

“Speaking about flight and work, can you tell your friends the launch date of your new shoe collection? I promise I won’t tell the media, but Isa is on my line asking about it all the time. You should see,” Carlos starts a new subject, and Y/n smiles brightly. She never really met Isa, so it was cute that her friend's girlfriend knew about her and her brand and was excited to get herself a pair of shoes.

Soon the waiter was bringing dessert, and before Lewis could suggest she ask for a plate of their vegan cake, Mick pushed his between them in a silent offer.

“You’re the best, Mouse,” she whispered before bringing her chair closer.

The table was the usual chaos of laughter and loud voices talking about anything and everything, but Mick and Y/n were too busy with the intimacy of sharing a treat and a spoon. Schumacher was surprised by the way she seemed unbothered, passing him the silver spoon after licking it. He was even more surprised by the fact that once again, he found something so mundane to be sexy just because it was Yn.

“You saw the new songs I added to our playlist?” she asked, voice low. It was their conversation, their own private bubble after a week without communicating considerably.

“I was listening to it while training, I gotta confess that some of those Taylor Swift bridges worked better than I thought they would with lifting and cardio,” there’s an edge to his voice and he’s speaking all of it with a funny smile on his face, lips curved slightly, dimples showing, brows almost furrowed.

“I think you’re kinda Taylor coded…” she shares out loud, and this time his furrowed brows indicated more confusion than humor.

“Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a huge red flag for me,” she answers, and although he knows it was a joke, Mick can’t help but notice the way there may be a subtle truth to her statement when her eyes dart to the plate instead of keeping the stare at his blue ones. When the German is about to question why, someone calls Y/n asking if she’s going to the party, and their bubble is abruptly gone.

It’s only a matter of minutes before everyone is done with dessert and Ubering to the party. Lewis, Y/n, and Pierre shared a car that, for some reason, took forever to get to the club. So when the group got inside, there was already a line of shots laid down for the other guys. Y/n took the seconds before they noticed their presence to observe Schumacher, how his white button-down hugged his torso perfectly, how it gave a sultry draw to his back, and how the first few buttons were messily open as if he got hot when they arrived. She watched his blonde hair glow under the neon lights and his shoulders relax.

“You guys started the shots without us??? The disrespect, honestly,” Gasly complains, and it’s not even a minute before Y/n finds herself doing double shots with her brother and friend to catch up on the others.

Her body is already sizzling and light, but there’s not much time to consider when a known song starts blasting in the club, and Y/n sees herself on the dance floor with a certain monegásque and his best friend. She waves to her brother to join, and the rest follow along. They jump, drink, laugh and attempt the worst dance moves ever seen until Ferrari by James Hype starts playing.

“Wait! That’s not fair! There’s no club music with Mercedes!!!” Y/n screams over the music, and Charles double in laughter. “Lew, you gotta write a song about Mercedes!”

“He drives a Ferrari too every once in a while, you know,” Carlos tries to reason, and Y/n rolls her eyes with fake disgust ripping off a wheeze from Mick.

Their eyes met for a split second, and it felt natural when Y/n’s body started gravitating toward Mick, especially when she spotted a girl attempting to approach him. She tried to tell herself he was her friend, so she just wanted to be near him, not interrupt or make herself known she was close with the other guys too, after all, she had just danced half of the alcohol in her body with Charles. Admitting, if she saw a girl get close to Leclerc, the odds are high Y/n would not be around. She would give him space. But still, she felt like walking the small distance to Mick, and although she was the one who got beside him, he was the one who grabbed her hand and laced their fingers. Yn’s stomach did a somersault fluttering in a weird and new sensation, and Mick must have seen the tsunami of thoughts somehow because he looked down at her with a small smile on his pink lips, and for some reason, she knew not to worry about anything.

They danced to more songs before Y/n and Pierre dragged some of the guys out of the dance floor and into the bar to order new drinks and another round of shots. Her hands are free of Mick’s for a second, though their bodies still stand close. It’s a chaotic mess of almost spilled vodkas, empty cups, and faces, but it’s just a couple of minutes before they are back on the dance floor, jumping up and down and bending their bodies in laughter about the slight turn of air around.

Life feels brighter, the world lighter, especially because Yn has some of her friends and her brother, who are as happy as her, around, and happiness usually works like that. It sips from others into you, and when you finally stop to take a look, your heart feels warm. Right now, so does her body.

This time, when her cup is empty, and her feet start to feel tired, Yn only drags Mick off the dance floor. The rest of their friends are still dancing or making rounds around the club to talk with old friends. It feels good when their fingers are linked again, and this time Mick’s closer, trying to shield her from some of the wildest partygoers.

Just as the blonde sat at one of the stools to order, Yn put her frame between his open legs, leaning on him for a bit of balance and rest from her heels.

“You ok?” he asked before placing a hand on her waist to keep her secure.

“Absolutely!” Yn beams, turning to the barman. “Two Moscow Mules extra cold, please,” and then she’s looking at Mick again.

His eyes scan her face, and his free hand carefully pushes one lonely curl behind her ear. The second her lips part to tell him something, his hands still hovering over her face, Lando is behind them with a disposable camera moving his arms aggressively for them to pose. Yn just turns her body to the Britsh and plasters a huge smile that grows bigger when Mick’s chin rested on her shoulder, his hands tightening around her. Yn could almost feel him smiling too. The flash goes almost unnoticed with all the neon lights, but her nose still scrunches a bit with the extra glow.

Lando says something else, and although neither one understood a word, they still posed when the camera faced them again. Now their friend is included in the rustic project-of-selfie the way people would do before the frontal camera or mobile display existed.

“Love you twooooo,” he says before disappearing to register more moments, and Yn is sure of it when she sees the camera light going on again just a few meters ahead.

Yn turned to Mick again, a grin still on her flushed face, eyes staring directly at him. He watched her curious gaze on him. The way her expressions would slightly change every time her eyes landed on a feature he assumed she never noticed. Yn traced his chin, and Mick couldn’t help but smile, which drew her attention to his dimples. She traced them too. He thought she was a work of art, but he was the one being studied as one.

When her lips found his jaw like she did every time she tried to kiss him, standing on her tiptoes, Mick brought her closer just the way he liked. He knew it was probably the alcohol lowering all their inhibitions, he felt half of his mind fighting, but at some point, the German gave up trying to lie to himself or contain his caring actions. And so he kissed her naked shoulder and rested his head there while the whole club seemed to go around their own business. Yn’s hand carded through his mop of blonde hair, and Mick sighed because the way her nails scratched his scalp felt magic.

“You look stunning today,” he tipped his head a bit so his mouth was closer to her ear. They were so close he didn’t even need to scream to be heard over the music, and he was sure she got his words correctly when he saw the goosebumps on her black skin.

“You look way too good too. So much it should be illegal.” She quips, and Mick's fingers squeeze her waist, making Y/n jump slightly and giggle.

Y/n withdraws some centimeters, their faces only inches apart now, their bodies still touching. She takes the time to analyze his face one more time as if she would never get tired of doing so, his flushed cheeks, his pink lips, and the way his blue eyes seemed a bit droopy because of the drunkenness all appeared extraordinary to her. Yn studied everything with gusto again, and this time when their skin met, Mick involuntarily closed his eyes. It was as if he wanted to direct all his senses to that spot, to memorize the way she caressed his face, because now, he realized, she wasn’t examining him anymore; she was giving him affection. And so the blonde took everything she gave. The scratch of her nails, the point of her finger on some spots, the softness of her palm with his jaw. It was only seconds after he opened his eyes again and found hers on his chin, he could almost see the gears running on her head, and then her fingers traced the contour of his lips.

Schumacher wanted nothing more than to grab her neck and bring her closer. To kill the gap that separates their mouths and bodies. He wanted to taste the strawberry lipgloss he saw her reapply. He wanted to know how the combination of it with her lime drink was going to taste. He wanted so many things with Yn that it was starting to physically pain him. The way she stared at him, smiled to him, and not simply at him, talked with him, and made him feel alive was just too much.

Mick wanted her as more than his friend. And so he gave up the war against himself and finally accepted his fate: he was attracted to Yn. His heart somersaulted when he thought that maybe, just maybe, she felt the same.

Mick closed the gap between their bodies and dipped his head to kiss her neck, preventing them from going to anything more compromising or that maybe they would regret afterward. He had no idea if the timing was right if Lewis was watching, if someone was talking, if Y/n really wanted it, or if she had just drunk too much.

“Let’s try not to do it while drunk, ok, Schatz?” he mumbled, kissing her shoulder again and, this time, bringing the sleeve of her black shirt up to cover a bit of her skin.

“Is that a German equivalent to babe?” she questioned, and his drunk mind was confused for a bit before he chuckled.

“Something like that,” he withdraws to take a long gulp of his drink before dropping his eyes to her again.

“Can you keep calling me that from now on?” Yn asked, and he was able to hear it solemnly because he was staring at her lips. It was almost like a whisper as if she was afraid to admit it or ashamed of him denying her.

Y/n wanted Mick to call her babe.

She wanted the guy she met a couple of months ago, her friend, to call her like a partner would call their significant other.

He grabbed his drink again and took another long gulp. Heck, not kissing Yn was going to be harder than he presumed.

“I can do whatever you want me to, babe.” It was his time to almost whisper, and she smiled. A big happy smile. His body nearly slipped to the ground like a puddle.

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

“Of course, Schatz,”

Y/n rested her head on his chest and enjoyed the feeling of his fingers playing with her curls, the way every once in a while they would travel to her neck and shoulders, and how his other hand would keep her secure and close to him. The lights in the club kept glowing neon around them, the music was still louder, and people were chatting and drinking, but Yn felt as satisfied as ever only watching everything from her spot with Mick.

“We ran out of ginger juice, restock is on its way, but I could only get one for now,” the barman profusely apologizes, and Yn just smiles without much care before declaring it was no big deal.

“Do you mind sharing?” she asks Mick once he is up and ready to follow her to the dance floor. To anyone looking from the outside, he looked like the puppy boyfriend happily following his girl.

“If you don’t, then I don’t.”

“Smart answer,” she quips before lacing their fingers, and they start the track to the packed dance floor.

They find part of their group again, and it’s a couple of songs before some of them are ready to sit for a bit. Most are high on alcohol, laughing and smiling at anything and everything. Mick drops someone drinks while they’re walking to their secluded space, and after apologizing profusely he’s laughing hysterically with Pierre and Yn.

Now, sitting at the foam seats, one arm across the back of the seat supporting Yn’s head, Mick starts an excited conversation with Charles and Esteban. Yn drags her body closer to his, draping her legs over his lap and sipping her drink while watching the lights flicker over the dance floor down the stairs. Eventually, her attention goes to the button of his white button down, and then her eyes found his golden chain playing with it for a second before Pierre mentions a new topic, and she dives in with them chatting nonstop.

It's hours and many drinks later before both of them start getting sleepy, and bid their goodbyes to half of the group that decided to stay. Yn cannot find Lewis to tell him she’s leaving, so when she and Mick walk outside to wait for their Uber, Mick snaps a picture of them to send the older Hamilton a message telling him they’re on their way to the hotel. Now when it comes to coming and going, some things got a bit easier since people discovered Yn was a Hamilton which means she would stay at the same hotels without the fear of being discovered.

“What did he say?” she asks after getting inside the car.

Mick turns his screen to her, and Yn frowns, “I think that’s not the messaging app, Mouse.”

The blonde stared at his screen searching for answers, “Fuck, I posted on Instagram,” he drunkenly cursed before Yn burst into laughter.

“Here, give it to me,” she extends her hand, and he hands her the phone before dropping his head at the seat rest and closing his eyes.

“Sorry,” he mumbles again, and she just pecks his cheeks before deleting the picture from Instagram and sending a text full of drunk typos to Lewis.

“It’s ok. I think now he got the message.”

The drive to their hotel is fast, and the Uber driver is nice enough to stop at the back entrance, though chances were low of any fan standing there in the middle of the night. The pair walked hand in hand to the elevator and, in seconds, into Mick’s room. He switched the lights on and Yn made her way to the bathroom. He dozed off and woke up to Yn wearing one of his shirts and speaking about him showering. The German agreed with everything, although his mind did not process every sentence. Mick made his way to the bathroom and tripped on Yn’s clothes on the ground only to catch himself on the marble counter.

He did everything from core memory, undressed, brushed his teeth, and got into the shower. When he emerged from the bathroom, Yn was sound asleep on his bed. He smiled, and his drunk mind still thought about how cold she would be with only a shirt, so he dropped the covers on top of her body and took one from the wardrobe for him.

Mick remembers lying on the couch in his room. He remembers watching Yn for a second and then finally falling asleep. That’s why he’s confused when he feels a weight on his chest.

“If you’re not coming to bed, then I’m sleeping on the couch with you,” she states, and Mick chuckles. “I feel like an asshole, Mouse. If you’re not coming, then I’m going to my room. I won’t let you sleep on the couch in your own room,” he can feel the touch of sleep in her voice, her body cold against his.

There’s not much for him to do, not much thinking. His sleepy mind is foggy, and it gives too much space to his wishes, and right at that moment, his biggest wish was just to hold Yn and get some sleep, so he stands up with her, and they get comfortable on the bed.

Her body against his feels like a natural fit again, and he holds her close before both doze off. Now, after the whole day sharing small items, they shared the biggest one, and not because of the size of the bed, but because of the size of their trust in one another, the size of the courage they had to be vulnerable, and especially the size of the warm feeling engulfing their intertwined bodies.

I hope you guys like it 💜 make sure to like and reblog, and feel free to let me know your thoughts on this chapter (and the whole series) in the comments or my inbox. feedback is highly appreciated and makes me more excited about writing and posting 🥹. thanks for all the love on the past chapters!!! *mwah*

taglist: @sachaa-ff @ferrariloverr

#black!reader #f1 imagine #hamilton!reader #f1 imagines #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher x reader #black!reader f1 #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher x black!reader #mick schumacher one shot #komh #ms47

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kellbellsparkles · 1 year

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FFVII Sterling Silver (Pilot Part 1)

I call it a Pilot because not only am I practicing my literary skills, I've been going through so much trauma in my life currently, it takes away my motivation to really create.

I wanted to introduce my fan version of Cloud and Tifa's kids: twins Sterling and Silver. Approximately three years after Dirge of Cerberus, Cloud is protectively raising them while their mother is comatose from a robbery on Seventh Heaven where the ring leader had a gun loaded with mako infused bullets. She was pregnant when it happened, but like with Lucrecia, the inherited Jenova cells won't let them die. The babies gained incredible power as a result and are under the protection of their father and Shinra.

