#zero to sixty

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And just like that, the group chat that was filled with love an hour ago is now in shambles. Oh the highs and lows and shenanigans 😅. We love it here!

[theuniversalscat]

Zero to 60. You still need to pass through each number in between no matter how fast you’re going. So why rush it? Well, sometimes, you want to get there faster. It’s the adrenaline, the speed, the feeling of exhilaration, the energy boost that derives from the excitement of the experience of fast movement. But can you sustain it?

The laws of physics state that the energy it would take to maintain a constant speed/velocity that you haven’t built up to yet would be virtually impossible to achieve. And yet we love the rush. Why? I think it may be because we’re bored with the status quo. When we have a taste of a higher vibrational frequency it feels titillating. You can feel the chi racing through your body because of the physical experience. It happened from the outside, in. So can you build up to it on the inside so that you can feel it without the physical experience? The answer will be different for all of us due to our beliefs around any subject matter.

Zero to 60. A tough momentum to keep consistent if we focus on the toughness. Zen practice dictates that idling at or riding the middle at 30 (if we’re disciplined enough) will be a more effective and productive method of living. That way, you can get to 60, and maintain it for a longer period of time. You aren’t so far away, and you would perhaps perceive it as more allowable to you, more often.

So how do you get to 30? Allow yourself to experience the feeling of love or, kindness, or going lower vibrationally if you can’t achieve that, acceptance of what is, or even lower, “fuck this shit! I’m so done feeling this way it’s ridiculous!”, so you can bridge the gap to better. Something that you can truly believe and embody the feeling. Focusing on how we feel leads us to our momentum of thoughts that builds up our beliefs and eventually affects our ability to be happy more often.

So I ask me, is it so bad to build up to 60 at a slower pace? You would get to experience the better feeling more fully, and longer. Maybe you’d even get to feel things you had no clue you would, and perhaps you would’ve missed out on, blowing past it so fast. “Well, I’m here. Let’s look around and see what I can appreciate…” Perception…

You are governed by your own belief system. If you believe it, you can be anything, anywhere at anytime. So who am I to say that you can’t maintain that quantum leap in consciousness?! Prove me wrong!

[mintaka14]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

This is a fluffy bit of Hadetown inspired Lukanette ML AU. I hope you enjoy it, and go listen to the Hadestown soundtrack if you haven’t heard or seen it already.

Come Home With Me

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

 Kitty Section had just finished the last open mic set of the night when the girl of Luka’s dreams blew in through the coffee house door in a whirl of anxious energy and a frantic jangle of the bell. Luka didn’t pay much attention beyond idly noticing the gorgeous, dark-haired young woman in the pink dress who was trying to get her breath back, but Rose launched herself from the stage with an ear-splitting squeal, to fling her arms around the girl in question.

“You made it!”

“I’m so sorry I’m late, did I miss the whole show?” the girl managed to get out, as Rose flung her arms around her. “My supervisor called me back to go over an assignment, and then I found I’d forgotten my bags and had to go back, and then I missed the train just as I got there –“

Luka found himself smiling at the flustered rush of apologies, until she lifted her gaze to where he was standing on the impromptu stage, and their eyes met.

Blue, endlessly blue, and he was falling into the sky. His smile faded. A blush swept over her cheeks and she looked away.

His sister pointedly cleared her throat, and he was jolted back into an awareness that he was still standing on the tiny stage with his guitar forgotten in his hands, the whole coffee shop watching as he stared like a star-struck idiot at this girl.

“Move, dumbass,” Juleka muttered even more pointedly, nudging him in the back with her bass guitar as she shoved past him to join Rose and the girl with the endless blue eyes. Luka’s hand shot out blindly and snagged his sister’s wrist, bringing her to a halt.

“Who is she?”

“Who?”

“Blue eyes, pink dress,” he said dazedly, and Juleka levelled a sardonic look at him.

“Do you want to talk to her?”

“Yes.”

Juleka, blessed sister that she was, spun on her heel to beckon to Rose and her friend, who started moving through the crowd in their direction.

“Go on, then. Just don’t embarrass me,” Juleka told him drily. She flopped backwards into the ratty couch beside the stage. “Hey, dumbass.”

