#like this has been happening with various people all summer

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

anyone else ever get struck with a sudden feeling of distaste or being tired of someone who you usually really like/are friends with for literally no reason whatsoever? or is that just me

[sometimesanalice]

Bedside Manner

Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.

It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.

The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.

“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.

Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.

But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.

Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.

All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.

“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.

Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.

Normally.

But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss. 

“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.

You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.

The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.

You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.

It was supposed to be a fun day.

You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.

There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.

You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.

The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.

The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.

Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.

You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.

Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.

And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.

You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.

He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.

“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.

And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.

When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.

“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.

You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”

You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.

“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.

“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.

“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”  

Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.

Respectfully, of course.

Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.

“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.

“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.

You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.

And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.

You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.

And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.

Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.

He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.

Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.

But he’s never made a move.

If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.

You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.

Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.

The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.

Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.

And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.  

You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.

You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.

Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.

The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.

You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.

The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.

Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.

It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.

Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.

And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.

“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.

They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.

It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.

It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.

You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.

There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.

You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.

As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.

“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.

They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.

Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.

Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.

His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.

You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.

“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.

“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.

“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.

And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.

Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.

The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.

Just not like this.

With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.

Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.

“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.

“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.

You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.

She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.

“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.

“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.

You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.

And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.

The two of you silent and motionless.

You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.

His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.

“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”

Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.

“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.

You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.

He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.

You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.

All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.

You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.

This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.

You want the Bradley from earlier. 

The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.

The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.

You want your Bradley.

The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”

We.

You wanted that with him.

You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together?  You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.

The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.

Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.

When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.

“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.

“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.

Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.

“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.

He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.

It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.

He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.

Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.

“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”

“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?

He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.

“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”

“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”

“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.

“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.

“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.

A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”

Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.

You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.

Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.

“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.

“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.

And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.

“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.

“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day.  I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”

He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.

“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.

The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.

“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.

Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”

The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.

“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.

“Bradley, the light.”

The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.

“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.

“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.

The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.

“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.

The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.

“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.

He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.

“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.

“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.

He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”

“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.

“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.

Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.

He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.

There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”

“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”

“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”

“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.

“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.

“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.

“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.

“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.

“Done.”

“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.

“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.

He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.

“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.

“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”

“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”

“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.

You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.

There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.

You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.

Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.

This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!

The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[darktrashsoulbear]

The Abyss Of Affection

Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: Aemond discovers the book his sweet wife has been obsessed with and after reading one of the scenes, a plan begins to formulate (fluff)

This was inspired by a conversation I had with the wonderful Hannah @gwaynesprincess

House of the Dragon Masterlist

Taglist

Warnings: Allusions to smut

Word Count: 2308

Divider Credit: @saradika-graphics

Not entirely show canon as Jaehaerys is alive, Maelor exists and people are happy

Any likes, comments and reblogs are always always appreciated :)

His calculated footsteps echoed in the hallways of the keep’s royal chambers, following the elder of the King’s brothers - Prince Aemond Targaryen - back to his chambers after an incredibly taxing day filled with fulfilling duties that were not his own and patrolling the city atop his beloved Vhagar, the Queen of all Dragons. Many would argue a dragon fit for a true king, Aemond would agree. Finally rounding the corner, he greeted the familiar face of Ser Steffon giving a cordial nod as he made his way through the doors of his chambers, removing his cloak as he went. 

The sight that greeted the prince was not surprising yet still brought a small, fond smile to his face. Laying on her side of the feather bed was his sweet wife curled up under the various blankets spread across the bed to combat the chill in the air as the citadel switched black ravens to white and summer turned to winter. Aemond made quick work of stripping out of his leathers and into a loose night shirt and breeches ready to join his wife in slumber.

Just as he was about to blow out the candles beside where they lay, he noticed a book beneath the blankets next to his sweet wife’s sleeping form. He picked it up ready to place it on the small table on her side of the bed before taking a look at the title and realising it was the book that had so often stolen her attention away from him during the nights they spent together before the fire. The prince’s insatiable curiosity, it seems, also extended to what on earth his sweet wife could be reading in the non-academic books she so loves.

Flipping over to one of the pages he remembers her completely raving about with her lady in waiting, he began to read and as he continued, a plan began to formulate.