I hope you guys enjoy it. I want to spread joy and inspiration so others can have a better day.

It was a blustery winter night in the city of Edge. At three in the morning, two special toddlers were up far past their bedtime: two-year-old twins, Sterling and Silver Strife. They were special because they inherited mako and Jenova cells from their father, but they were at an alarming high level. The boy, Sterling, possessed great intelligence and awareness. From being a fetus, the Jenova cells incorporated memories and knowledge of both his parents. The girl, Silver, possessed great physical ability and flexibility.

Having a higher concentration of mako, she had been born with a series of mutations outer and inner. She underwent many surgeries from infancy to give her a normal human appearance: a scar on the left side of her neck where a second mouth once sat, scar tissue on the top tips of her ears after being trimmed down, a ring scar from when teeth were removed from her belly button, and two parallel scars shaped like tiny beads on the back of her neck aligned with her spine where two teeny eyes once blinked. Her internal organs were significantly altered, having two hearts instead of one as an example. Her bones can shift and bend in any way imaginable, encouraging her hyperactivity and bravery.

She easily scaled her crib bars and stuck the landing. As she trotted towards her brother, Sterling laid wide awake, blankly staring at the ceiling. His thoughts were consumed with memories of his mother being shot with a mako infused bullet; the bullet piercing the womb containing Silver; a voice offering his aid to save her in exchange for becoming a part of him; coming into the world; being brought to his comatose mother for the first time... The poor little boy knew too much and had no one to tell. He feared disappointing his father after hearing him say he wanted his kids to live a normal life, so he abstained from speaking to the fullest.

"Psssst," Silver whispered. "Steeeewiiiing."

Silver's voice pulled him back into reality. Though startled, he turned on his side to face her. "Yeah?"

Silver grabbed his crib bars and hopped happily on her little feet.

"It snowing outside!" she squeed. "Come see!"

Sterling sat up to view the window with the curtains folded open for them. The snow twirled and performed a glistening waltz. However, one detail stood out to Sterling.

"It's still nighttime," he said. "What time is it?"

"I dunno," Silver said innocently. She stood on her toes. "But come on! Let's build a snowman!"

"Right now?"

"Yeah, yeah! Deh gonna be mountains and mountains!"

Sterling sat up and stretched drowsily. "If it's JUST snowing, there won't be mountains and mountains. We'll have a better chance in the morning."

"But dad will be gone away on his vroom vroom in the morning!" Silver whined. "I wanna supise him nooooow!"

Sterling blinked in perplexion. "Surprise?"

Silver toddler sprinted to their door. With her strengthened legs, she squatted and hopped, successfully grabbed hold of the knob and turned it.

"Aw, geez," Sterling mouthed. He knew that without him, great peril could befall his unheeding sister. He used his inherited strength to climb out of his crib and cried out, "Wait for me, Sil!" However, his scrambled brain prevented him from a coordinated landing; he stumbled and belly flopped instead. "Ouch…."

Silver, though impulsive, still put her brother first. She hurried to his side, helped him onto his feet, and said, "You okay? That looked like big ouch."

"I'll be okay," Sterling reassured her. "Thank you."

"Okay!" Silver grabbed Sterling's hand and led him out into the hall. "Let's go!"

Sterling could only follow and entertain her fanatic imagination. Then, together, they stood at the top of the stairs.

"We this much steps to be gwown ups!" Silver declared. "Follow me!" She let go of Sterling to lead by example. "One step." One little foot down, followed by the other. "Two step."

"You're not using the rails," Sterling said shakily as he looked on with fertilizing anxiety.

"Daddy doesn't use the rails," Silver retorted, eyes peeled forward as she marched on. "Thee step. Five step."

"You skipped four again."

Silver responded with a sound fart. Sterling furrowed his brows.

"I know that one was on purpose," he vexed.

"Ya," Silver said shamelessly. Sterling's nose wrinkled upon picking up Silver's reply.

"Ewwww," he grimaced. "You better not have been eating any more garbage."

Another of Silver's mutations included being able to consume anything without harmful affliction.

"We eat cheesy peppewooni pizza tonight, remember?" she told him. "And eating gabage is fee ceaning service and colletive contibootion to socytee."

"It's still bad for you," Sterling argued.

"Daddy says too much candy, too, but I fine thee more of Denny's candy wappers today." Silver hopped down from the last step. Her feet balleted, propelling her to face her brother in her triumph. "It your turn!!"

Sterling gulped; Silver had gotten lucky, but one slip from the top to the bottom meant certain death to a baby. He looked behind him, wondering why their dad and Denzel haven't come to stop them by now.

"Steeewiiiiing!"

Once again, Silver's clinging vocals tugged him along.

"Yikes, I'm coming…." Taking caution, he sat on the top stair and scooted to the next one.

"Why you come down that way?"

Sterling pondered for an appropriate response to please his rapidly curious sister.

"My, uh, butt itches," he replied sheepishly.

"Diaper rash?"

"I dunno. Maybe?"

"Tell me how it feels! I wanna scatch my butt that way, too!"

Sterling blushed. Silver was only behaving as a normal two-year-old should. In Cloud's absence, he felt responsible for setting an example while playing the toddler role."It's not really working. It doesn't get in the right spot."

"Booooooo."

At last, Sterling's tush touched the main floor. He stood himself up. "All that's left is to go outside, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah!!" Silver raced to the door and leapt to the knob, only it wouldn't turn like the last one did. She tried multiple times while dangling. "Whaaaa?"

"Of course," Sterling said, nodding. "It's locked."

"Looooocked???" Silver let go of the knob and plopped down on her back.

"Waaaaah!!" she cried as she flung her limbs about. "I want to go outside and supise Daddy!! Ahaaaaaaawaaaah!"

Sterling panicked. Instinctively, he hated seeing his beloved sister cry and wanted to do something.

"Aw, don't cry!" he pleaded. "We can…. uh…. draw a snowman!"

"I want a REAL snowman! I wanna supise Daddy and make him happy!! Waaaaaaahaaaaah!!"

Sterling felt a lump rise in his throat; he realized that his sister truly wanted the same thing he did. Their dad would give them soft smiles, but never exuberant, jolly ones that told them he was filled with glee. Sterling knew the burden of memories Cloud carried with him and yearned to alleviate them. He yearned to give him that spark that had been missing throughout the life he'd seen him live: two children and their father frolicking in the winter wonderland in their yard….

"Hey, sis…."

He knelt down to her level and held her hands firm. "There's a way to get outside."

Silver stopped flailing.

"T-There is?" she hiccuped.

Sterling pointed to the lock dial below the knob. "Do you see that gold sideways diamond thingy?"

"Yeah…."

"All we have to do is turn it right side up and turn the knob after."

"R-Really?"

"Really."

Silver sat up, sniffling lightly. "Hey, Stewing?"

"Yeah?"

"How are you so smart? And why do you sound like a gwown up? And why do you never talk around Daddy?"

Sterling tensed; he wasn't prepared for his sister to ask him so suddenly. "Well, I…."

Silver got on her knees and leaned deeply into Sterling's personal space. Sterling struggled to keep from making eye contact, feeling all to tell she would not stop asking, or worse: ask him in front of their dad. "You see, I'm…. not normal…. and Dad wants me to be. If he heard me talking like this, he'd be sad."

"Boooooooooo." Silver's face became a crumpled piece of paper in the moment. "What even is nohmal? Sounds bowing. I like you betteh this way."

"But Dad–"

"Why Daddy be sad? Why Daddy be sad when you talk and play?"

"It's not that."

"Then wat?"

Sterling scratched his chin; how to best approach this that would be acceptable to Silver and protect his secret?

Secret…

"It's a secret," he answered with a cute smile. "Do you like secrets?"

Silver's eyes sparkled like party lights for a special occasion. "Ya, ya!"

"It's a special secret that only you can know about. No telling anybody or else it won't be a special secret anymore. Okay?"

"Okay!"

"That's a good girl."

"We have supah special secwet cub!"

"Yes, we do!"

"Yaay! Now we make ar supah special secwet cub house outside!"

"I thought we were building a snowman."

"We bild ar snowman in cub house!"

Toddler logic made next to no sense, but it mattered little to Sterling as it warmed his heart seeing his sister have fun. She leapt for the lock handle, but it was too small for her fingers to latch on. She stubbornly hopped and attempted several more times. Sterling came up behind her and lifted her by the waist.

"Here," he said. "Try turning it to the left, now."

Mimicking an excited puppy, she panted and squealed as she succeeded in her task. She quivered with glee as she turned the knob next and pulled the door open. Little droplets of snow trickled their way in. She cheered, "We did it!"

As soon as Sterling set her down, Silver threw the door further open and zoomed outside. Sterling followed, watching as she pranced and skipped merrily. He took his first step into the snow bank; swiftly rose up to his knees.

"Oh my," he breathed, taken aback. "There was more snow than I thought…."

#ffvii #ffvii fanfiction #ffvii cloud #ffvii tifa #cloud strife #tifa lockhart #cloud x tifa

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ask-ethari-anything · 2 years

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Have you ever designed a wheelchair before? What kind of features would you look into?

I have some designs sketched out in uhhh two? maybe three? of my notebooks, actually. And the first thing to go was the wheels!

It's gonna need a new name. I accept this. But without a finalized design, I can't name it, so that'll come later.

In the Silvergrove, roads and pathways aren't a thing nearly so much as they are in the human lands. While I can appreciate the smooth surface of humans' roads for ease of travel, that's really not something I can implement here at home, so I usually take a different tack in my idea doodles.

If I had enough magic at my disposal - which, let's say for hypothetical reasons that I do, and how nice would that be? - then I'd simply make a hoverchair that effected a constant repulsor field between equidistant runes - and stabilizer runes at right angles, with some kind of... happytwig? name still in progress! - to make spatial adjustments in realtime.

It wouldn't go terribly fast, for safety reasons, but hmmm, *pulls pen from behind ear, makes a few notes* those could be modified or disabled in case of emergency... and I'd need to make the chair strong enough to take the weight of others who might be traveling with the pilot, so they could save their friends, too... *more scribbling noises*

Ahaha, oops, that one got away from me. *writes HAPPYTWIG EXPRESS FRIEND RESCUE SYSTEM in big letters across top of page* Heh... HEFRS... Heifers? Cows... CowCart?? *more notes*

I'm with you, I'm with you, okay here we go, ideas that do not require an entire Moon Primal Stone: The Trioctipede was an early sketch idea. I was watching Lachir step past me one day and appreciating her delicate little feet, compared to Tethu's great clawed stompers, which he will in fact dig into your chest with and knead you like dough if you let him... and I thought, I wonder how many Moonstrider legs I can fit on the bottom of a chair?

The answer, as it turns out, is 30. Well, 24 in human math. Hence the name, see? *taps temple* Nailed that name, totally nailed it. But some of them work best for stability if they're angled out to the side to help with speed and corners and uneven surfaces - which, you may have noticed, we have plenty of in the Silvergrove. In most of Xadia, in fact. I have a prototype of the Trioctipede somewhere in the understump, but it would need a bit of, uh, dusting off before it was... road-ready? seaworthy?

Hill-handy. Slope-set. Promontory-prepped. *finger guns*

And just for fun, I thought it would be really cute to have a few illusions to choose from, in case the sight of 24 Moonstrider legs looked a little weird. I thought maybe people might enjoy riding around on top of 24 glowing tentacles, or flowery vines, or swirly moonbeams, or uh... long white ponytails... Okay that last one got away from me again, but can you really blame me? *helpless shrug*

Ooh, hold up: *grabs pen again and scribbles* 24 thigh high boots! YOU COULD BE TALLER JUST BECAUSE!! This is brilliant!

*hums under my breath*

These boots were made for walkin' And that's just what they'll do Today these thigh high boots are gonna Walk around for you!

Alright, you have to admit that's catchy.

Also in my scribbles are sketches for pockets and secret snack chambers and a reclining button and a pop-up neck massager and a really big sunshade and of course a little adoraburr flower nest in case you encounter any, ah... stowaways. But I can add more! And likely I will. These are just scattered ideas, see...

So if you know anyone who needs alternate transport, I am happy to assist! Freedom is a very important concept to me, as you might guess... and it comes in many forms. Including at least one with 24 Moonstrider legs on it.

#ask ethari #just workshop things #wheellesschair #but you can still say vroom vroom when you pilot it!#uh. can you. can you tell that i just had some moonberry surprise #i feel i was talking very fast for sugar reasons

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tenthgrove · 3 years

Text

Hold Me Tight (Or Don't)- Chapter 8

Pairings: Risotto x Reader

Genre: Soft Yandere

Sorbet steps out of the pilot cabin to rejoin his husband and capo in the main seating area of the plane.

“Good news. We aren’t diverting to Catania. They can squeeze us in just before Naples closes from the weather,” he announces. There’s a joint sigh of relief from both Gelato and Risotto.

“Thank god,” Risotto exclaims. “Trying to drive back from Sicily would have been a nightmare.”

“As it would seem, we were incredibly fortunate,” Sorbet continues, sitting down so Gelato can throw an arm over his shoulder. “10 minutes later and we would have had no choice.”

“Hmm, I rather wonder if the decision to fit us in last minute was really just pure luck,” Gelato theorises.

“That’s true, who does Giorno have in the airport on his payroll?” Sorbet attempts to recall.

“Three guards, an air marshal, and the head of traffic control,” Risotto answers.

“That would be it then,” Gelato proposes. There’s a light chuckle around the cabin. A few minutes later, the plane begins to descend.

“My god!” Gelato exclaims, palms stuck to the window as he stares out the window like a child. “I haven’t seen this much snow in Italy since… well, ever! And I’m northern!”

“I certainly feel for anyone without heating. How’s your (y/n) doing in all this?” Sorbet asks, directed at Risotto.

“They haven’t answered their calls in a while, but they did warn me earlier the power was acting up. I think they’ve had a blackout.”

“Poor thing,” Sorbet commiserates. “That can’t be nice when you’re out by yourself in the middle of nowhere.”

“Quite. I’m eager to get home to them.”

The plane lands uneventfully, aside from a minor skid on the thickening ice. Sorbet and Gelato help Risotto grab the four heavy suitcases and take them down to the runway. Lorento the air marshal is already waiting to sneak them past the boarding area.

“Well, gents, I must thank you again for all your help. There’s no way I would have been able to carry all this without you,” Risotto says.

“Not at all. I’m sure this will go a long way to easing things between you and (y/n),” Sorbet comments.

“Don’t thank us just yet,” intercedes Gelato. “You still need to figure out how to get home from here!”