Luka raised an eyebrow, but his attention was still on Juleka’s friend. Rose said something to her as they approached, before bouncing away to talk to the owner of the coffee house, and she giggled in response. A soft sigh escaped him at the sound of her laugh.

“Don’t,” Juleka said as though she didn’t have much hope that he was listening, “come on too strong.”

And then the girl was there in front of him, those big blue eyes of hers looking up at him, and Luka said, “Come home with me.”

From the depths of the couch, Juleka groaned, and slapped her hands over her face.

“Who are you?” the girl asked, and, caught up in her eyes and the soft scattering of freckles across her pale cheeks, he said in a daze, “The man who’s going to marry you.”

The way those eyes of hers widened woke him up a little, and he managed to pull himself together enough to try again.

“I’m Luka. Luka Couffaine.”

The girl’s gaze drifted sideways to Juleka.

“Yes,” from behind her hands, Juleka muttered in answer to the unspoken question. “My idiot brother’s always like this. Although he’s never proposed before.”

Soft pink swept over the girl’s face at that. “I’m Ma-ma-Marinette,” she said a little breathlessly, and he couldn’t help the answering smile.

“Ma-ma-Marinette,” he teased back gently. “Your name is like a melody.”

And he was already hearing her song in his head and his heart.

“You’re in Kitty Section with Juleka and Rose, aren’t you? Do you sing?”

“Sometimes. But mostly, I play guitar.” He lifted the instrument propped against the couch beside him.

“Juleka’s talked about you before. She told me you were a player,” she said, and then turned bright red. “A guitarist, I mean!” She pressed her hands to her burning cheeks, and muttered, “Why am I such an idiot? I wish I hadn’t missed the performance. I’d love to hear you play.”

Juleka nudged him firmly. “Go on, dumbass. Show her what you do.”

“Oh, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Marinette told him, but Juleka dug her elbow into his side again.

“I don’t know all of it yet,” he tried to say, but the melody was swelling in his mind, leaving his fingers flexing against the strings as if it would play itself.

“Play it,” Juleka insisted. “Play her song. I know you’ve already got it in your head.”

“Okay.” Luka drew a slightly shaky breath, and looked down at the guitar in his hands. “Okay.”

And then he played what he’d heard the moment he’d fallen into Marinette’s blue eyes. It was as if he was playing a song he’d always known. He played sweetness and strength and kindness. He played a fire and chasing wind of creation, and a grounded fierceness. He played a skipping note of uncertainty and exhaustion that gave way to hope in spite of it all, and he couldn’t have said how he knew this, but he heard Marinette’s soft inhalation of recognition.

When his hands finally stilled on the strings and he looked up, he was dimly aware that a crowd had gathered around them, but all he saw was Marinette with her hand pressed to her heart and tears shining on her cheeks. The smile she was giving him, though, was brighter than the sun in a clear summer sky.

“It’s not finished yet,” he said apologetically.

“Where did that song come from?” she asked a little breathlessly.

“From you.” At her look of confusion, he explained, “It’s your song. It’s what I hear when I look into your eyes.”

“You heard… all that? That was… me?”

Luka blew out a soft breath. “Yeah.”

“How do you do that?” Marinette asked. “Play what I’m feeling, I mean?”

“He’s been touched by the gods,” Juleka intoned delphically from the depths of the couch before Luka could say anything. “Although I’m guessing he’d rather be touched by –“ Luka reached out to shove a couch cushion in his sister’s face, cutting her off. She pushed the cushion away, cackling.

In the middle of his sibling-induced embarrassment, Luka found himself caught by the stray thought that this was more than he’d ever heard his sister talk, or laugh, around anyone outside the close little circle of their family and bandmates. Some of the notes that he’d heard in Marinette’s melody rang clearer with that realisation.

“He has a way of seeing things,” Juleka added more seriously. “Music’s just the way he says it.”

“It was incredible,” Marinette said with obvious sincerity, but Juleka shrugged nonchalantly.

“Luka got all the musical talent in our family.”

“But you play too,” Marinette said to Juleka, glancing at the bass guitar still in its stand on the tiny stage.

“Yeah, but between the Couffaine and Stone genes, that was kind of inevitable. I like playing, but it’s more of a hobby for me. For him,” Juleka jerked her head at her brother, “cut him open, and he bleeds music.”