She was met by a chorus of “good morrow, Princess” to which she responded with decidedly less vigour and an almost petulant expression as she discovered that her husband was in fact not in their shared chambers. This prompted the other ladies in the room to barely suppress their giggles knowing how not seeing her husband in the mornings can dampen her mood - not that the Prince fairs any better himself.

“Do any of you happen to know where my dear lord husband is at such an hour?” she discontentedly drawled.

The handmaidens exchanged uneasy glances with one another which, of course, did not escape her watchful gaze and she probed further with a single raise of an eyebrow. Silence ensued for a couple of very awkward, tension-filled seconds until the Princess’ lady in waiting - Elaena - stepped closer and stated that “we are not at liberty to say, Princess,” adding a slight curtsy at the end.

Again silence ensued only interrupted by her own chortle “what in the name of the seven do you mean ‘not at liberty’, forgive me but I am utterly confused.”

“I’m afraid Prince Aemond has forbidden us to speak of it Princess and he reminded us that if you demanded… well Princess he said for us to remember that his orders outrank yours,” Elaena hesitantly explained, shoulders visibly tense at her admission.

An even longer silence commenced, this one not so easily interrupted. Instead the Princess slightly nodded her head and proceeded to load some fresh fruits onto her plate before biting into a strawberry that was surprisingly ripe given the season. She sat with a contemplative look on her face, her ladies worried she was deeply hurt when really she was wondering what the best way to punish him would be, perhaps… 

She was pulled from her musings by a knock on the chamber doors which one of the handmaidens - Lyla - was quick to answer. She carried a written message delivered by a page boy and with mild curiosity the Princess unravelled it and began to read.

She then very calmly got up, retreating to the sitting chambers with her beloved book and instructed her handmaidens to leave her, and on their way to “inform Prince Aemond that if he wishes to have an audience he may do so in our private chambers, I am not a dog to be called to heel and told to wait in the dragon pit until he finally chooses to descend from the sky”.

Suddenly Queen Helaena turned to look directly into the Princess’ eyes causing her to startle. Helaena grasped her arms in a gentle hold and decided that “you will be very happy with it,” and while not always understanding but being kind to Helaena’s ways, the Princess confidently nodded in affirmation.

“I’m certain I will be sister,” followed by a soft squeeze of the Queen’s hands she quickly let go to ensure she didn’t crowd the gentle soul beside her.

Turning her attention to Maelor, the youngest of the King and Queen’s children, she scooped him into her arms and brought him to her lap where she proceeded to grab the second less than perfect dragon (Daeron’s first attempt) and began to play with him. Entirely encompassed by the babe's soft giggles she failed to notice the shadow of her husband nor feel the piercing but fond gaze he stared at the two of them with - giving him a few ideas of his own.

Finally sensing his presence, his sweet wife turned towards him and pinned him with a markedly less than sweet gaze. After returning Maelor to his mother, the princess stood, brushed off her dress, said her goodbyes to the children with the promise of visiting again soon, squeezed Helaena’s hand and strode straight past her dear husband without so much as a look in his direction.

Aemond Targaryen, the incredibly formidable man that he is, immediately turned and followed (and after speaking with her lady in waiting) trailed a step behind knowing that if he got any closer he may well be subject to a more physical attack.

“Sweet wife - ,” his mouth slammed shut, the sound of his teeth clacking together audible as she turned around to face him and he thanked the seven that they’d at least made it to the hall outside their chambers to give a small amount of privacy.

“How can I be of service to my Prince? Shall I draw you a bath, change your linens, perhaps wash them too? After all, your commands should certainly be obeyed by all who rank lower than you lord husband!” and Aemond’s moment of stunned silence was all she needed to turn and push the door to their chambers open, her hair almost whipping Aemond in the face. After clearing his throat and righting his already perfectly placed doublet, the prince followed after his wife. This time the nod to Ser Steffon was slightly more stiff and definitely less cordial. 

Upon entering their chambers, it became apparent that his sweet wife was just getting started on his torture as she began shedding her day clothes to ready herself for dinner that night as it had become customary for the royal family to dine together per the Dowager Queen Alicent’s request. As he walked in she turned to look at him, again raising a single eyebrow, a silent demand for him to explain himself and explain he did - after he managed to bring his eye back up to meet hers.

