pressure drag

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Genyatta week day 1: Firsts

The first time Genji is honest with not only Zenyatta, but himself.

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Not for the first time, Genji feels hopelessly lost.

It’s a crushing pressure against his chest, dragging him down like weights tied to his ankles, making each miniscule movement a laborious task. The omnic, Zenyatta- his master, he supposes, but the word tastes funny in his own mouth, a lingering flicker of his pride from… before- dogs the path he cuts through the dense woods. He’s an insistent thing, Genji admits, casting a scornful look over his shoulder, but the omnic remains unruffled, from his permanent whimsical expression to the neat fold of his hands.

“Is something troubling you, Genji?” Zenyatta is also incredibly observant, Genji has learned. Frustration bubbles up and he bites back something sharp and hurtful and acidic.

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Full Kiss Prompt Meme [#1] - Nate/Elena

Thanks to @charmingviolence for sending me this prompt (and sorry the tagging isn’t working properly). Since you gave me the luxury of choosing the pairing and I’m a huge slut for Nate and Elena, here is some gross post-UC3 fluff!

Send me a prompt from this list along with a pairing, and I’ll write a short drabble!


1. Good Morning Kiss

The full-body bruises and gridlock of cuts and scrapes on his skin made themselves immediately known when he woke up. The dull, heavy weight on his chest, however, was conspicuously absent. He filled his lungs with warm morning air and blew out a slow breath, testing himself, but no tightness pulled at his ribs, and he grinned in relief.

The sudden absence of the constant, obsessive pressure dragging at his throat and heart and lungs was in large part due to Elena sleeping beside him. It was the first time they’d shared a bed in almost a year, and he always underestimated how difficult it was to sleep alone.

She had commandeered his arm as her snuggle buddy, and while he took care to memorise precisely how adorable the sight was, his shoulder was a blaze of pins and needles and he really needed to pee.

He rolled onto his side and smoothed a hand over her bare back, tapping his fingers along the indents of her spine. “‘lena,” he whispered, nudging her with his captured arm. “Hey. I need this back.”

She let out an ungracious noise that sounded suspiciously like a whine and buried her face into the crook of his shoulder, muttering something that could’ve been a “no”. More aggressive tactics need to be employed if he wanted his arm back, then.

His free hand danced over to her waist, easily finding the soft spot where her hip dipped inwards, and poked her.

The response was immediate as it was explosive.

“Ahh!” Her body spasmed away from his tickling, but she still had a good grip on his arm, so he poked her again with an insistent finger. Her knee came dangerously close to incapacitating him, but Nate blocked her shaky leg with a thigh and rolled on top of her to pin her down, still digging into her ticklish spots.

She let out a snort that she would later deny ever happened, and tried to smack away his hand, her eyes crinkled with laughter. “Na–ate! Stop—stop, oh my god—”

“I need my arm back,” he explained calmly as she writhed and kicked under him, and she finally released her hold on his arm. “Thank you.”

She huffed indignantly, but her outrage was mitigated by the curtain of blonde hair covering her face. He helped her brush it back onto the pillow, revealing a half-hearted glare.

“I was sleeping,” she huffed, blowing a stray blonde streak out of her mouth, but she was smiling up at him.

He grinned back. “I was too. But I need to pee.”

“Well hurry up. I forgot how cold your room was.”

He obliged, only stopping to brush his teeth and give himself a cursory inspection in the mirror to make sure none of his injuries had opened and started bleeding, and returned to the mass of blankets and pillows that was his—their—bed.

Elena hugged herself to his side the moment he slipped under the covers, her hands roaming over him to check for opened gashes. “How’s it all feeling?” she asked.

“Stiff and sore, but spending the morning in bed with you is pretty good medicine.”

She wrinkled her nose at his corny line, but seemed pleased with his answer. Her hand went searching for his, and pulled his palm up into the morning light. Her fingers found his ring nestled at the base of his finger, which glinted in the sunshine.

“Gonna sleep with it on?” she asked, voice still sleepy and slow. “Like your other one?”

He shrugged. “I guess so. I almost forgot I was wearing it.”

“I didn’t,” she whispered.

He looked over at her, and she met his eyes over the rise of his shoulder. Her hand left his ring and sought his face instead; she traced over carefully the cut on his lip, then up to old scar over the bridge of his nose, and rasped over the hair on his jaw. It was a ritual she’d done before, mapping out the geography of his bones, as if to help recement his features to her memory. She usually did it after a long time apart, whether because of a story she was working on or a job he had lined up or—or, well, a different kind of distance.

“D’you think Sully missed the racket?” she finally said, voice still quiet, and he laughed.

“I put up with his take-home dates all the time as a kid,” he replied, and pulled Elena closer. “I think he can handle one night.”

“Hopefully more than one night,” she said, tracing a finger over his chest.

“Definitely more than one night.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Just maybe in our own place.”

His comment gave her pause. She looked like she was going to press on that, ask him what kind of place he had in mind, but then shook her head and simply said instead: “Sounds like a plan.” Then she leaned over to kiss him, and he all but melted into her. The ache tugging at his ribcage might be gone, but he still felt the distance between them and wanted it also gone. It had pushed them apart for too long.

She kept the kiss light and chaste, and pulled away far too soon. It was his turn to make an indignant whine, and she laughed into his neck.

“Gotta brush my teeth now,” she said. “Then we can continue this.”

“Well hurry up,” he called to her, appreciating the view of her walking away without a stitch of clothing on. “I forgot how warm it was with you here.”

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In cycling, a small group of riders often leave the protection of the peloton in a breakaway. These riders will often spend 80% or more of a stage or race outside of the peloton, trying to reach the finish line before they’re caught. Because the pressure drag is so draining on a lone cyclist, it’s vital that breakaway riders work together. When the wind comes predominantly from the front or back, riders will form one or two lines, riding with their wheels within a foot of one another (see ~0:23). This paceline rotates so that every rider takes a turn at the front, bearing the brunt of the effort while other cyclists recover in their wake, where they experience less drag.

If the wind blows predominantly across the riders, they will form a diagonal line with the frontmost rider rotating behind for shelter from the wind after a pull. This drag reduction technique is called an echelon (see ~1:40). As seen above, for experienced riders the echelon can protect individuals even in bike-stealingly high winds.

FYFD is celebrating the Tour de France with a weeklong exploration of the fluid dynamics of cycling. See part one on drafting in the peloton.