Risotto stops in his tracks.

“Fuck, you’re right. They’ve barely had a chance to grit the city centre. The roads in the country must be completely covered in ice. There’s no way I could drive.”

“Walk?” Gelato suggests.

“That’s 5 hours, you idiot, probably more in the blizzard,” Sorbet reminds him. “At that length, you may as well find somewhere to stay over,” he suggests to Risotto.

“I’d rather not.”

“Well, do you have any better ideas?”

Risotto scans the airport car park. He spots something, deep blue on the far end. Gelato looks over and notices what he’s staring at.

“Ris, you’re not gonna… oh you complete mad man.”

Risotto starts to sprint towards it.

“Come on!” he beckons them with a smirk.

The three arrive at the shiny snowmobile chained to a bike post. The iron chain is cut swiftly in half with Metallica as Sorbet and Gelato pile the suitcases into the luggage space.

“Want a lift?” Risotto offers.

“No, you need to get back to your partner. We’ll stay at Formaggio’s for the night,” Sorbet assures him.

“Good luck! Tell (y/n) I said hi!” Gelato enthuses. Risotto nods and starts the engine. He drives off with a vroom of victory.

::::::::::::

The towns on the edge of Naples give way to villages, then to hamlets, then empty, open fields. Risotto has always been good at finding his way; it comes with being a country boy. Even in the dark and snow, he is beginning to note the familiar pathways of his new home woodland.

Lying to (y/n) about the purpose of his trip still makes Risotto feel a little guilty, but he hopes all will be forgiven when they see what he’s brought them. Surely, after 2 weeks in his house, seeing that he’s gathered up all their old possessions and flown them back to them will truly put a smile on their face. All the more reason to get back to them.

Risotto pulls out of the woods. The spectre of his house is just to the left, and in spite of the blizzard he can see the lights peering through the windows. It seems the power must have come back on by itself. Thank goodness for that.

He parks the snow mobile in the drive and gets off, ignoring the strange feeling that there is something just wrong about the lighting. It’s probably just that he isn’t used to it being on when he comes home. He has been living alone after all. He hauls the first suitcase up to the door and notices the plant pot shattered on the porch. Now that’s strange- it doesn’t look like the wind blew it over. More like something landed in it.

Risotto turns back to the house and that’s when he realises what’s wrong with the lighting.

It’s coming from the window of the bedroom. The one he boarded up. Risotto jolts back in panic, stepping into the patch of snow disturbed by the flowerpot. He looks down and notices a red liquid dispersed into the lower layer of snow. Metallica knows what it sees. Blood.

Taking a deep breath, Risotto attempts to calm himself. Judging by the fact he can still see where they landed in the snow they can’t have left more than an hour ago. Even if it’s cold and even if they’re injured (from the looks of things they fell from the overhang, so they could be really injured), it is probably not too late to save them. Probably.

Risotto throws the suitcases off of the snowmobile with a grunt of exasperation and climbs back on. As he pulls out of the driveway, he is thankful that his stand is so good at finding iron in such small quantities. He knows he’ll be able to follow the trail of blood far further than is visible to the human eye. With that in mind, he follows the whims of his stands up the field. By the time he can no longer detect anything, it’s crystal clear where (y/n) was trying to go. The house, up ahead. Pity nobody lives there.

He checks the house nonetheless in case they managed to break down the weak doors and take shelter inside. It’s still locked. They were probably too weak to do it by the time they got here. Fortunately, the tracks are now fresh enough to be seen, and Risotto can follow them without needing to rely on the blood trail. They worry him, though, as he follows them down the valley towards the next house. He has a lot of experience in tracking people, after all, and he knows how to spot an injured person’s trail when he finds one.

The tracks make a sudden turn to the left. This is probably where (y/n) gave up and decided to seek shelter under the trees. At a guess, he would say they probably found the log dens those kids built last summer and hid out in them. He prays they were enough to save them for the weather, at least long enough for him to reach them. If (y/n) is truly dead then… no, he won’t entertain such a horrid thought unless he has to.

Risotto treks through the woods on foot, shining his flash light until he spots the make-shift dens up ahead. There’s something black curled up inside one of them. Risotto realises with shock that it’s one of his jackets.

“(Y/n!)” Risotto shouts, running towards the den and falling to his knees at the entrance. (Y/n) tremors inside, weak, but breathing. He pulls them into his arms. “(Y/n), can- can you hear me? It’s me! It’s Risotto! You’re safe!”

“-M Sorry… ran away… messed up,” (y/n) sobs. Their eyes are still closed, but it’s clear they’re at least somewhat lucid. They aren’t too far gone. Risotto bundles them against his chest and sprints back to the snowmobile, continuing to hold them as he drives full speed back to the house.

Unlocking the door with Metallica, he bats it aside and runs them up to the bed. They’ve drifted to sleep now, but are still breathing regularly. Think. What did Melone say to do if someone gets hypothermia?

Right, first port of call is to get them out of wet clothing. Risotto strips off (y/n)’s clothes until they’re down to their underwear, and wraps them up in the thick duvet. He contemplates running them a bath, but remembers that can actually cause more harm than good by shocking the body with too fast a temperature change.

Second of all, he needs to assess how bad this is. He distinctly recalls Melone mentioning once that people with the worst cases of hypothermia don’t actually shiver, so the fact (y/n) is still shaking would suggest their case isn’t quite so severe. Risotto should probably be more assured by this, but he still worries.

(Y/n) opens their eyes again.

“Risotto? Are we home?” They ask, as innocently as if they had just landed from a flight.

“Yes darling, you’re home. And everything’s going to be okay now,” Risotto promises. He reaches under the blankets for their hands and rubs them. They’re still freezing cold, but getting warmer.

“Are you mad at me?” they ask morosely.

“No Bedda, don’t even think about that,” he tells them. “You’re okay, and that’s what matters.”

Risotto leaves them, just for a moment, to warm up some water. He knows that internal warming is important in treating this condition, so he needs to get some warm fluids into them. He returns, and helps them drink. They fall back asleep after that.

Risotto sighs, and crawls into bed next to them. Their bare skin is starting to warm up. It seems their homeostasis is kicking in again. He holds them close, burying his face in their hair. To think he may never have felt their embrace again.

He loves them, so painfully much. He only wants to make them happy, but clearly, he isn’t doing it well enough if they were willing to run out into a blizzard to leave him.

#hmt(od)#yandere cw #risotto nero #risotto nero x reader #risotto x reader #la squadra #la squadra x reader

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toku-explained · 3 years

Text

The Swordsmen Aligned

SSSS.Dynazenon: We see Yomogi's perspective on the change to DynaRex and the battle climax. Chise, running to catch up to Dynazenon, finds an odd item. Dynazenon returns to being 4 small models as she catches them. Gauma is still annoyed at Yume. Introductions are made, and he explains Shalbandes will have been controlled by the Kaiju Eugenecists, Kaiju users like him. He gives each of the pilots one Dynazenon component, insisting they meet next day to train, but wonders to himself if Dynazenon is a Kaiju and why was he given it. Things are a mess at school, Yomogi heads to work, Yume messes with her friend, Koyomi wonders if Dynazenon counts as a job. Gauma is upset Yomogi doesn't show, a sparkling item appears in the river. Gauma invades Yomogi's bath to talk, in her own Yume contemplates apologising, Gauma is invited by Yomogi's mom to stay over. Next day Yume shows Yomogi she can now activate the DynaWing, has him activate DynaSoldier, and has them combine into "DynaWingSoldier", while they fly she makes an apology, and shows him the result of the battle on foot. On the train she mentions Kaho dying by where they met when she was a kid. People gather at a new Kaiju, Greyjom, called by the thing in the river, watched by the Eugenecists, Juuga, Onija, Mujina and Sizumu, Juuga controls it. The heroes grab Yomogi so Dynazenon can fight, but when they're forced to split Yomogi is helpless until Koyomi realises the secret to it warping, and by again forming DynaSoldier Wing Combine they are able to give Gauma his shot. Yomogi asks Yume about her feelings towards Kaho, she's unsure now. The Eugenecists greet Gauma, appearing to the team.

Heroes' Odyssey: The look at Battle in Hyperspace continues.

Saber: Rintaro explains what he learned about Master Logos and his goals, and earnestly apologises, but they all welcome him back with open arms. Zooous is itching to settle his score with Rintaro, but Storious insists the Seiken and joining Wonder World comes first, Zooous has a new Megido in mind. Northern Base discuss their foes, Yuri apparently hasn't encountered Kaiji before. Master Logos' book is part of the original book, passed to each new Master, Yuri, deciding Touma can separate the Megiddo, goes to seek Tassel, Sophia has Ogami find Ren while she will meet Kento. After mentioning the key she gave Mei, a Megiddo is detected. Saber Elemental Primitive Dragon and Blades King Lion Daisenki fight the Megiddo, Touma about to separate when he notices the charms on it's body are living humans, then reveals it's host is Mei, escaping when Zooous attacks Blades. Rintaro is really freaking out about the chance of Mei dying. Since we last saw him, it looks like Ren has been followed by Desast, who suggests he learn from him, Desast vanishes when Ogami appears, Ren lashes out and leaves. Rintaro finds Mei on the roof, Zooous attacks, joined by the Megiddo, despite Rintaro's desire to save her Nagare doesn't glow, Zooous torments him claiming he always gets stronger. Kento nearby says that Mei will be lost and Rintaro killed, Sophia tries to get him to not be so defeatist, Touma arrives to help Rintaro. Rintaro sinks into depression, but holds Zooous so Touma can act, but he has to block the killing blow instead, as Zooous and the Megiddo leave, Rintaro acts as though his own life is worthless.

Zenkaiger: Magine is really messy it turns out. Vroom discovers while out the mess made by Gomi World. The team actually force him to flee, but his trash will keep growing. Boccowaus is actually annoyed at Barashitara for this because he doesn't want to rule a garbage world, Ijirude is still working. The team prepare a clean up, but Vroon makes more progress than the rest combined and decides to take it solo. New character Stacey makes his first appearance, as Kaito starts declaring his resolve everyone is sapped of their will. Magine still has energy, and Vroon powers through and draws Gomi World out. The others get placed as trash, leaving Vroon beaten until Magine finds him. After some Go-Busters power, they defeat Gomi World. Dai Gomi World is defeated despite initial setbacks. Barashitara contemplates another lost World when Stacey approaches, claiming to be his son. With this episode we are now caught up the the All Red Battle and ZenkaiRed special, ready for what comes next episode.

Genms: So somehow despite Kamen Rider Brain happening, I somehow never expected this to be real. Not unhappy with it though. Don't expect Thousers The Presidents to be real as a separate thing though. Super Sentai Villains Next Year? Now obviously, in the original joke the meaning of the title was that it was to focus on Kutoto, Masamune, Amagasaki and Tsukuru, here though the double meaning makes it a reference to both Kuroto and Amatsu being company presidents. My understanding on timeline setting is that for Zero-One this is between the two installments of The 01hers, and for Ex-Aid it's about a year after Another Ending and a couple of years before Mighty Novel X. Kuroto is awakened by the Ark. Amatsu is launching a new company, Thouser-Intellion, and to help him acquired a Secretary-type Humagear, who he names Rin. He explains that ZAIA Enterprise Japan was shut down, and he intends to create a new IT company. He's been under the weather since moving to the office, and suddenly shows Bugster Virus symptoms, as Dan Kuroto emerges. Ark has apparently allowed him to produce a Gamer Driver, Bugvisor and Proto Mighty Action X, and he relates his awareness of the sort of pressure Amatsu must experience as President, as he once did. He infects Rin and takes her as his own secretary. Kuroto, you should only have been gone a year, Humagears were everywhere by the time you "died". As Amatsu struggles to pursue Kuroto, he doesn't notice another figure emerge from himself. Kuroto tries to tempt Rin when Amatsu reaches them, becoming Thouser, black due to infection, and Kuroto becomes Genm Level 2. Genm has the clear advantage, with a Mighty Critical Strike beating Thousand Destruction. Genm's killing blow is foiled when time suddenly freezes, and Dan Masamune appears on the scene.

Dogengers Nice Buddy: We start with an acknowledgement of the events of the first series, and the Dogengers becoming celebrated, a second season announced, and then Scandal! Kitaqman's SNS-ing, El Brave using a step to appear taller, Fukuokaliber not being good at Kendama, Yamashiron not eating Bell Peppers, Ohgaman not sleeping after taking his medicine, and a dating scandal involving Tanaka and Yuki, the team are made to apologise, and a Final Stage is announced at a park. Shaberryman MCs, the audience is just Yuki, Eboshi Musha and El Brave's Yahata Construction colleagues. Fukuokaliber beats some Karamis, then faces Shuraomaru. Aoiron and Daidairon take the stage fighting Nectaris, Redron joins late, then forms Yamashiron, still in Tsuyobi Mode. El Brave takes over, beating first Nectaris then Uzagi. The Marou Kaijin appear, Tanaka appears, changes and swiftly defeats Gulf, the heroes then celebrate but Yabai Kamen ambushes them, but Ohfaman appears via roller coaster. The assembled heroes defeat the Villains and celebrate, disheartened by the small crowd as Yuki is handed adverts for Great Z. After a certain man says something the heroes are knocked off stage by a red energy ball, and the stage is taken by Great Z and his cheerleaders, accompanied by at least 3 floating cameras(?) which can warp him along the stage. The devices come from his back. The audience seem far more interested in him. He knows who they, but he's hear to take their villains for his own show, really beating Yabai Kamen so he can take him hostage. Kitaqman rolls up late in the Kitaq Machine, but Great Z uses a rocket to warp them all to a quarry, explaining his Effect System, announces himself as the new justice, and shoots and destroys the Kitaq Machine, to Kitaqman's Horror.

#ssss.dynazenon #kamen rider saber #kikai sentai zenkaiger #Dogengers #kamen rider genms

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overwatchladieslover · 6 years

Text

Chapter 4: Of Lovers And Monsters

Everything that could have gone wrong with the beginning of your first mission did. The flight across the ocean was peaceful, but as soon as the aircraft entered the surrounding vicinity of the desert, the instruments started going crazy.

You remember Lena screaming for Athena to respond, as she frantically tried to stabilise the plane, Hana and Lùcio shoving you into a seat, helping you buckle up. The aircraft shook terribly, bottles crashed, and soon enough, so did the plane.

You woke up with a startle in the sand, still dressed in your normal clothes, the crew having decided on laying low while they gathered information. Coughing up some sand mixed with dried blood, you tried to sit up. But to no avail, as you discovered to your utmost shock a piece of metal buried within your torso.