Aemond nervously began to describe how he had to go patrol the city earlier than expected that morrow and after his wife’s further probing he let out a sigh as he admitted that he was hiding something from her but he insisted she could not know. Instead he decided to avert her attention by apologising for his blunt and insensitive instructions, insisting his mind was incredibly preoccupied and he meant none of it. 

After a beat, his sweet wife looked back up at him and simply agreed that it was foolish of him before continuing to prepare herself for dinner. With the guilt still weighing down on him, Aemond tried once more to draw a further reaction from her and informed her that “we will not be dining with the family tonight, my heart, it shall just be the two of us so please do not feel obligated to wear something that will placate my mother”. The huff of air Aemond let out could have rivalled Vhagar’s as his Princess finally met his eye and gave a smile of her own.

The Princess very quickly decided that she would never again allow her husband to guide her through the gardens, at dusk, alone with no idea of where on earth he was going. She marvelled at how her Prince had spent the entirety of his life growing up within the walls of the keep while she had only moved here three years past when their betrothal was finalised and yet she knew the gardens a lot better than he did. They walked in silence with the occasional mumble of “I’m sure it was this way”, “perhaps it’s actually that way” and what she is sure sounded like a “seven hells this is so embarrassing”.

Eventually, the Princess abruptly stopped walking causing Aemond to turn back to look at her with wide eyes as though he was expecting her to end the night and head back into the castle (which definitely seems tempting) but instead she drew herself closer to him tracing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb and sweetly asked him to tell her where he wanted to go and she would lead the way. Confusion clouded her eyes when she saw her husband’s gaze darken with disappointment at not being able to keep the location secret before giving a rather reluctant nod and mumbling the area of the gardens.

This again caused her to still, as not long before setting off on their adventure she’d gotten to her favourite scene in the romance novel she was currently re-reading which described the relationship between two lovers from flea bottom snook into the castle’s garden and had a picnic beneath a section where two trees intertwined to look like a heart. She let out a small laugh at the coincidence before leading him in the direction of the garden’s that she learned the trees actually existed in when she went searching after her first time reading the book.

As they stepped through the clearing, fingers interlocked, Aemond’s sweet wife stopped dead in her tracks. The scene before her bringing an onslaught of tears to her eyes and Aemond’s own eye drank in her reaction feeling his chest expand with pride. The scene was exactly as described in the books - granted the royalty version - with a table in the middle of the clearing, the heart trees standing right before it. A small fire was lit as the air was cool and biting and she thanked the gods for giving her a husband intelligent enough to organise for a canopy to be set up over the table. Even the food was some of the meats and fresh fruit described in her book.

After taking it all in, the princess - now thankful for there being no escort - fisted her husband’s nicest leathers and brought him down for a bruising kiss, whispering thank you’s and I love you’s in between.

Aemond’s own heart was beating out of his chest as they finally pulled away from one another and he helped her into her seat before taking his own next to her, never letting go of her hand - not even when they began to eat, opting to do it with his left hand instead, and certainly not as his sweet wife moved from her own seat into his lap, playing with his hair and telling him just how wonderfully he had done.

If you asked anyone who crossed paths with the Prince and Princess that night, they’d tell you that never before had they ever encountered two individuals looking so shamelessly in love. They’d express their shock as they witnessed their Prince, the fierce rider of Vhagar, laugh freely with his lady wife with his arm firmly wrapped around her waist and the Princess’ hand rubbing up and down his back.

As the Prince once again encountered Ser Steffon, he greeted the guard with a slightly more reserved smile than his wife received and instructed him to have a good night while he ushered his giggling wife inside. Once they were out of sight Ser Steffon let out a small chuckle of his own before walking a few paces down the hall, away from the door.

As the very smitten couple climbed into bed the Prince once again asked his sweet wife if everything met her standards to which she simply pulled herself up and decided on showing him how pleased she was instead - but not before ensuring the punishment she decided on earlier was carried out.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

🎉 Thank You for 10k+ Followers!! 🎉

A big thank you goes out to @cozymochi for this beautiful celebratory commissioned artwork for this major milestone ✨ It really captures the scope of all the content that had been put out in the last 4+ years—both in terms of official Twst materials and on this blog! I think it’s very fitting that we hit this milestone in the month of Halloween too (I just held off on posting this til the month after); it’s Twst’s biggest holiday of the year, so it’s twice the cause for celebration!!