“Bloodthirsty wench,” Luka muttered, but Juleka ignored the half-hearted insult.

Marinette was staring at them both as if a penny had just dropped. This was obviously something that Juleka hadn’t spoken about before.

“Jagged Stone is your father?”

“It’s not like he’s around much. You know how those muses are -” Juleka had slumped further down into the couch. “- My Guitar Is My Only Family.”

Luka turned his attention to his guitar, fiddling with one of the tuning pegs. “He’s trying to be around more,” he said to the strings.

As if she hadn’t heard him, Juleka said to Marinette, “Well, you know what he’s like. You’ve worked with Jagged before.”

Luka looked up, startled, and Juleka flashed him a glance.

“Rock Giant,” she explained cryptically, and Luka finally made the connection with the name of the artist who had designed the iconic album cover that had impressed the hell out of him. And the incredible stage costumes that his father had raved about.

… and the girl who had stood up to his sister’s bullies in collège, and encouraged her to get into photography. For that alone, Luka would have fallen for her.

“Now that I think about it, you two are perfect for each other,” Juleka muttered, rolling her eyes, although Luka wasn’t paying much attention to his sister. He was much more interested in the way Marinette was blushing again.

“You feel like a melody I’ve known all my life,” he said, speaking the truth without stopping to think about how that might sound. Beside him, Juleka groaned again, but Marinette was looking up at him, her eyes blown wide, and the blue of her eyes filled his whole world. “But I don’t know all of it yet. I’d like to learn more of it,” he said softly, and finally relinquished his hold on his guitar to set it aside on the couch. It left him feeling vulnerable.

And Marinette…

Marinette put her hand in Luka’s, like it was always meant to be there.

“I want to hear you play the rest of my song,” she said.

“It might take a while to work it all out.”

It could have been a cheesy pick-up line, but she must have heard the sincerity that rang in him like a bell, because her gaze dropped, and then those dark lashes of hers swept up in a look that left him dazed and utterly gone.