Whining slightly, you grabbed it firmly, slowly pulling it out, trying to ignore the atrocious pain. You prayed that your regenerating powers were enough to keep you stable. Using the remains of your shirt, you tied a makeshift bandage around your torso.

You tried to calm down. You didn’t remember much of the accident, but you had to remain calm. You sucked in a few hallowed breaths, trying not to disturb your injury. You looked at what was surrounding you. And there wasn’t much. A piece of what once should’ve been one of the emergency exit pods, and a few ripped open crates. You crawled over to the latter.

“What do we have here?” You said to yourself, realising how feeble and coarse your voice sounded. There was an old metal gourd, accompanied by a simple survival kit. A sewing kit, a flare, some water purifying tabs and a knife.

You tore what was left of your shirt, making a small satchel to carry your belongings. You looked in another beaten down crate, finding some emergency EMR.

That wasn’t much, but it had to do. Looking up to the sun, you determined that it wasn’t high noon yet. You had some troubles remembering when the plane went down, but given the fact that night had settled, your guess would be approximately 11 PM. Which meant that you had been out for several hours.

“Should find some high ground.” You muttered to yourself, climbing on the hill the escape pod was leaning on.

All around you, naught but sand, rocks, cacti and dried up branches. Didn’t look promising. You decided to set your priorities: finding some water, dehydration was deadlier than hunger, getting some help for your wounds, and most importantly, finding somewhere to try and get some info on your companions’ whereabouts.

You decided to follow the sun’s direction, if it rose to the East, meant it had to go down to the West, right? You gathered your meagre belongings, and got started.

The sun was scorching, and you had a slight limp, whilst the wound on your torso felt like it was boiling. Your head was getting dizzy, but you decided to cover as much ground as possible.

You wondered if perhaps, by luck, you’d spot some road, but there was nothing around. You cursed, this was not exactly the best start.

You quickly depleted your physical resources, but decided against eating the EMR, you knew that the human body could go for days without food. But the utmost urgency was finding water. The gourd was empty, and your tongue started to feel terribly thick in your mouth. You massaged your salivary glands, trying desperately to wash away the taste of sand.

All this sand, rock, dust and cacti almost made you wish for a nuclear winter in the Mojave. Wait a second. Cacti?

If you could’ve rushed to the nearest cactus, you would’ve, but alas, even walking was barely manageable, so you settled for a fast walk. You used your knife to stab the plant, holding the gourd under the knife, as some liquid lazily rolled alongside the blade.

“Thank God I binge-watched Bear Grill’s stupid show.” Chuckling to yourself, you drank a bit. It tasted odd, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

By the time high noon finally arrived, you thought you’d boil alive.

“Should take a nap, and wait for the heat to calm the fuck down.” You looked around, no side of shade anywhere.

You kept going for a good kilometre and a half, until you finally found a rock big enough to provide some cover.

The ground was so hot you could feel it through your shoes, as if the soles were sizzling under the blasted heat. The shade was a tad cooler, enough for you to lay down. You checked on your wound. You were by no means a medical expert, but you knew enough to know that this was not a good sign, all around the wound were sickly yellowish marks, and there seemed to be some pus seething from the injury.

“Just what I needed…”

You put your arms under your neck, closing your eyes. You were in pain, but exhaustion was stronger. You slipped in and out of consciousness, yet you were able to get some rest.

When you came to, the sun seemed to indicate that it was between 4 PM to 6PM. The heat was a tad more bearable. It was time to move.

You got back on the trail, not feeling confident, but the panicked that had seized your mind and body earlier was long gone. You figured you could handle this.

You were able to go on for several more hours, until the sun started to set. Hunger was starting to cloud your mind, but you knew that you had to overcome the frivolous need, it was not yet an emergency to eat.

When the stars came out, the chill started to settle in. Desert was hell. Scorching hot during the day, freezing cold in the night.

However, it couldn’t alter your determination, you came too far to back down now. When your legs could not carry you anymore, you collapsed under a small boulder. You bared your blade, letting it rest on the stone.

It took much longer to fall asleep that time though. Your thoughts drifted to your companions, how were they faring? Were they still alive? Was HQ aware of the crash? Would they send reinforcements?

Would you eventually find your way out?

Feeling the slight prick of tears on the corner of your eyes, you gulped loudly, swallowing was tough. You took a tentative sip out of the gourd, but what remained there was naught more than gunk from the previous cactus juice.

Sleep eventually took you when you least expected it. It was far from blissful rest, you tossed and turned, and as time went on, you seemed to be losing more and more energy.

Giving up and just lying there had started to become tempting. But you just could not abandon. You had come this far, had you not? Plus, you could simply not leave your companions to their fate.

You started to dream. You were back in the aircraft, chatting mindlessly with Lùcio about the music, you blinked, and suddenly the Orca went dark, safe for the constant blinking of the various nodes on the aircraft’s piloting board.

“Lena? Hana? Lù?” You called out, receiving naught but silence. You got up from the escape pod you were sat in, even though you could not remember getting there. You looked out the window, it was dark out, almost impossible to see beyond the thick window.

Your voice was almost nothing but a sheer whisper covered by the intense vrooming in your ears, rendering your thoughts incoherent.

You struggled to reach the dashboard, as you desperately tried to avoid crashing the aircraft. You erratically pressed a few buttons here and there. A bright light illuminated your fingers, you turned around swiftly, trying to find out where that was coming from.

Suddenly, you were falling, you felt the rush of the wind against your skin, as your breath was straight up knocked out of your lungs.

Trying to hold on to whatever was available, you still found your arms and legs flailing, as you woke up, drenched in sweat.

“Fuck, what in the hell was that?” You panted, your heart still hammering against your ribcage.

You cracked your knuckles. Getting up painfully, as the sun started to rise, like a threat.

In this land of cacti, rock and sand, you almost wished you could’ve crashed on an island. Stranded on an island seemed slightly less tough then being in a desert.

You chewed on your EMR, your jaw ached for not having eaten in a while. You had started to lose track of days, when you first saw it.

It was barely visible, yet, after seeing naught but rocks and sand for days, it stood out remarkably.

It looked like a church, you rushed to it, mouth agape like an animal, your eyes prickling because of the wind and sand.

It finally came into view, it was a small town, but to you, it was like an oasis, and given the current context, the analogy couldn’t have been any more accurate.

Falling to your knees, you didn’t hear people rushing to your aid, you simply felt yourself hit the ground, as everything went dark, once again.

Your dream was similar to the previous one, yet, instead of the light appearing behind you, it appeared in front of you. A simplistic sign, a trademark which you recognise instantly.

When the light came behind your back, you already knew who it was.

A sugar skull.

A familiar silhouette, bathed in purple light.

“Sombra.”

“Well, hello too.” Greeted a foreign voice, belonging to a woman.

“Sorry. Can I-” You didn’t even have to finish your sentence, a glass of water was brought to your lips.

Drinking some actual water relieved your throat in ways you didn’t even know were possible, it was bliss.

You uttered a quick a ‘thanks’, as you took in your surroundings. It seemed you were in the church, laying on a mattress on the ground, a few bandages bared your torso. You wiggled your toes tentatively, you felt much better.

It seemed that you weren’t the only ones stuck in a peculiar predicament. Many people were on the mattresses, some looking pretty rough. The church was quite dusty, enough to make you cough. The pain in your ribs made you wince, you clutched your wounded side hurriedly.

“Tough landing, eh?” You turned to your saviour. A pair of washed jeans, legs crossed on a foldable chair, an old tee-shirt, blonde hair tied in a messy bun, a cigarette tucked on top of her ear.

“You could say that,” You groaned, slowly getting up, resting your hands on your bruised knees.

“How long have I been out?” You asked, cracking your knuckles, enjoying the way they popped.

“Three days, doc said the exhaustion and the malnutrition should’ve kept you down for a week at least. Given how you look, I wouldn’t have bet a peanut on your ass. No offense.” She got up, extending her hand.

“None taken.” You grabbed her hand, she pulled you up with ease.

“You mentioned a tough landing earlier. D’you know how I got here?” You noticed something you hadn’t noticed earlier: a revolver hanging on her hip.

“We saw an aircraft coming down about a week ago. The Mojave is unforgiving, you’re lucky you made it out.” She started making her way out of the church; you followed her.

“Have you seen anybody else?” You felt your guts wrenching. This was your first mission, and everything that could have gone wrong, went spectacularly wrong.

“Not that I know of. Though there was some ruckus in Slab City, a newcomer, seemingly a foreigner, just like yourself. Might want to give it a look, after you pay off your debt.” She seemed almost apologetic at the last part.

“Shit,” You looked at your feet. You felt powerless, your friends were in danger, yet, you were stuck in a shithole of a town in the Mojave Desert, stranded, most likely left for dead, and now you had a debt to a bunch of hillbillies. Well, desert hillbillies.

“Well, I guess I ought to pay you back, right… What must I do?” You looked around, a few compounds which served as housing, though far from decent, and, given the neon sign in the distance, there was a bar.

How surprising.

You tried to tone down your frustration, they helped you, and perhaps you’d be able to gain some information about the rest of your friends’ whereabouts.

“Let’s get to the bar, we got a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

The walk to the bar was mainly spent in silence, as you contemplated how in Heaven’s name did you get into this mess.

You pushed the door, this place was a walking cliché, you were half expecting a tumbleweed to roll in and choke you to death any second.

“Hey sweetheart, lookin’ good.” Drawled a man, half standing, half slouched on the bar, a cigarette hanging loosely from his chapped lips.

Your new friend made her way around the bar, unimpressed by the drunkard’s incivility.

You went to sit on the stool, when the man landed a sharp slap on your ass.

In a second, you whipped around, grabbing his wrist, throwing him on a nearby table.

A whistle came from behind you, the blonde seemed to be thoroughly surprised.

“Like the attitude, I was going to ask you to hit a few moles or snakes on the head with a shovel, but seems you’re cut out for more… subtle work.” She grinned appreciatively.

“Subtlety? After I sent a dude flying on one of your tables? Where did you even learn about diplomacy and subtlety?” She scoffed at the, slapping you on the shoulder, not giving a damn about the fact that you visibly winced.

“Well, welcome to Hill’s Fall, and to the wild, wild west.” She winked suggestively.

A few drinks later, you were well acquainted with your new friend. Her name was Mary Henderson, she had been tending to this bar ever since her brother passed away. She told you quite a bit about your surroundings. Few towns, a bunker down north, occupied by the Outcasts, former Slab City citizens. There was an outpost belonging to the Outlaws somewhere in the desert, Mary told you about how many of her friends, on supply runs, winded up dead or missing.

She also finally informed you of your mission. It was far from simple. You had to infiltrate the outpost, and free the citizens they had taken.

Mary was rambling about the mission, and the people they had taken, and did not notice that you had fallen asleep, face first on the counter. Given how inconsistent her speech had been, she must have followed suit.

You slept soundly, you might have been snoring, but given the sound you woke up to, Mary was a fair competitor, sounded like a lawnmower on the pavement.

Drinking some alcohol might have soothed some of your worries, when the effect washed away you were not only feeling terrible, but also had all of your previous anxieties back tenfold.

You groggily got up from the chair on which you had passed out. Your head was throbbing painfully, as you took in your surroundings. The bar had probably seen better days, it was in quite a decrepit state, the floor was creaking audibly under your bare feet. You noticed Mary sprawled across the counter, drool dripping from her chin.

Mary woke up with a startle, sending a few glasses to shatter on the floor.

“M’therfucker…” She groaned, rubbing at her temple vigorously. She got up from the counter, sliding without an ounce of grace onto the floor, carefully avoiding the broken glass.

She cursed under her breath, slowly getting back up, before picking up the shards. You assisted her as you could, your own head throbbing painfully.

Mary fished a remedy for hangovers from behind the counter, and you were glad to see your headache gone. The woman provided you with some fresher clothes, yours were stained with blood, and the rest… Well, let’s say that a night of drinking seldom left vestments immaculate. But from the stench of it, you could easily guess a mix of alcohol, and some vomit.

The clothes were simple: a jerkin, ample but should help with the heat, trousers which required you to use to belt to refrain them from falling upon your ankles, and a blood-stained holster with a revolver.

You wished McCree would’ve come along, for this could’ve been heaven for the cowboy wannabe.

Mary offered a simple meal, resources were precious, and, while the two of you chewed on the dried meat and the hard bread, she filled you on what you were supposed to do.

“A cart of our people went missin’, when they were scouting the region. That ain’t the first time it happened, mind you, bastards took my Pa’ months ago.” She blurted out, as she ate with her mouth open, but none of you minded this indelicacy.

“We gonna head there, find out what happened. Dunno why they used a cart out of all things. I know the way, d’you know how to ride a horse?”

You knew the basics, but felt the need to refresh your muscle memory before heading out.

After an hour spent in the coral trying to figure it out, you were finally ready to follow Mary.

The blonde was much chattier after a meal, and talked your ear off about the region, and the bastards who were making life hard for everyone. She even spent about thirty minutes blabbering about your horse, Sooty, and her upbringing. You skilfully managed to tune her out, while keeping an ear out of the important parts.

But, chatty as she was, she still knew her way around the desert.

From afar, you could see a trail of smoke, up in the air. Mary didn’t warn you, as her horse broke into a gallop. You followed suite, squinting heavily as the sun reflected on the sand made it hard to see.

You arrived at the destination, dismounting promptly. A broken wheel was keeping a fire going, for one body seemed to have been impaled upon it, and produced a wretched stench.

Mary was gagging, but you kept your cool, and tried to breathe in through your nose.

Another body, curled up on itself, against a rock, seemed to have suffer an equally violent death. You kneeled next to it, for the burned body surely no longer contained any exploitable information, and examined it.

You were no expert at forensics, but Angela had taught you a thing or two, though it displeased her immensely.

The hands were torn and bruised, it seemed that the victim tried to protect their faces. You adjusted the body’s position, though the stiffness of it indicated that the death had not been recent. Once the arms were out of the way, a face with feminine feature appeared. Her hair had been pulled off in handfuls, a few lesions were observable on the sides of her head. You opened her mouth, while ignoring Mary’s orders of letting the body alone.

The tongue was swollen and of a greenish tint, which confirmed that the victim had been dead for well over 24 hours.

There were signs of resistances, her nails were mostly torn off, with dried blood on the fingertips, a few of them had been broken, somebody had probably stepped on it. You got up, and spoke to Mary.

“Something’s wrong.” You stated, looking on the ground for footprints, though you suspected that the wind shifted the sand enough to cover most of their tracks.