A lot has happened over the course of my time in this fandom. I’ve written many things of course, but I’ve also had many other exciting opportunities! I’ve been interviewed for a paper, met many cool people from all over the world, attended Twst meetups + events, collaborated with other talented creators, received kind gifts, contributed to various fandom projects, and finished telling the origins of my Twst OC. This blog has been with me through a lot of major changes and difficult hurdles in my life too—it’s really been an anchor for me, a comforting and safe space for me to be creative or analytical whenever I want to be.

When I first started this blog as a very casual hobby in summer of 2020, I never even considered that it would balloon to this extent. It still doesn’t feel totally real to me 😭 I don’t usually fixate on numbers (they make me anxious), but looking back on it, 10k is a LOT, and 4 years is a long time. To put that in perspective, if we were in Twisted Wonderland for 4 years then all of the students we’ve come to know and love would have graduated by now. That’s crazy to me. We’ve come so far as a group.

I feel that a large part of fandom is the community that comes with it. I would have found it so challenging to stick with Twst had I not had so many great people keeping me engaged with it. I’d now like to take a moment to thank those folks. Keeping in line with the idea of “4 years”, think of these as little messages scrawled in a yearbook. I also have a blog event planned to celebrate! More on that later.

Please note that I’ve used pseudonyms for most of the following people, as I’d like to respect their privacy (I’m very private myself) + not all of them are comfortable with being explicitly named or tagged to a large crowd. You’ll know who you are if you see yourself on here.

Without further ado:

MSS — Thank you for being the first Twst space I felt truly a part of. It’s still the place I consider my fandom “home” beyond this blog.

April — Thank you for making MSS as a place for us to share! We’re tsunderes in solidarity.

Drinking Knight — The banners wouldn’t exist without your help. Thanks for getting the ball rolling on those; I’d like to think that I’m a little more confident in designing new ones myself now, but you were the start of it all. Your endless enthusiasm for the most insane otome boys, drinks, and bullying (positive) others is truly an inspiration.

Q. Opinionated — Can’t count the number of times you ran tech support for me 💀 Thanks so much for being patient and willing to laugh at a stupid situation. I WILL grip you (escape is not an option) 🤲

Dad with his Printer — Why are you so cheeky My unofficial proofreader and fact checker. Still treasure the teeny J word and coffin magnets you sent, and, even more valuable than those, the bad dad jokes/puns advice and wisdom you give. Wishing you luck on your art adventure.

A. Cider — An unexpected friend I met very late into the fandom and happened to run into irl by total coincidence. Funny how life works. Your shitposts are great, and I appreciate having a like-minded person to talk with about the J words and story critiques. I’d also like to thank you for the many little doodles you’ve made; I know you’re very busy and have a wife to tend to at home but I appreciate that you still make time for friends.

Hana — Extroverted pink-haired magical girl representation. Your bubbly love for Disney, Diasomnia, singing, and (yes) angst lights up the entire room. Maybe you’re not too confident with yourself are right now, but I know you’ll find your way.

Swan — For being quick on the uptake and giving me the heads up about various things! We may not talk much one-on-one, but I’m thinking of you and enjoy seeing you pitch into the conversation. You’re still banned for L*ona posting though/j

Ly — My secret French twin/j Thanks for being my cultural + equine advisor and a voice of (salty) reason. Never shut up about your hyperfixations! You’re a real one.

Oys — Enabler + encourager of my Yan!Sil delusions. Sorry for making your blood pressure spike every time we talk about our food takes. But hey, at least we get a good laugh out of it :))

Mac and Bean — For being my inspirations. Bean, you have such atmospheric writing. I hope my writing style can be just as magical as yours. Mac, it was your blog that first got me into starting my own Twst writing. You never stop being so, so funny also I blame you 120% for the L*ona rot.

Peaches and Cream — To my local Twst friends, thanks for keeping me company even through the hard times. Peaches, happy to be your local Twst dealer anytime. Cream, thanks for hooking me up with new books.

Salt and Flora — I don’t know where you vanished to, but the sea brought you back to me on its tides. I’m so happy we could meet again. Salt, you’re so talented at crochet and design work; get your coin 😂 Flora, you’re the sweetest person ever. Literally cottagecore personified, even in your art.