“That’s alright,” she said, the tug of her hand in his drawing him towards the coffee house door, and he followed her without a backward glance. “I’m willing to wait. Take me home.”

~~~~~

Juleka watched them leave with her mouth hanging open.

“I cannot believe that worked,” she said. “That should not have worked.”

“What shouldn’t have worked?” Rose came up behind her, back from her chat with the owner. She leaned her chin on Juleka’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend’s waist. “Where’s Marinette?”

“Marinette just left with Luka,” Juleka told her, still staring blankly. It slowly dawned on her that Luka’s guitar was lying on the couch where he’d set it aside, the empty case propped beside it, like the first sign of the apocalypse.

“And he left his guitar behind,” she added in disbelief.

Rose’s answering shriek of excitement left her ears ringing.

[wakeupandsmelltheflowers]

It’s such a great feeling being able to see this scene animated.

[theficpusher]

zero to sixty by velvetnoodle | M | 826 Louis’ first mistake was pretending he actually owned a motorbike. His second mistake was pretending to own the motorbike that belonged to the very guy he’d been trying to pull. OR the one where louis makes a terrible first impression

Born to Be Mild by alivingfire | G | 1959 “So do you ride?” the boy asks. He grins, nods at something behind Harry. “Is one of those yours?” Harry turns, remembers that he had been ogling a shiny white motorcycle. It still gleams temptingly, and there’s a sudden thought flashing in Harry’s head like a warning light: tattoos-soft fringe-blue eyes-do you ride? and Harry says, “Yeah.” The boy’s eyebrows raise, slowly but steadily. Like he can’t believe it. Like it’s unbelievable that Harry would ride a giant white motorcycle. That, Harry decides, cannot be allowed to happen. So, he also decides, turning back to the motorcycle, he must prove his validity. His manhood. Even if he’s lying. Suddenly, Harry’s straddling a motorcycle, and this isn’t even the weirdest place he’s ended up after a night out.

World Standing Still by afirethatcannotdie | T | 2058 He falls forward, reaches out to steady himself on the nearest human by clutching a soft pair jeans, ripped holes in the knees, and spills his entire beer all over said human’s shoes. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. “S’ alright. I mean, I might need new shoes, but—” “Cinnamon roll." He can't stop himself; his brain isn't working. “What’s that?” the guy asks, helping him up. His hand is so soft, and Harry doesn’t want to let go. “Your hair looks like a cinnamon roll, you know, all quiff-y, and… and stuff." AU. A first meeting in a pub doesn't go so well.

rebel child and a preacher's son by blackorchids | M | 6238 harry's the reverend's son trapped in the same tiny little town his whole life, waiting for something to change, when zayn rides in on his motorcycle with his cool leather jacket and his endless cigarettes.

i can be the motor (you'll be the gasoline) by kiwikero | E | 7978 Harry is a British pop star living in LA. While trying to escape his reality of publicity stunts and record sales, his Harley breaks down. Stranded in the mountains, Harry has no choice but to call for help. And, somehow, a fit tow truck driver with the ocean in his eyes might end up fixing more than just Harry's bike.

two wheels of a different pair (but we're still rolling into something we don't know) by zouee | G | 14136 “Does it get tiring?” Louis asks, voice coming out softer than anticipated. The response doesn’t come right away. For a moment, Louis thinks Zayn might actually be asleep; pulled under quickly despite their surroundings. Then he thinks Zayn’s making a point to ignore him and he considers leaving - the rejection making his heart sting. But in the next moment Zayn remains stone-still as he replies, mouth only moving slightly. “What does?” Louis turns his head, looks at him, “Pretending you don’t care. _ When an out of town bikie storms into a restaurant placed on the outskirts, he doesn’t expect to meet the boy with bright eyes and devilish smile. Set in the 1950’s.

Prince Harry and the Expert in Motorcycle Maintenance by juliusschmidt | E | 15978 Louis puts the truck back into drive. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Where do you want me to take you?” “To the Royal Palace.” “The hospital psych ward, it is, then,” Louis says, though that’s a forty-five minute trip and a lecture on tardiness from his stepfather that, in the end, will definitely not be worth the trouble. an abo cinderella au in which prince harry rides a motorcycle and louis, a simple mechanic, fixes it.

Counterbalance by YesIsAWorld | E | 44777 Harry Styles loves two things: teaching ballet and racing motorcycles. Those two worlds collide when his greatest rival on the track, Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson brings his tiny siblings to Harry’s class.

[nicklasbackstroke]

Hutts heart eyes in this video are really fucking intense but honestly vladi is just so adorable in this? I love him and his wife impulse shopping and regretting it later, and I have to wonder if he was about to call out Reavo before he threw petro under the bus

[writingwife-83]

#tbt fic- Zero to Sixty 🏍

Dang, it’s been almost 4 years since I wrote this based on a prompt from @therealbucky05. Big fun putting this one shot together! Here’s a little snippet, and the link is at the bottom.

When he rounded the corner and came into the living room, Molly's jaw fell open and she was unable to avoid staring like an idiot at the man before her.

Sherlock wore the same caliber of designer clothing that she had on, naturally. Jeans that fit exactly as they should, a white tee shirt with the McQ logo on the lower side, black leather boots, and an amazing black leather jacket. And then there was his hair...the normally untamed curly locks were combed back. She wouldn't have thought she'd like that look on him, seeing as his usual hair style was always such an appealing feature. But she liked this...oh yes, she liked it.

"Molly?" Sherlock questioned with raised brow. "Problem?"

Molly finally shut her mouth and cleared her throat. "Not at all, no. You just look...different...that's all." She left out and illegally sexy.

"Well, different was a must. I don't think I'd be able to blend in wearing my usual suit in this case." His eyes began traveling over her body as well, taking in her appearance. He swallowed visibly before speaking again. "You look...different as well, Molly."

Something in his eyes made her blush as she heard his words. "Yes, well...good thing I suppose. I imagine I wouldn't blend in wearing my usual clothes either. And by the way, I've made a couple of deductions already."

He took his mobile from the table and stuck it in an inside pocket of his jacket. "The motorcycle?"

Full one shot on AO3

[juhnkit]

Motivational Music in the Morning ... #Yelawolf, #GetTheFuckUp! ... #0to60, #ZeroToSixty [HQ & Lyrics] (2010) #MMitM1