“Yeah, fucking around with corpses is wrong!” Mary seemed shock of your actions.

“Not what I meant. The body has been dead for over a day, at least, but the fire is recent, it wouldn’t have lasted through the night, let alone two. Which means that either another convoy or someone else was passing through here, and got attacked, or that whoever did this came back, and left this. As a warning, perhaps. Or a threat.” You reported, thinking that Gabe would congratulate you on your analysis.

“The bastards. First, they kill our people, then they flaunt their atrocities? What kind of sick fuck does this?” She kicked a rock out of the way, which landed on the body you had examined earlier.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry…I…” While Mary apologised profusely to the corpse, you kneeled next to it, before grabbing the victim’s head and letting it fall back, giving you a better look at her mouth. You reluctantly grabbed the swollen tongue, before putting it back, revealing a piece of paper, hidden under her sand-covered tongue.

“Interesting.” You felt like vomiting, but you knew better than to let go of such precious information. You carefully unfolded the paper, and tried to decipher it.

“Oil, gas, fire the way.” It had been hastily written. Mary stared at you inquisitively.

“I wonder what’s your job, you seem used to it.”

“I’ve had good teachers, but that’s my first time on the ground, I suppose,” You sighed. “Any idea?” You asked, flaunting the paper.

“I’m guessin’ that the convoy was bearing oil and gas, I know the good pastor was trying to trade these for water and food. Given where we are, it was probably headed towards Slab City.”

You nodded. It was a good opportunity to find out if the foreigner whom landed in Slab City was one of your friends.

“We might want to check that out, then.”

“I don’t think the Slabbers would attack us, though, they suffer just the same way we do, they lost a shitton of good people as well.”

“Still, perhaps they know something about it, if it was headed their way.”

“You just want to see if one of your friends is there, don’t you? Planning on bailing out, so soon.” She eyed you suspiciously.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, but we’ve got to follow the trail, and this is the only lead we’ve got.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m keepin’ you in my sight, though. You still owe us.” She kicked another rock, which threw over the pyre, landing in a mess of fire and sparks.

“Mary what the ever loving fu-” You were interrupted by parts of the sandy dirt road catching fire, a trail set ablaze.

You looked at Mary, then back at the fire, and before you knew it, you were following the spreading fire.

“You know what, Mary? Feel free to throw rocks!” You smirked, as she barked out a laugh.

The trail stopped near a cluster of rocks. You hopped off your horse, investigating the hole between the stones.

A few balls of paper had seemingly been thrown there. You handed half of them to your companion, before smoothing one out for yourself to read.

The handwriting was different than the woman’s, and seemed to detail his capture by slavers, then, later on, his escape with his companions.

“We tried to signal to a convoy, passing near the road to my town, but they attacked us. Ornella and Simon held them back while we ran away with the cart. I ain’t proud of what we did, but they attacked first. When we came back to find out what happened of our friends, Orn’ was dead, and I’ve no idea what happened to Simon. Tell my mom her little Thomas will send ‘em fuckers straight to hell.”

So it seemed that the slavers didn’t, in fact, attack the convoy, but that they attacked runaway slaves looking for help. Perhaps their garments made the escort doubt whether they were friend or foe. A tragedy, really. You thought, as you rode the other letter, thought it was barren of interesting information, simply a goodbye letter.

“I’ve got something!” Exclaimed Mary, waving her letter.

You nodded, awaiting her report eagerly.

“Looks like they were going to take that convoy straight to the place they call The Forge, to blow it all up. Seems like it leaked though, hence the trail of fire. The dirt road ends here, there’s no way we can keep up with that trail.” Devised Mary, grabbing handfuls of sand to watch it trickle.

“We might want to ask around in Slab City, then.” Asking the townsfolk about The Forge was a decent lead, after all.

Mary hummed in agreement, dishing out her water canteen, offering some to you after having drank a few hearty gulps of water. You accepted gratefully, before following your guide to Slab City.

When you arrived, the sun had started to go down, offering a splendid view of the city. It was mostly made of junk, recycled bottles, cardboard, some of them had disparate brick walls, and the houses, though qualifying these as houses would be quite a compliment, were made of composite materials. Still, it was much bigger than the town you had woke up in, had a few trailers.

Fairy lights were hung across streets for better visibility, as the night chill was beginning to creep in, and bonfires were starting to be lit by equally original inhabitants.

“It’s a dump o’ junk, but it’s as safe as it gets, nowadays.” Commented Mary, as you slowly made your way down the sandy hill. It was refreshing to ride across something else than sand and rock. You pat the side of your horse’s neck, hoping to get Sooty something to drink, for it had been a long day, and your water gourd could only help so much.

“If you want information, the Saloon’s the place to go!” Merrily cheered the blonde, as she forced her horse into a trot through the streets, nodding to some Slabers, which were looking at the two of you with as much curiosity as distrust and worry.

A man stopped her in her tracks, seemingly knowing her. Your companion turned to you, suddenly serious.

“Head over to the bar, I’ll take care of your horse. Feel free to ask for your friend, but don’t you try and skip town, I’ll know it, got it?” She pointed to the Saloon, which was lit in an obnoxious way, the entanglement of fairy lights forming a penis.

You nodded, handing over the reins, before heading to the Saloon, thinking that Jesse would’ve fallen head over heels for this place.

As you soon as you entered the saloon, you were hit by the stench of strong moonshine meddled with sweat. You closed your eyes for a second, and when you reopened them, you saw a good portion of the saloon glaring at you.

“Are you another one o’ them Forged fucks?” Asked the bartender, who had reached behind the counter, grabbing his shotgun.

You put your hand on your revolver, looking around. There was no way you could make it out if they decided to attack you. You decided to play it cool, trying to mimic what Sombra had taught you to de-escalate a situation. Instead of seeming tough, you let your hand slide to your buckle, letting it rest there comfortably, as you tried to keep your breathing slow and steady.

“I’m not one of them. I’m here to end them.” You tried to drawl out casually, walking slowly to the bar, as they broke into boisterous fits of laughter. You knew better than to be offended, but they needed to respect you, and to understand that you weren’t messing around. Faking a small laugh, you reached for a bottle of moonshine on the counter, and poured yourself a shot, gulping it down with assurance, and if you looked calm on the outside, it was pretty tough to keep the tears out of your eyes, the alcohol stung your throat unpleasantly.

You slammed the glass on the counter, earning everyone’s attention once more.

Well aware that all eyes were on you, you poured yourself another shot, before raising your glass for everyone to see.

“This one is to Thomas, Ornella, Simon, Adrian and Sam!” You declared, downing it with much more ease than the first one.

“How do you know these names?” Asked the bartender, his hand upon yours, firmly trapping it against the glass.

With your other hand, you got out three letters from your shirt.

“I found them while I was tracking down a convoy headed your way. I need to know all you know about the Forge, so I can take care of it.” He withdrew his hand, as he yanked the letters out of your hand.

“My sweet Ornella,” Crooned the man, clutching the letters. “Was my niece’s death peaceful?” His eyes were suddenly full of sorrow, but you knew that sparing this poor man the painful truth would only bring more trouble.

“Heroic. She stayed behind to hold off the attackers. Seems like she teamed up with some folks from Hill’s Fall.” You lied, knowing fully well that revealing that if they heard that their neighbours shot first, it could start a war, even if it was an accident.

The man nodded solemnly, before pouring himself a shot, into the glass you had previously used.

“Bottoms up, everyone!” He ordered. Everyone in the saloon had raised their glass, their eyes closed, as they downed their glass, before resuming their activities. You guessed that such announcements were common enough, for they did not seem shocked.

“What’d you wanna know?” Asked the bartender, washing his glass with a rag which seemed dirtier than the glass itself;

“Firstly, I must ask if you have seen any outsiders recently.” He furrowed his brows, so you added some more details.

“A small brit, dressed oddly, a young Asian girl, and a Brazilian man, with dreadlocks.” He seemed to perk up at the mention of the DJ.

“Oh, you mean Lùcio, he’s here, alright, he plays music for us. I must’ve known you were one of his friends, though you don’t exactly fit the description.”

You failed to control the smile which lit up your whole face, earning a chuckle from the bartender.

Just as you were about to ask for him, you heard a few loud strums on a guitar, before your friend came sliding down the ramp leading to the first floor.

The bar came alive, greeting the musician with praise for his latest songs, and a few demands.

His hair was falling over his shoulder in a most glorious mane, his bright eyes complementing the simple suit he wore, brown jacket with slacks, a mostly unbuttoned white shirt, and a cowboy hat.

You couldn’t help but giggle, he seemed to have gotten into the town’s spirit, and seeing him well brought you endless joy. He welcomed your hug with fierceness, kissing the top of your head.

“Man, it’s good to see a familiar face!” Lùcio was beaming, holstering his guitar on his back. “C’mon, we got a lot of catching up to do!” He added, already racing up the stairs.

His room was messy, a cardboard with different handwritten notes showing that he had been working hard at finding the others. A map was spread on his bed, which seemed to have been the fruit of rigorous manual work.

He pulled two stools from under his bed, and the two of you sat in front of each other, reporting your findings.

“The Forge, huh? According to the old man who lives near the museum, it’s a place where they enslave people, the Forged are brainwashed slaves, and the Forgers their masters.” Said Lùcio, pointing to one of his notes.

“How does he know that?”

“He made it out, but his mind was broken, he soils himself, has nightmares and flashbacks… Took me some time to get things right.” He seemed pained.

“No news about the others?” You asked, though a part of you knew that if he had any kind of information about the Hana and Lena’s whereabouts, he’d have told you right away.

“No news. I hope they didn’t get caught, or hurt in the crash. There’s no internet here, no signal… These people don’t even know who I am!”

You raised your eyebrows, Lùcio was a popstar, pretty much everybody knew about the rebellious Brazilian DJ.

“Any lead about the Forge? We need to shut that place down.” You thought back on all the people who were suffering at their hands. It had to stop.

“Can’t agree more, but the only person who’s got any idea on how to stop it would be Old Man Jenkins, and he ain’t right in his mind.” He got up and paced nervously, while you laid back in your chair.

“The way I see it, we’ve got two options: we try to get out of the Desert, and find a way to contact Overwatch, and ask for reinforcements, but that would mean putting Hana and Lena’s lives on the lines. Or, we try and shake some information out of Jenkins, head to the Forge with the Slabers, and take it forcefully. It’s been too long since our last report, Overwatch is certainly already looking for us, which means that they might lend us a hand during the preparations.” You grabbed Lùcio’s map, and studied the region.

Your friend stopped his pacing, resting a shoulder against the wall, considering your approach.

“But what if we don’t know the location? We don’t even know how many people are in the Forge, we need to have numbers, and given how many people have gone missing the last few years, even uniting the region wouldn’t be enough.” He was scratching his slowly growing beard, which appeared more like a shadow.

“We don’t need to barge in through the main doors, we can do it stealthily, get in, free the slaves, find an escape route, and blow up the Forge. Numbers matters when we are talking about a face-to-face. If we use ruse and intelligence, we won’t need too many men, a few squads should suffice.” You thought back on your lessons with Gabriel, Blackwatch had many strategies to infiltrate and destroy an enemy base, though the situation was unprecedented. There were too many variables. The Forged, were they loyal to their masters? Would it mean more enemies to fight? Would the Slabers be willing to kill their own?

You sighed, knowing that leaving the region to join the Gibraltar team could have a potentially fatal outcome to your friends.

You suddenly shot up, the frustration boiling your veins, as you clenched your deformed hand, feeling it oozing.

You saw stars and stumbled, thankfully, Lùcio caught you in his arms.

“Woah, y/n, when’s the last time you rested?” Concerned, he forced you to lay on the bed, ordering you to stay still while he pilfered from the kitchen.

You had no choice but to lay there, looking at the ceiling. He came back with a meagre meal, though it was better than nothing, bread, some beef jerky, and a tasteless soup.

After having engulfed the food, you simply remembered your friend tucking you in, before leaving the room.

“I wish I had time to explain, but we’ve got no time! Talon’s behind this.” Sombra grabbed your arm, her claws digging into your arm, as she threw you into an emergency exit pod.

“We’ll come and find you just don’t-”

You woke up with a startle, to find Lùcio studying the board. He turned on his heels, a charming smile upon his face.

“Slept well, I hope?” He sat down on the bed, offering you a piece of flat bread, which tasted quite sugary.

Nodding your agreement as you got up and read the newest additions to Lùcio’s work, you remembered about Mary.

“Lù, how long have I slept ?!” You were pretty sure she was going to murder you.

“Through the night, I don’t think my snoring disturbed you. If you’re wondering about Mary, Frank payed off your debt, as a thank you for bringing back the letters.” Explained Lùcio, amused by your panic.

You sat down on the stool with a sigh of relief, as the door opened, revealing none other than a certain blonde with an affection for throwing stones at everything.

“Look alive, sunshine!” Grinned the blonde woman, even warmer now that she had been paid.

Lùcio and Mary had worked hard while you rested, they managed to pin Jenkins down and to bring him to the Saloon’s basement.

“How come there’s a basement?” You asked, as you descended down the stairs, after having wolfed down your breakfast.

“The Saloon was already there when the first Slabers arrived, in the 1970s, it was one of the first buildings they established.” Explained Lùcio.

“Of course it’d be a saloon.” You sighed, while Mary squinted at you menacingly.

“Are you callin’ us drunks?” She said, pretending to be offended.

“Plain truth, I’m afraid.” You smirked, it couldn’t be later than 9 in the morning, and you had already seen a man knocked out in his fresh puddle of piss;

Lùcio nodded absentmindedly, as you entered the basement to find an old man, with an odd haircut, smoking a cigarette by the end of it.

“It’s supposed to be the other way around, Jenkins.” Sighed Mary, taking a seat on one of the dusty tables.

The man groaned a vague acknowledgment, but kept smoking. His hands were battered, he was missing his pinky, and sported a burn scar which went from his right ear to his chin. His clothes were in terrible condition, even by Slaber standards, with more holes than cloth.

“Brought you a little something!” Sing-sang Lùcio, throwing some bread his way. He caught it with surprising dexterity, before devouring it without uttering a word of thanks.

“So, now that you’ve finished your meal, why don’t you tell us a little something about Forge?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe.

He suddenly spun around, eyes wide as saucers.

“Won’t. Can’t.” His eyes faced the ground, as he mumbled a few words.

“What was that?” Asked Mary, getting some dirt out of her nails with her knife.

“NO!” He yelled, before curling up on himself, slowly rocking back and forth.

“Bad place, very, very bad people. Took Ellie. Killed kiddo. Bad people.” He whispered, his voice breaking.