Piano — We don’t always see eye to eye, but thank you for being my serial debater and showing me new perspectives. Your open-minded theories and analyses are such fun. And, of course, it’s always hilarious to think about how we accidentally (?) swapped oshis 🤡 You’re a star.

The Anklebiter — For having the most unhinged jokes and ideas. Seriously, THE most unhinged. I never do any of the crazy things you suggest but I’m always really entertained from just hearing them.

Te, Mi, and Ro — Thanks for organizing local events and giving me an excuse to touch grass. It’s a lot of hard work and you guys manage to pull it off every time! Mi, I was flattered to have you reach out to me to help a little with the Tweel cupsleeve event. Happy to help anytime! Te, I remember you were cosplaying as Kalim when we first met and I kept thinking about how perfectly suited you are for the role. You were very friendly and made such an effort to include everyone in the event even when I was Idia-ing in the corner. To this day, you continue to spontaneously introduce me to new people 😂 Thanks for getting me put of my comfort zone. Ro, I didn’t think we’d meet again like this. Small world! You’re learning and improving the big events. Here’s hoping to many more!

Vic — For being Ace Trappola when very few others would. It’s refreshing to have someone tell it like it is. I wish I could be as bold and as honest as you are sometimes. You have such a big heart when it comes to the characters you love; it makes me want to adore them like you do too 🫶

Kana — For being so sweet and patient. You helped me through so many rough patches and have also contributed a lot to the look of the blog. It’s so fun gushing with you about magical girls and pretty boys, sharing our favorite shows and movies… I feel as though I’ve made a lifelong friend.

Zari — Thank you for charms and art book, big fan of your stuff 😭 So honored to have worked with you on projects too. I hope to see a lot more of your Yuu and other OCs around, I love following them ^^

Lala — You understand, encourage, and validate my weird tastes in fictional men 💕 Really admire your sense of fashion and stylish nails too. Whenever I have my shrimp apron on, I think of you.

Arisu — No longer in the Twst fandom but integral in the earliest days. Wherever you are now, I wish you nothing but happiness.

P-san — You’re a lifesaver!! Thank you so much for helping me find cute little outfits and accessories for my plushies… They are forever grateful to be properly clothed.

V, Fa, Fe, Ray, Rea, Sonny, Glimmer Group, and Incognito Crew — Thanks for being so supportive of my hyperfixation on Disney villain anime boys, even if you guys have NO clue what I’m rambling about half of the time. To V specifically 🫵 I am NOT a cat boy kisser

Mango — I didn’t know I wanted you in my life until you showed up uninvited one day and chewed your way into my heart.

Azul Ashengrotto — For being the character that first convinced me into giving this game a shot. The Little Mermaid was something I always held so dear to me, so it almost seems like destiny that you’d be the one to drag me down into Twst. You’ll always hold a special place in my heart for that, even if my feelings have changed since then.

Rook Hunt — For being there when I needed to laugh a little. It’s scary to glance over my shoulder sometimes, but you make it easier to smile as I look back.

Rollo Flamme — For letting me know that having negative feelings is normal and human, even if we don’t always cope with them in the healthiest of ways. Let’s reflect and be better together!

Leona Kingscholar — For showing me that change and personal growth is, in fact, possible. Th-This doesn’t mean I like you or anything though, so get off your high horse—

Jade Leech — For taking my hand and guiding me back on the path when I got lost in the dark. Whatever crimes you may commit in your free time, I forgive you/j

Miss Raven Crowley — The little black bird who could, the blog muse. I made you on a whim and look at where you are now… You went from a background character to the main character of your own story. So proud of you, my child 😭

Asset compilers, fan artists, fanfic writers, fan translators, cosplayers, merch makers, editors, plushie pic takers, video essayists, theorizers, etc. — You’re all so important to keeping the fandom alive, especially during periods of official content drought. It wouldn’t be feasible for me to list out all of the content creators I enjoy (chjsbsksks and it honestly might be awkward since I haven’t directly interacted with most of them), but I hope that this message still reaches you and finds you well. Keep doing your thing; I love seeing the work you put out ^^

Anyone and everyone that I’ve ever commissioned and/or received fan works from — I appreciate that you took time and energy out of your day to create something for me. There’s so much talent in the Twst fandom and I’m honored that you would dedicate some of that to a silly little birb.