You crouched in front of him.

“Yes, they’re bad people. We are going to kill them, so they don’t hurt anyone else, okay?” You tried to make your voice as smooth and comforting as possible.

“Too late, too late. Spreads like illness, turned us into animals.” His hands were shaking badly, as he tried to grasp yours.

“Nothin’ you can do. Leave.” His eyes seemed almost pleading.

“We’re not leaving until we take care of this, we are here to help.” Reassured Lùcio, laying a comforting hand upon his shoulder.

“The Eagleborn. The Eagleborn. That’s where they are.” He started crying, before crawling underneath a table.

“The Eagleborn?” Repeated Lùcio, getting up. “I heard that name before. We need to ask Delilah, in the museum, one of the new pieces in the art gallery has the same name.” He held out his hand to help you up, ever the gentleman.

“Sure, leave me to take care of the batshit crazy dude, thanks guys.” Muttered Mary, though there was no trace of frustration or anger in her voice, only a tint of sadness.

“When we’re done, there will never be another batshit crazy dude, I promise.” You spoke over your shoulder, as you left the basement, following Lùcio.

The Museum was only a few minutes away on horseback, during the ride, Lùcio filled you in about the City’s history, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You needed to find out what happened, and wondered if bringing up your dreams could be of any help.

Just when you were about to interrupt him, the Museum came into view, and you couldn’t help but stop dead in your tracks at how impressive it was. The entrance was big, and brightly coloured. Pillars which were akin to those of Antic Greece, covered in ink and splendid drawings.

The entrance itself was made of coloured composite glass, casting intricate patterns.

“I know, breath-taking. I wrote a song about it.” Smiled Lùcio, taking your horse’s reins, as you got down to see this wonder of creation closer.

Inside were murals drawn upon the glass, like the stained glass of cathedrals. The light which was pouring in was colouring the hall in multiple colours, adding intensity to the black sand which acted as floor.

“Satya would’ve either hated this or loved this.” You mused.

“She’d have hated it, if it’s not pristine, it’s not to her taste.” Mumbled a sour Lùcio, after all, he wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with the Architect.

You shrugged, making your way to a woman, seated in a room in the corner, drawing something on a piece of cardboard. A small plaque with her name, Vida, on it bore elegant flowers and elephants.

“Hi, may I ask where Delilah is?” You asked politely.

She gestured to a door leading outside, where you could see the faint hint of a car carcass.

Your eyes hadn’t deceived you, as you entered a place where cars were half buried in the sand, and decorated with various materials, ranging from string and clothes, to wood and what seemed to be furs.

The sight was oddly soothing, perhaps the light tinting sound enhanced this effect, seeing humanity’s most prominent works of technology buried by nature, which was, ultimately, our only ruler.

“She’s probably in the garden.” Commented Lùcio, striding for a place you had not noticed, on your right.

It was a gazebo, shielded from the sun by strings of glass tinting in the wind. Its roof consisted of large shards of glass covered by cloth pointing towards the sky. Your friend confidently entered the gazebo, and you followed him while trying not to trip, as you were entranced by this extraordinary setting.

Delilah was a woman of an unusually white skin, almost transparent blue eyes, framed by frizzly blonde hair, falling all over her face, despite the messy bun which tried to keep them all together.

Henna covered her arms up to her shoulders, and descended to her ribs, coming together before descending the expanse of her toned stomach. You stopped yourself from staring any more than you already had. While you were busy admiring her beauty, Lùcio seemed to have explained the reason of your visit.

You extended your hand, expecting to formally introduce yourself, but as you told her your name, she took your hand and kissed it.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Y/N, I am Delilah, I take care of the sculptures, and record our history, as my mother and her mother before her did.” She got up with ethereal grace, while Lùcio was busy laughing at your speechlessness.

She reached down for a umbrella, revealing that her henna went back up her back in intricate designs, up to her neck, which resembled a collar. You guessed that the good view you had upon her behind was no fortuity, but you decided not to eye it, however tempting that was.

You turned to see that Lùcio was almost choking on his silent laughter. You smacked his shoulder, making him laugh even more.

“Something wrong, Lùcio?” Asked Delilah, eyebrows raised.

“He just choked on his spit.” You lied, glaring at him.

Delilah handed Lùcio some water, before grabbing your arm, leading you outside.

Even though the situation was not prone to these kind of thoughts, you couldn’t help but smile nervously, as you tried to distract yourself from your gayness.

“We do have a sculpture named Eagleborn. I shall lead you to it, there always is a small plaque giving more information about the sculpture.” Explained Delilah, seemingly unaware of the inner turmoil she had caused within you.

The art piece represented a smaller version of a plane, made out of scrap metal and clothes, its beak stuck in the sand, the cockpit filled with red sand.

“According to the plaque, it’s inspired by an actual plane, from the Omnic War, the real carcass is somewhere near the mountains.” Read Delilah, while you and Lùcio were circling the aircraft, searching for answers.

“Lù’, there were instruments to pinpoint your location on these aircrafts. We need to take the red sand out.” Lena had told you about these kinds of planes, her father flew one in the Army, during the War.

“What’s the point? We already know where we are, we need to know where the Eagleborn is.” Lùcio was leaning against the plane.

“But perhaps the artist indicated where the actual Eagleborn is. How recent is this one? Is the artist a resident?” You asked Delilah, as she opened the door for Lùcio to get the sand out.

“It was made less than a week ago, by someone named…” She paused to check the plaque. “Simornella.”

Your head wiped around.

“Simornella? Simon and Ornella…” These names were mentioned in the letters, but if Ornella’s body had already been found, how could Simon go to Slab City, create this, and go back to the road, where the burning body had been found.

You murmured to yourself, pacing while Lùcio was shovelling the sand out of the cockpit.

“So, if Ornella and Simon stayed behind to hold them back, how come this was made by someone with a mix of their names? Perhaps one of their friends?”

“Found something!” Called out Lùcio, uncrumpling a ball of paper.

He read it out loud.

“Ornella, I’m sorry, I couldn’t. I ran away. You fought, like you always did back when we were kids. I hid. That fucker you wounded, I’m going to chase him down, and destroy him, that’s the least I can do. To anyone reading this, please give my friends, my family, a proper end to their story. I’ve put the Forge’s body dump coordinates. I have no courage left, do what I could not, and fight back. Signed, Simon.”

“Have you seen him?” You asked, rereading the letter.

“No, it was submitted anonymously, Maiwen handled most of it, but I reckon she won’t be of much help.” Mused Delilah.

“We’ve got the coordinates, we can simply wait until they dump the bodies, and trail them. Do you know anyone who would be willing to join us into this fight?” You asked Delilah, who was absentmindedly caressing the carcass.

“I’d personally love to follow you, but my fighter days are long gone, plus, us Albinos are not exactly fond of the sun, staying under it for hours would mean my death. But, go and ask the Professor, he acts as the Mayor of Slab City, he knows best,” Advised Delilah, making her way back to her gazebo, before sparing one last look over her shoulder. “I wish you the best of luck. Thank you for doing this, this has been going for so long, people don’t feel like they can even fight back.”

You both nodded solemnly.

“I hope we won’t find our girls in the body dump…” Muttered Lùcio, looking off the horizon. “Go and find Mary, tell her to rally her town, I’ll speak to the Mayor, we know each other.” He added, as you made your way out of the museum.

You untied your horse from the hitching post, before making your way to the Saloon, just as you were about to part ways, Lùcio put his hand upon yours.

“Don’t do anything dangerous, alright? At least wait until I’m with you to start getting into trouble.” Though his tone was light and joking, you could see that the smile he plastered on his face did not reach his eyes.

“Don’t worry Lù’, I’ll be alright, I’ve already come back from death once.” You grinned, while you parted ways.

You met Mary at the Saloon, while she was chatting up the bartender.

“Hey, Frank, this is Y/N, my new partner!” She seemed even more cheerful than usual, and as you saw her reddening nose, you understood the reason.

“We’ve already met, Mary.” He sighed, smiling apologetically. He was of an imposing build, wild black hair and bushy, yet trimmed beard, and was pretty good looking. Given the way Mary was staring at him, she seemed to think the exact same thing.

You shook your head, grinning.

“We’ve got some coordinates, The Forge’s body dump. We are planning an intervention. Know anyone willing to join the fight? We’ll need stealthy people, but who also know how to handle a weapon.” You reported, while their mood switched drastically. Frank nodded gravely, while Mary seemed to be deep in thoughts.

“I’ll go back to the Church, and gather our best, do you want to meet here?” She got up, almost ready to leave.

“Sure, when will you be back?”

“Two days, I’ll gather our weapons, and bring our fighters to the Saloon. We have some pretty talented scouts.” Mary grinned fiercely.

You nodded, while the blonde ran up to her room to gather her luggage.

“She’s got an endless reserve of energy.” You sighed, while Frank poured you a glass of water.

“She used to be one of their scouts, when she was a kid, before she married that John fella.” Explained Frank, finishing his own drink.

“She never mentioned a John.”

“They took him. He was leading a garrison, back when their town was more widespread, but that was a long time ‘go.”

You grimaced, poor Mary. You decided to change the subject.

“So, about the Slabers who might be willing to join us?”

“I know quite a lot of ‘em, I’ll go and let them know. It’ll take me all day to go door-to-door though, mind taking care of the Saloon while I handle it?” Asked Frank, already grabbing his coat and hat.

“Not at all.” You got behind the bar, there were prices indicated below it, and Frank’s shotgun.

“I’ll see ya ‘round then. Don’t hesitate to use Jessie. That’s the gun.” He added, at your confused stare.

A few minutes after Frank left, Mary came running back down the stairs, fingergunning your way, as she left the Saloon.

You sighed, it was going to be a pretty uneventful day.

Though this job couldn’t exactly qualify as boring, it gave you some time to think about your life, how much things had changed. You never thought you’d have such fire in you, so much will to conquer, to change things, to better yourself. To help others.

Perhaps this is what it meant to be part of Overwatch. You never thought that such places might exist, that such situations could still ruin so many lives, and yet, no one knew about it.

You wished you could call Amélie or Olivia, ask them for advice on how to handle this situation, but your communicator had been lost in the crash.

But now that you thought about it, how did the message sent to Overwatch about Outlaws presence in the Mojave was sent? There was no signal, and no one had phones…

Just as you were pouring a beer, Lùcio made his way into the Saloon, a slight pep to his walk.

“Hi Lù! How’d it go?” You waved over to him, as you sent the glass flying across the counter, straight into the woman’s hands.

He chuckled at the sight.

“You’re getting the hang of it, we’ll have our own bartender in no time!” He grinned, taking a seat on the stool, before summarising his meeting with the Professor.

“He’s willing to lend us some carts, and has granted us full access to the Slab City’s armoury. It’s all going according to plan!” He reached for something in his jacket’s inner pocket. “I found this in the armoury, I know a communicator is useless, especially when there’s no signal around, but perhaps they have some signal near the Forge, it might come in handy, right?” He handed over the battered piece of technology to you.

You pocketed with a smile, before pouring your friend some drinks, telling him of your dreams about Sombra, sharing theories about the crash, and soon enough, the Saloon was filled with laughter as you drunkenly sung with the DJ, on one of the tables.

Frank entered the bar, followed by a team of mismatched warriors, who bore scars as if they were honorifical ornaments, and missing limbs replaced with prosthesis which looked like they’d been made by salvaged components, which was surely the case.

Frank’s eyes widened as he saw you and Lùcio, frozen on the table in laughable positions. He barked out a laugh which had more in common with a bear’s roar than an actual laugh, but his companions joined in the festivities with ferocious enthusiasm.

The night was merry, full of drinking, dancing, and glee at the prospect of a future where people wouldn’t have to worry about their relatives or vital resources being snatched away. The room was full of smoke and the air heavy with sweat and loud noises.

You left it to take some fresh hair outside, Frank silently joining you. He stood against the wall for a few minutes, before speaking.

“You know, we thought of fighting back, before the Professor showed up to help us put the town back together after one nasty raid. We had a leader, Fier, he was called. But he was taken… One of our scouts found his arm by the roadside. But that was well b’fore my time.” He recalled, lighting a cigarette.

“And you haven’t tried to fight back since?” You asked, sitting on a crate.

“We tried, for a while, but to no avail. When fear is passed down from generation to another, even the idea of fighting back seems impossible. Unthinkable. My old man would be pissed outta his mind if he learned about what we’re doing. Hell, even Fier’s son lived in terror, like the rest of us.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, lost in thoughts.

“But that’s going to change, now. We needed a new perspective. Lùcio’s songs and speeches about freedom made us realise that we were livin’ like cattle. When ya showed up, ready to tear the fuckers apart… Well, let’s say we’re inspired, and ready to end this shit.” He looked at you, with a grin that held respect and appreciation.

“I’ll try my best… Though this isn’t exactly my area of expertise.” You scratched the back of your neck, not used to such situations and so much hope placed in you. It wasn’t about an exam, or studies, it was a life and death situation, to see that you had such an influence was frightening and invigorating.

“Ya kiddin’? You’ve been handling stuff pretty well.”

You weren’t sure if it was a sudden burst under pressure, or the alcohol in your veins speaking, but you couldn’t handle it anymore and blurted out what was on your mind.

“It’s a miracle, really, I used to be a lab assistant, but a spiral of mess and shit got me here. It’s my first real mission, and it is not exactly going well.” You confessed, shaking your head.

Frank went slack-jawed, which made his cigarette fall onto his pants. He quickly grabbed it back and pat his trousers, alarmed.

“So, you’re a rookie, so what? You’re rookie who managed what we couldn’t for generations: hoping for change, fighting for it. When you’ll have some more experience in you, you’ll be a force to be reckoned with, trust me.” He slapped your back with a huge grin, before urging you to go back inside, to toast to your first mission.

Hell, it wasn’t even finished yet.

The moonshine went to your head pretty quickly, and soon enough, you were back with Lùcio and Frank, this time, on the counter, dancing and singing even though you couldn’t exactly make out the lyrics anymore, when you had an idea, which you thought was brilliant at the time.

But when you’re pissed drunk, any idea’s a good idea.

You grabbed the communicator from your pocket, and opened its camera.

“Hey, everyone, say cheese!” You yelled, more or less incoherently. You took a picture of you and the whole bar, with Lùcio and Frank’s faces on your shoulders, the DJ with his tongue out, and Frank winking obnoxiously. You messily typed ‘Slaber Life’ as a description.