You, the Readers — For supporting this blog and and what I do here! You’re an important part of my journey too.

Thank you!! Here’s to a future unknown and a page unwritten.

- The Writing Raven

[delusional-day-dreamer]

First. Love. Part¹ - p.b

playlist. next part.

‣ paige bueckers x oc (reader?, tbh i'm not sure how it works!)

‣ wc: 1790

‣‣ synopsis: people say in life, you have your FIRST love and your first LOVE, but what if paige was both?

‣‣‣ a/n: y'all i'm SO SORRY for my inactivity, summer classes and morning practices are awful. i promise i will try to release more fics on a more regular basis. For the sake of the FICTIONAL story, pazzi simply does not exist, they are best friends but denied the rumors during azzi's freshmen year and she has a boyfriend. Songs that are underlined are linked to tiktok covers just because I love them!

Us Weekly : Tuesday June 13th, 2023

Just this friday, upcoming singer-songwriter Jenna Smyths performs her own song, Means Something and an instrumental cover of Holy Ground by Taylor Swift at BBC Live Lounge to introduce her soon to be released debut album, Eternal Us (not my most creative moment I know 😔). The young singer has just graduated from UCLA after completing her three-year Bachelor's Degree with a double major, her focus being Business Economics with a minor in Film, Television, and Digital Media.

This Friday was Jenna's first televised performance, and her constantly sold out small-venue concerts have been applauded all over social media and by celebrities for her vocal maturity, depth and intricacy within her song lyrics, and her ability to convey raw emotion through her performances. However, this song cover was announced by the singer-songwriter to be particularly special to her, as she mentions that this song "brings back specific memories".

The twenty-one year old kept her composure throughout both songs, yet fans on various media platforms have pointed out Jenna's seemingly tear filled eyes during Holy Ground. The artist addresses the emotions she felt during the song during her first appearance on the Jimmy Fallon Show after performing her first released single, Promise, which is prominently featured as it’s one of her most popular singles.

The Tonight Show: Monday June 12th, 2023 "Please welcome to The Tonight Show, Jenna Smyths," Jimmy introduced you as you walked onto the set of the show, the live audience cheering loudly as you took your seat on the couch.

"Thank you so much Jimmy, it's such an honor to be here, sitting on this sacred couch," you joked, bringing some of your recently curled hair over your shoulder in hopes of disguising any traces of anxiety the crowd or camera may pick up. Thankfully, it worked as you heard the stir of laughter on set, allowing you to relax further into the couch, it actually was quite comfortable.

"It's incredible that we have you sitting here, I mean almost two years ago you blew up on TikTok for your incredible song covers, and then you started playing live in a bunch of LA venues, then you started releasing your own music, and now you're a UCLA Alumni sitting here," as he summed up your rise to fame, the audience began another round of applause.

"Oh my gosh I know right," you giggled, overjoyed that the audience was showing so much support towards you and that your first big interview was going so well. "I swear it was like two weeks ago I was singing on TikTok and then freaking out about my notifications and somehow I just teleported here," you laughed off the slight tinge you felt in your heart.

College had gone by far too quickly, and you were constantly consumed with stress regarding your future. Up until a few weeks ago, you had no idea what you were going to do with your life. What if your album flopped? What if you never made it big? How would you move on and get a regular job from there?

"Yes yes, I remember seeing some of your earliest covers on tiktok. In fact," a smirk appeared on his face, he clearly had something hiding up his sleeve. "We just so happen to have a little video edited together of your old covers, for old times' sake just to show how far you've come," he laughed at the nervous expression on your face and the crowd's enthusiasm.

"Oh god, some of those are from questionable times," you mumbled, raising your right hand to slightly cover your mouth as the video played.

Clips of you singing in your old college apartment bedroom appeared, switching in between guitar covers and piano while singing Katy Perry's Teenage Dream, We Can't Be Friends by Ariana Grande (yes pretend it was out at the time), Bags by Clairo, to the Man Who Can't Be Moved, and a few others. You watched your younger self, heartbroken and healing, singing songs to post on the internet just for your friends to watch, and yet somehow your voice had reached millions of people.