You couldn’t make out what was written, since everything was blurry, and simply pressed on random buttons. From what you recalled as you were starting to pass out in the stairway to Lùcio’s room, it was probably the local channel. Your drunken self had thought that this way, everyone could get the picture, forgetting in your fogged mind that no one had signal, nor did they have communicators lying around for the taking.

When you woke up, at the crack of dawn, due to the uncomfortable position, the thought made you laugh. After asking the cook to prepare Mary’s cure for hangovers in large quantities for everyone, and waking Lùcio up, you went to the bathroom.

Instinctively pulling out the communicator, as it brought a strange sense of normalcy to be checking out an electronical device while using the loo, before smiling at your silliness. You could see how many people had seen the picture. You were going to turn off the device, when you saw that one person had seen it.

The comm slipped from your hand in your surprise, as you stood there, on the toilets, hand on your forehead, insulting your drunken self with every single insult you had ever heard in your entire life.

#overwatch fic #overwatch #lucio correia dos santos #reader

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feral-kiba · 7 years

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Hi, for the unusual asks, everything except the one that make you uncomfortable ^^ (I'm sorry ^^)

HHHH OKAY THIS WILL BE LONG(I'm going to exclude the ones I already did too)1) Spotify, SoundCloud, or pandora?-I used to use pandora but I quit that a while ago. I mostly use google play2) is your room messy or clean?-the only clean spot is in the middle so that I can lay out my yoga mat 🙃3) what color are your eyes?-blue-green w/ those gold specks? Idk they're from my mom. I just write "blue" on all my paperwork4) done previously!5) what is your relationship status?-boi I'm single af6) describe your personality in 3 words or less-Gryffindor, ENFJ, lawful-good ;)7) what hair color do you have?-brown. At one point I wanted to dye it, but cadets aren't allowed to so8) what kind of car do you drive? What color?-a really old dark red ford truck9) where do you shop?-lmao hot topic and tractor supply, there is no in between10) how would you describe your style?-it entirely depends on what I'm doing. I own allot of graphic tees and active/yoga wear but also jeans and FLANNEL. ALLOT OF THAT. I also have tactical pants? Idk man11) favorite social media account?-I hate to say it but it's this one. Instagram is the runner up. 12) what size bed do you have?-top bunk twin13) any siblings?-a younger one and an older half sister that I have no contact with14) if you could live anywhere in the would where would it be and why?-well, first I'd like to live in a town and finish my career, but after that I'd want to just. Move into a cabin in the woods and live off the land with allot of animals. I'd probably still want to be in California though, but I used to want Alaska15) favorite Snapchat filter?-probably the dog or flower crown cause I'm basic16) favorite makeup brand(s)?-what's a "make up"17) how many times a week do you shower?-usually every day. I love cleanliness and good skin18) favorite TV show?-...voltron, yeah. I also like walking dead and Gotham 19) shoe size?-around 7, give it take 1/220) how tall are you?-5'521) sandals or sneakers?-sneakers, always22) do you go to the gym?-nah, I do all my workouts at home23) describe your dream date. -the stars are out. The air is a bit chilly, but not too cold. We came out here to look at the land in its true nature, either on a truck or on horses. We've made a fire to warm us, and have blankets and cocoa. Maybe there's a dog with us. We've probably eaten pizza at some point. In the morning our backs are wet with dew and we make coffee24) how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment?-idk like 20 bucks and gift cards to Starbucks, GameStop, and the local movie theatre25) already done!26) how many pillows do you sleep with?-like 6+27) do you have a job? What do you do?-art, school, and cadet stuff is my job28) how many friends do you have?-I have like 3 really close ones, but I know allot of others29) what's the worst thing you have ever done?-I've never broken laws or anything, but I've lied before and that feels really wrong30) what's your favorite candle scent?-anything with cinnamon 31) 3 favorite boy names-(I have tons but,,,) Nolan, Atticus, Leo or Marlow probably,,, Wren??32) 3 favorite girl names-(same here) ANYTHING THAT RELATES TO BIRDS PROBABLY 33) favorite actor?-hdjslw criss pratt 34) favorite actress?-I LOVE THEM ALL35) who is your celebrity crush?-I had a really big crush on Lee Pace for a long ass time36) favorite movie?-I can't choose,,, I can't (the entire planet of the apes series)37) do you read allot? What's your favorite book?-I used to read 24/7, but school has stopped me from that. My favorite series is the 7 realms series or animorphs!38) money or brains?-why not both? Jk, totally brains39) do you have a nickname? What is it?-I am known as meggo the ego, megatron, pookie, and more 🙃40) how many times have you been in the hospital?-for myself? Just a couple41) top 10 songs-I refuse to choose. I love far too many. 42) do you take any medications daily?-nah43) what is your skin type?-tans easy, scars easy, rarely burns. It used to be really dry but I've started taking care of myself. 44) biggest fear?-moths. I hate them. Or something deep and personal like all those that I love suffering and dying, but I don't think about that. Nah45) how many kids do you want?-between 1 and 3. I might foster more than that. 46) what's your go to hairstyle?-I wash it. And then comb it. That's it. (Long live short hair)47) what kind of house do you live in?-a small one with a big yard48) who is your role model?-I have a few, but my mom is first. Then it's other adults I know like a couple local officers and my uncle. After that? Io Tillet Wright 49) already done!50) what was he last text you sent?-it was texting a guy about doing art for his band 51) how old were you when you found out Santa wasn't real?-I have no idea. I think past 8 tho52) what is your dream car?-big. Sturdy. Can drive through any weather and bullets can't penetrate it. Vroom vroom. It's basically the presidents car53) opinion on smoking?-it is nasty and will kill you do not do it54) do you go to college?-I'm still in high school but I take a psych class over at my community college 55) what is your dream job?-CHP officer, possibly a K9 or equestrian unit. That or an air force pilot and then something in space 56) would you rather live in a rural area or the suburbs?-rural. But if I have kids that might be different57) do you take shampoo and conditioner bottle from hotels?-no but I use it when I'm there58) already done!59) do you smile for pictures?-Ye60) how many pictures do your have on your phone?-2,35361) already done!62) do you still watch cartoons?-they're what I prefer63) do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy's or McDonald's?-I,,, don't like chicken nuggets64) favorite dipping sauce?-the butter garlic stuff from little caesars 65) what do you wear to bed?-large shirts give or take a pair of sweatpants. Sometimes just underwear66) have you ever won a spelling bee?-I don't think I've ever participated in one67) what are your hobbies?-riding horses, art, cadet stuff68) can you draw?-yeah. I actually do it allot. 69) do you play an instrument?-the only thing I ever learned to play was the xylophone 70) what was the last concert you saw?-wheezer and panic! At the disco71) tea or coffee?-I am sustained by coffee (but I like tea too)72) Starbucks or Dunkin' Donuts?-Starbucks 73) do you want to get married?-I do! It's not my main focus tho74) what is your crushes trust and last initial?-YALL THINK UR SLICK NAH MAN. I HAVE PEOPLE THAT FOLLOW ME THAT WILL KNOW. 75) are you going to change your last name when you get married?-maybe. It just depends. 76) what color looks best one you?-what is,,, fashion?77) do you miss anyone right now?-yeah :/78) do you sleep with your door opened or closed?-IT IS CLOSED AND WILL STAY CLOSED. 79) do you believe in ghosts?-yes. Yes, yes, yes. 80) what is your biggest pet peeve?-people who eat noisily 81) last person you called?-...my mom82) favorite ice cream flavor?-variations of chocolate 83) regular Oreos or golden Oreos?-regular, of course 84) chocolate or rainbow sprinkles?-rainbow ❤️💛💚💙💜85) what shirt are you wearing?-a cal fire shirt that my mom had when she was a firefighter86) what is your phone background?-... the starship enterprise 87) are you outgoing or shy?-mostly outgoing but I'm p laid back 88) already done!89) do you like your neighbors?-the only neighbor I have is my cousin. He's my least favorite cousin. 90) do you wash your face?-yeah, but just with water unless I'm in the shower. I usually wash it in the morning if I'm tired and at night before I go to bed91) have you ever been high?-no sir I am a law-abiding minor 92) have you ever been drunk?-no sir I am a law-abiding minor93) sat thing you ate?-soup. I have a cold. 94) favorite lyrics right now? -uhh,,, you know around 2 minutes into rolling stone by falling in reverse? Yeah. Or all of either closer or sing me to sleep95) summer or winter?-summer has more free time!96) day or night?-I like both for different reasons! In summer I definitely like night more though. 97) dark, milk, or white chocolate?-I love milk chocolate and also like dark chocolate but white chocolate rose from hell in order to be eaten98) favorite month?-uh,, I,, don't know99) what is your zodiac sign? -Leo!100) who was the last person you cried in front of?-I cry in front of no one (my mom probably)THERE I FINISHED IM SO SORRY TO WHOEVER READS THROUGH THIS

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biofunmy · 5 years

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By Air, Land and Sea, Travel is Electrifying

The roar of a jet engine, the vroom of a car, the vibration of a moving ship.

These sounds and sensations, commonly associated with travel and motion, share a common source: fossil fuel-powered engines.

But as regulators and businesses around the world try to reduce carbon emissions, airplanes, automobiles and ships are going electric. It’s good for the environment, but it also means travel itself may be changing. Here’s a look at a few of the initiatives that are underway.

Air

Starting later this year, Hawaii’s Mokulele Airlines and its partner Ampaire, a California-based electric airplane startup, will begin testing a hybrid aircraft over Maui on the commuter route between the Kahului and Hana airports.

The flying public won’t be able to buy tickets for those early test flights, but the companies behind the tests say it’s an important step in proving that electric service is viable.

“You uncover a lot of gremlins when you start flying in a true operational cadence,” said Kevin Noertker, Ampaire’s co-founder and chief executive. He added that the current plan is to introduce commercial hybrid service by the end of 2021.

The planes have a range of around 200 miles, but because they are hybrids, test pilots don’t need to worry if their batteries run out of juice midair.

“We’ve designed the system with resilience in mind,” Mr. Noertker said.

Hybrid and fully-electric airplanes can also have lower operating and maintenance costs than traditional fossil-fuel-driven aircraft, because they use less fuel and have fewer moving parts. Those savings may ultimately be passed on to passengers. They also mean that more rural airports could one day see commercial service as the economics of flying to low-population destinations improve.

“Scheduled air service can come back to communities that have lost it in all the consolidation with the airlines,” said Rob McKinney, the president of Pacific operations for Southern Airways Express, which operates as Mokulele Airlines. “Rural communities will have air service again that haven’t had it in 20 or 30 years.”

Nevada has been undergoing a yearslong project to build out its electric vehicle charging infrastructure. It has deemed a stretch of U.S. 95 (the primary route between Las Vegas and Reno, not to be confused with Interstate 95 on the East Coast), along with portions of other major roadways in the state the “Electric Highway,” and is encouraging visitors to see the state by taking an emission-free road trip. Nevada is also home to the Tesla Gigafactory, which in some ways jump-started its electric vehicle efforts.

“We have so many cultural and historical sites that people are interested in and we promote the state through the road trip,” said Chris Moran, a public relations specialist at Travel Nevada. “It’s great to do it in a sustainable and respectful way to the environment.”

In some ways the new technology also allows people to travel in a more old-fashioned style. Because charging takes longer than filling up a gas tank, it means electric vehicle drivers are more likely to spend time and money in small communities along their route.

“If you think of what the interstate highway system is, how it so dramatically changed the nature of road travel and road trip tourism, this is a different way to travel and see places,” said David Bobzien from the Nevada Governor’s Office of Energy. “We have a lot of car enthusiasts who love their electric vehicles and they love to drive them, so it’s the road trip and the joy of the road trip that lures them to use the highway.”

Similar infrastructure can be found in many places in the Northeast as well, with Tesla charging stations along the Interstate 91 and 95 corridors.

Hamlet Aguilar relies on those stations as the anchor for his new business, Bound. The car-service, which began earlier this year, shuttles passengers between New York and Boston in Teslas for prices that begin at $99 each way.

“The electric cars allow us to provide a price point that the other transportation companies cannot do,” Mr. Aguilar said. “The high cost of maintaining a fleet and the gas, it was never cost effective. Being able to use these Teslas enables us to offer a very attractive price point.”

Sea

Water and electricity are finally beginning to mix.

Hurtigruten, a Norway-based expedition cruise company, is investing heavily in sustainably powered ships. The company focuses on exploration cruises, with its ships traveling places far from the Caribbean and Mediterranean destinations that most cruise passengers visit.

“This is something that has been a natural part of the development of the company and driven by a lot of very engaged people,” said Daniel Skjeldam, Hurtigruten’s chief executive. “One of the reasons they have been so proactive on it, since we’ve been sailing in these areas, they’ve been seeing the changes” like glaciers retreating, firsthand.

The company’s efforts include investing in an all-new hybrid-powered cruise ship, which will launch in September. That Alaskan cruise is already sold out.

In the next few years, the company will also convert its older diesel-burning ships to liquid natural gas and biogas-fueled hybrids (biogas is made from organic waste), and will launch a battery-powered hybrid catamaran for expeditions near the Norwegian coast later this year, with more coming into service in 2020. The company is working to develop solar chargers for those vessels.

None of these first-generation ships will be fully electric, but Mr. Skjeldam predicts that in the not-too-distant future, some vessels will be able to sail entirely under battery power for hours at a time.

He also said he thinks his company isn’t too far ahead of industry trends.

“I think we’ll see, to be honest, a revolution on sustainable travel in the next decade. I think a lot more ports worldwide will be much more demanding to the industry on what kind of ships they will accept into ports. The local emissions from a cruise ship are huge if they’re running on heavy fuel oil,” he said, adding that Norway will require ships in its Unesco-designated heritage fjords to be emission-free by 2026.

He admits though, that battery-powered vessels are still technologically limited.

“We don’t think batteries can be the only source for power, but it’s the perfect way to operate ships into sensitive areas.”

Sahred From Source link Travel

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jonathanbelloblog · 6 years

Text

Becoming a Ferrari 488 Challenge Race Driver

CIRCUIT MONT-TREMBLANT, Quebec, Canada — I can see it in the distance, a black and green dragon waiting, hungry, practically drooling for a chance to swallow me whole and spit me out in tattered, racing-red shreds. Turn 8. And I’m blasting toward it so fast it feels like I’ve just exited a bazooka.

Flat out in sixth gear, the mechanized fury of the turbocharged V-8 behind my ears pummeling me like a hailstorm inside the stripped-bare cockpit, the first in a row of LED redline indicators on the wheel alights—then another, then another. A rivulet of sweat plops into my eye, and I fight to blink away the sting. Still I’m flat on the gas. Then, within a single heartbeat, furious drama: I reach my braking marker, the dragon leaps out to devour me, and at the last possible second … now! I hammer my right foot on the pedal harder than I’d kick an IRS collector, and the Ferrari slams into an invisible catcher’s mitt, my helmet straining forward against the HANS restraint straps. I crack off two downshifts with the left shift paddle, begin easing off the brakes, and in a crush of lateral g’s, I turn into the apex.

My helmet crackles as my passenger in the right seat—instructor and pal Anthony Lazzaro—barks through the intercom: “OK! No brakes! No throttle! No pedals! Just coast!”

Coast? Isn’t the old adage, “In a race car, you’re always either on the gas or the brakes”? Doesn’t coasting mean losing time? Since my very first racing school 30 years ago I’ve followed the cornering mantra: in slow, out fast. I’ve been a practitioner of trail-braking, turning in while gradually trading the tires’ stopping power for cornering grip. I’ve used light throttle to balance the car before acceleration. But never have I simply coasted. Without me saying a word, Lazzaro seems to grasp my bafflement. “It’s one of the biggest myths in racing, the always-pedaling thing,” he says. “People watch an onboard camera from a Formula 1 car, but they aren’t understanding what they’re seeing. I guarantee you Ferrari’s Sebastian Vettel is coasting into the apex before getting back on the power.” Well, if it’s good enough for Seb. I do as Lazzaro says (nobody’s ever explicitly told me this before), and it works! With zero throttle the Ferrari’s nose doesn’t lift a millimeter—maintaining front-end weight so the front tires bite harder—and the 488 Challenge race car turns in as if it’s on a leash. Eureka! It’s a bona fide lightbulb moment, as if I’ve finally been given the password to enter the Racing Secret Circle & Grille. Moreover, with the car now so perfectly set up at the apex, I’m able to get back on the throttle harder and sooner, which equals more speed at corner exit.

No brakes! No throttle! No pedals! Just coast!

Later, with instructor Jeff Segal (the only man with class wins at Le Mans, the 12 Hours of Sebring, and the Daytona 24 in a Ferrari), I review the onboard telemetry from my laps. “See here how you’re giving up a little speed on the way in but gaining more speed on the way out?” Segal asks. “You’re not fighting the car on the exit. You’re blasting out of the turns and gaining time all the way down the straight. On this lap you got blocked by traffic near the end, but you still were more than two seconds quicker than yesterday.”

It’s working. I’m becoming a Ferrari 488 Challenge race driver.

Superman in a Supercar

Ferrari race driver. Can three more evocative, seductive, aspirational words exist for a motorsports enthusiast? Who hasn’t watched Le Mans or the Monaco Grand Prix and thought, “Man, that should be me inside that beautiful machine with the Prancing Horse.” Who hasn’t at least asked themselves, “I wonder if I could even do that?”

Red, white, and Whew! St. Antoine catches his breath after another lapping session in the ferocious 488 Challenge. Below, he reviews telemetry with Corso Pilota instructor Jeff Segal.

Since 1993, Ferrari’s unique Corso Pilota training program has been answering “what ifs” and turning fantasies into realities for hundreds if not thousands of Ferrari owners and aficionados. Now offered in three locations in North America—Circuit Mont-Tremblant in Quebec; Circuit of the Americas in Austin, Texas; and The Thermal Club track near Palm Springs, California—Corso Pilota is a series of four courses, each a step up in speed and advanced techniques. The program is designed to train even novices to a skill level where they’re fully qualified to race in the ultracompetitive, seriously fast Ferrari 488 Challenge series, which attracts everyone from future pro racers to entrepreneurs to celebrities such as actor Michael Fassbender.

For 2017, that meant six race weekends at tracks across America plus the opportunity to earn a spot in the Ferrari World Finals in October at Italy’s Mugello Circuit. “The best part about Corso Pilota is you can test the waters,” says Ian Campbell, head of a research firm in Boston and a classmate of mine at Mont-Tremblant. “It’s certainly not an incidental expense, so you don’t want to jump in and then find out you don’t like it. Instead, the program gives you a chance to sample the 488 Challenge race car in a controlled environment and work your way into it before you commit to the full race series.”

Ah, the 488 Challenge. Monica Belluci in metal. Ours is the first North American class to pilot the new machine (the previous Challenge cars were based on the 458 Italia). That means about 100 more horsepower (at least 661 hp, but Ferrari won’t say for sure) from its 3.9-liter twin-turbo V-8 paired with a seven-speed dual-clutch shifter, which is essentially the same combo as in the 488 GTB road car (the race transmission gets shorter ratios). But the 488 Challenge is thoroughly reworked for track duty: slick tires, wings, a roll cage, racing brakes, a gutted interior with a new race-optimized panel, deep buckets with six-point belts, vastly reworked bodywork with a more aggressive aero package, and revised electronic driver aids with a new, two-phase traction control system. Using a knob on the wheel, the driver can select when the system intervenes and how aggressively it does so.

To sample life in Corso Pilota, Ferrari jumped me straight into the third level of the program, a two-day class dubbed Evolution. Mind you, life as an aspiring Ferrari race driver doesn’t come cheap; just the Evo quarter of the course costs $20,000. For that sum you get two long days in the $250,000 488 GTB road car and the even-pricier 488 Challenge racer, tutelage from some of the best racing instructors in the world (these guys are busy race drivers who teach, not the other way around), all meals (including adult beverages at the end of the day), and first-class accommodations. In Quebec, that means the superb Hôtel Quintessence on Lake Tremblant. Also included is a custom-tailored Sabelt racing suit (probably worth $2,000) plus Nomex gloves, driving shoes, and a few Ferrari goodies.

There’s no shortage of 488 GTBs at this school.

All 14 of my classmates have already done the required first two levels. I get nods all around as one tells me, “When you put on that red Corso Pilota suit, you feel like Superman.” I must say, it does feel pretty good—at least until I try to climb into the Challenge car’s passenger seat. We’re broken up into groups, and I’m assigned to Challenge No. 1 for a few demo laps with Lazzaro at the wheel. The trouble is, I can barely get inside. The space is tiny (worsened by a big fire-suppression bottle on the floor). I try a few entry techniques and finally fold myself halfway in, but as I do, my HANS device hangs up on the roll cage and pins my chin to my chest. For a moment, I really cannot breathe. Eventually an assistant helps shove me in, and it’s claustrophobic as hell in here. It’s hot and as cramped as a broom closet, and no way am I getting out quickly if I have to. I take a slow, deep breath as the assistant locks in my belts (no room to do it myself). Then I’m plugged into the intercom, and Lazzaro is talking in my helmet earphones: “We’ll do a few quick laps to reacquaint you with the circuit [he trained me here years ago] and show you what the Challenge car can do.” He gives me a thumbs up. “Ready?”

Instructor Anthony Lazzaro shows the author the secrets of the Challenge race car’s cockpit.

Seconds later, I’m being subjected to a ride that feels more like a round with Floyd Mayweather. Holy mother of Enzo! This isn’t a car, it’s a NASA training device gone berserk! I’m already black and blue, and we haven’t even reached Turn 5. The speed is freakish. The grip is literally breathtaking. The braking is … life-changing. Every corner feels like we’re going to fly straight into the Armco, then Lazzaro finally stomps on the binders. It’s a virtuoso performance. Lazzaro is a five-time national karting champion, a Formula Atlantic champ, and since 1988 he’s raced everything from Indy Cars to Trans Am to NASCAR. It’s an education just to watch the guy work.

Naturally, most of my classmates are highly successful individuals with the wherewithal to indulge their racing dreams. Bill Kemp, a home builder from St. Louis, owns a Mercedes SLS AMG and a Ferrari 458 and plans to do the Challenge series in 2018. “The program is really in-depth,” he says, “very demanding. Admittedly, it’s a huge leap going from zero race-driver training to Corso Pilota. But I went to one of the Challenge races and immediately got hooked. And now here I am, in Course 3 and taking my passion for motorsport to the next level.”

Vroom Closet: The 488 GTB and 488 Challenge share powertrains but that’s about all. The race car’s passenger seat is a sardine can.

Three women are also taking the Evo class. Riley Ryen, an event planner from Calgary, Canada, owns a Lamborghini Aventador and a Ferrari 458. “Well, I used to race horses when I was younger,” she says about her plans to compete in the 2018 Challenge series. “Now it’s just more horsepower!” When I ask Sabrina Galanti from Toronto what she does for a living, she laughs and says, “Race car driver! Actually, I have raced a few Porsches before, and I have a Ferrari 812 Superfast on order, which I plan to take to the track. Right now the plan is just to learn more, and eventually maybe I’ll try racing in the Challenge series.”

“You’re ready to do a Challenge series race right now. You should think about it.”

Over the two-day program, my classmates and I spend a lot of quality time lapping in the Challenge cars, plus a number of slalom and wet skidpad exercises in the 488 GTB and a few F12tdf road cars. Incredibly, the instructors ride with us when we’re lapping—even in the Challenge cars at full tilt. It requires, as former racer David Hobbs would say, “large attachments,” but it’s also the best way to give us instantaneous feedback and guidance. In fact, lapping the 488 GTB is actually scarier than doing so in the 488 Challenge. The street car is every bit as fast in a straight line but has nowhere near the cornering or stopping power of its racing cousin. And it’s got none of the extra safety protection, just a standard seat belt and some air bags.

Corso Pilota costs big—around $76,000 for all four classes—but that sum includes overnight stays like at the Hôtel Quintessence in Quebec.

By the afternoon of the second day, I’m lapping the 488 Challenge at a pace I wouldn’t have believed the previous morning. I mean, we’re going really freaking fast—around 160 mph at the braking marker on the back straight. At the same time, it all feels totally under control. Logical. Almost mathematical. Do this, do that, follow instructions, and the speed just comes. The guidance I’ve received from Lazzaro and the other instructors (including pro racers Mikel Miller and Jean-François Dumoulin) has been game-changing. Despite the countless schools I’ve attended previously and all the racing I’ve done, from now on I’ll forever be a better, faster driver, thanks to this Evo class.

Ferrari ownership is a course prerequisite, and student Riley Ryen qualifies via her own 458 Italia. Below, St. Antoine chases a 488 Challenge in a 488 GTB.

I have to admit: By the close of the second day, it’s something of a relief to complete my final laps—me, Lazzaro, and the incredible 488 Challenge unscathed. Yet along with the slowly ebbing adrenaline, my brain is awash in a blissful bath of endorphins and satisfaction drawn from two days amid the wail of a Ferrari V-8—the acrid tang of hot rubber ripping across sinuous asphalt, the tension of pushing a high-strung machine to the brink, the sheer violence of the speed, and the hammer braking and relentless g-forces assaulting my every corpuscle. Lazzaro walks over as I’m stowing my helmet and slaps my back. “Hey, nice work out there,” he says with a smile. “You’re ready to do a Challenge series race right now. You should think about it.”

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eddiejpoplar · 6 years

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Becoming a Ferrari 488 Challenge Race Driver

My helmet crackles as my passenger in the right seat—instructor and pal Anthony Lazzaro—barks through the intercom: “OK! No brakes! No throttle! No pedals! Just coast!”

Coast? Isn’t the old adage, “In a race car, you’re always either on the gas or the brakes”? Doesn’t coasting mean losing time? Since my very first racing school 30 years ago I’ve followed the cornering mantra: in slow, out fast. I’ve been a practitioner of trail-braking, turning in while gradually trading the tires’ stopping power for cornering grip. I��ve used light throttle to balance the car before acceleration. But never have I simply coasted. Without me saying a word, Lazzaro seems to grasp my bafflement. “It’s one of the biggest myths in racing, the always-pedaling thing,” he says. “People watch an onboard camera from a Formula 1 car, but they aren’t understanding what they’re seeing. I guarantee you Ferrari’s Sebastian Vettel is coasting into the apex before getting back on the power.” Well, if it’s good enough for Seb. I do as Lazzaro says (nobody’s ever explicitly told me this before), and it works! With zero throttle the Ferrari’s nose doesn’t lift a millimeter—maintaining front-end weight so the front tires bite harder—and the 488 Challenge race car turns in as if it’s on a leash. Eureka! It’s a bona fide lightbulb moment, as if I’ve finally been given the password to enter the Racing Secret Circle & Grille. Moreover, with the car now so perfectly set up at the apex, I’m able to get back on the throttle harder and sooner, which equals more speed at corner exit.

No brakes! No throttle! No pedals! Just coast!

It’s working. I’m becoming a Ferrari 488 Challenge race driver.

Superman in a Supercar

Red, white, and Whew! St. Antoine catches his breath after another lapping session in the ferocious 488 Challenge. Below, he reviews telemetry with Corso Pilota instructor Jeff Segal.

There’s no shortage of 488 GTBs at this school.

Instructor Anthony Lazzaro shows the author the secrets of the Challenge race car’s cockpit.

Vroom Closet: The 488 GTB and 488 Challenge share powertrains but that’s about all. The race car’s passenger seat is a sardine can.

“You’re ready to do a Challenge series race right now. You should think about it.”

Corso Pilota costs big—around $76,000 for all four classes—but that sum includes overnight stays like at the Hôtel Quintessence in Quebec.

Ferrari ownership is a course prerequisite, and student Riley Ryen qualifies via her own 458 Italia. Below, St. Antoine chases a 488 Challenge in a 488 GTB.

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jesusvasser · 6 years

Text

Becoming a Ferrari 488 Challenge Race Driver

My helmet crackles as my passenger in the right seat—instructor and pal Anthony Lazzaro—barks through the intercom: “OK! No brakes! No throttle! No pedals! Just coast!”

No brakes! No throttle! No pedals! Just coast!

It’s working. I’m becoming a Ferrari 488 Challenge race driver.

Superman in a Supercar

Red, white, and Whew! St. Antoine catches his breath after another lapping session in the ferocious 488 Challenge. Below, he reviews telemetry with Corso Pilota instructor Jeff Segal.

There’s no shortage of 488 GTBs at this school.

Instructor Anthony Lazzaro shows the author the secrets of the Challenge race car’s cockpit.

Vroom Closet: The 488 GTB and 488 Challenge share powertrains but that’s about all. The race car’s passenger seat is a sardine can.

“You’re ready to do a Challenge series race right now. You should think about it.”

Corso Pilota costs big—around $76,000 for all four classes—but that sum includes overnight stays like at the Hôtel Quintessence in Quebec.

Ferrari ownership is a course prerequisite, and student Riley Ryen qualifies via her own 458 Italia. Below, St. Antoine chases a 488 Challenge in a 488 GTB.

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