"Well you can see it here clear as day folks, Jenna has clearly always had a knack for those gut-wrenching songs, the ones that make you wonder if you're depressed or the artist is just incredibly good at what they do," you knew he was introducing your live performance with this, sneakily rubbing your sweaty palms over your jeans. You weren't nearly as scared as your BBC performance, but the combination of fear and adrenaline before any performance was overwhelming compared to logic at times.

"So what do you guys say, because I think we need to hear it live to determine which one it truly is," the small crowd erupted at Jimmy's rhetoric, eager to watch your performance.

"Well when you ask so nicely how could I ever refuse Jimmy?" You grinned, standing up to make your way over to the performance area with the live band.

With your guitar in your hands, you let the unique sense of calmness and security wash over you as you adjusted the mic in front of you. Music had always been one of the biggest parts in your life, and even know it never failed you. Not in your best moments, and not even in your worse.

"This is Promise from my new album, Eternal Us, out June 30th"

***Post-performance part of the interview***

"Jenna, you know I have to ask you this, because so far the songs on your album, your covers, and even your performance at the BBC Live Lounge were all fairly depressing songs," Jimmy insists. The two of you had been joking and answering the interview questions with a sense of ease after the performance aspect of the show. The audience was eating up the playful energy the two of you seemed to have, despite the twenty-seven year age gap.

"Please, ask away Jimmy," you quipped, enjoying your time on the show. The steady laughter from the live audience had long soothed any remaining nerves. Growing up, you always felt as if you were born to perform, and this type of live interview was right up your alley.

"And I swear I'm being serious with this, but does the emotion in your music affect you the same it affects your listeners? Because after your cover of Holy Ground aired, you blew up on social media even more then you were before. But one of the things your fans noticed was that it looked like you were gonna cry?" Jimmy inquired, you could hear small murmurs from the audience section at his question, no doubt intrigued to hear your answer.

"You know Jimmy," you began, "Honestly it was just a heat of the moment kinda thing. Like obviously I changed the song in a different key and sang it that way intentionally you know? Taylor is known for her ability to write the most gut-wrenching lyrics and then syncing them up to a catchy beat in a pop song and boom, it's a hit," you explained to both him and the crowd.

"But when I was offered the opportunity to go on BBC Live Lounge and I was trying to decide what song to cover, the lyrics of the song just really stuck out to me in a personal way and I wanted to convey to my listeners the emotions I felt reading and experiencing the lyrics, not listening to it as an upbeat pop song. But don't get me wrong, it's an incredible song just the way it is!" You ended your ramble enthusiastically, trying your best to not delve into the deeper emotions laced within your statement.

"Of course, I mean it was your first televised performance and to a Taylor Swift song no less, but this song has a very meaning to it, unlike some of Taylor's other doctorate-level essay worthy songs you could spend hours analyzing," Jimmy jokes, lightening the mood as always before asking the hard hitting question you had been dreading the entire interview.

"Why did you choose to sing a song about reminiscing of a past relationship, an ex lover if you will. I mean, a good majority of your songs follow the heartbroken post-breakup theme, but the media isn't aware of any relationships you may or may not have had during your time at UCLA, was there someone before?" He questions.

"You're right, I didn't have any actual relationships while at UCLA. My only serious relationship was during my last two years of high school, and a lot of my songs I'm releasing now were written during that time or even earlier, I've just polished them a lot. And of course, my earliest covers are from my freshman year of college, so the wound was still pretty fresh you know?" You skimmed over the topic, keeping the discussion as light-hearted as possible.

"Oh my god, all of that was from one person?" Jimmy jokes, unaware of how hard his statement hits home for you.

"Yeah I mean, I guess your first love will just do that to you, you know?" You joked back. You refused, refused, to let Paige Bueckers affect you in this way on national television. It had been three years for god's sake, you needed to get a grip of yourself.

"Well, they must have been one heck of a first love to be such a long-lasting muse for you," Jimmy pried, and you could tell he was waiting for you to give more details about your relationship.

"Nah nah, cut the cameras, I think we're out of time for tonight right," you nervously laughed, jokingly leaning over to gesture in an over the top manner to the camera crew to stop filming, which roused hefty laughter around set at your antics.

"Don't worry Jenna, we'll leave that topic for next time yeah?" Jimmy chuckled at your immediate refusal, using his perfected charm to continue the interview without any bumps or awkward conversations.

Before you knew it, the interview had been long over and you were laying in your hotel's bedroom. In your opinion, the NYC suite was luxurious and was far too large for just one person to reside. But fortunately for you, you were used to the sense of loneliness you felt in the empty room. To think that you were only a few hours away from Paige, your first love, your first everything, and yet you had never felt more separated from a person you used to love with your whole being.

Thank you for reading all the way through! Part 2 of So High School will be out soon I promise, this series just happened to randomly inspire me and I want to finish it asap before I lose motivation or hit writer's block!

[slutforpringles]

Yeah, it was a strange one the way it played out. To be honest, the more I've spoken to some of the parties involved and the more has kind of emerged, the less clear it's got actually how it's been handled, which I'd like to say is unusual in Formula One. Maybe it's not because people don't always act in F1 with their true intentions upfront. But I think the way you described it as [Daniel] processing it in real time and learning it at the same time as us, I think it's pretty much how it happened. The key thing was that Ricciardo was aware that something was going on. He's not immune to speculation. He tries not to engage with it too much, but obviously either he or the people around him are feeding him the main things. He knew that there was a deadline approaching for a decision, which primarily he thought was all about 2025. The main thing that changed was going into the Singapore weekend, the speculation had intensified that it could be about right now, a change right now. But when they went into the Singapore weekend, I know there's been a few reports and claims and counter claims around this, Helmut Marko, for example, has said that Riccardo did know because Lawson had known for two weeks already. But I don't think that's true. Bear in mind, Marko has been saying at various points this year that it could be Ricciardo's last race … I was on the phone to someone close to Riccardo last week and he joked that 'we've been sacked since April, so this hasn't really come out of the blue', that's what they've been dealing with. But I think what happened was that Ricciardo took control of the narrative over the course of the Singapore weekend. As far as I can understand, the best I can make out, nobody told Riccardo explicitly, this is your last race, we will be replacing you after this. He knew that there was a very, very good chance, probably 99% chance he was losing his drive for Lawson for the following year. And then there started to be more and more noise about it being a change for now. But he had been told during the summer break that he was good for the rest of the season, basically. So I think he was reacting to the speculation. Nobody gave him an absolutely explicit, this is 100% done and we are going to confirm that Lawson's in and you're out. So Riccardo went into the Singapore weekend saying everything he said on the Thursday, which was, you know, I wouldn't bet my house on being here at the end of the year, but that's what I expect. As far as he was aware, it was all about 25, nothing else, blah, blah, blah. But then through the weekend, you saw that change. You know, he was kind of as you said, processing it, the speculation was more intense than ever. Some of the broadcast, like the Sky Sports F1 stuff was very much laying it on thick that they understood this was his last race, etc etc. And I think Riccardo just rolled with that and just went right, Red Bull aren't going to do anything here, they're not actually going to make this official. I need to act like this is my last race weekend because I think this is going to be my last race weekend. And if I don't do it, no one's going to do it for me, which is a really sad way for it to have played out, but it just speaks to how confusing this whole mess has been.

Scott Mitchell Malm discussing how Daniel's Singapore exit was handled by Red Bull and the subsequent false media narratives that have since emerged from various players involved.

via: The Ringer F1 Show

[siienthiil]

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓪.

𝓭𝓮𝓯𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓼.

contents.. yandere¿ dazai osamu x reader.

Choking.

You were violently choking on the hard wood floor, your body tilted to its side and your eyesight blurred by a mixture of dirt and blood that had infiltrated your vision. You had long ago coughed up all the rich liquid that was blocking your windpipe, which was a scare flavor of saliva and blood.

The air was vile, the smell so overwhelming that you could practically taste it on your tongue. You gagged, the unpleasant aroma of filth that has been accumulated overtime settling on your tastebuds and the smell adding to your migrane. Your head was pounding and you swore it was split open by the distracting pain that pulsated through your skull and to the back of your neck. Your leg too was also fractured, but to an extent, and bruises covered your body in various places.

But, nothing. Absolutely nothing would ever compare to the absolute fury Dazai unleashed on you after he found out about your escape attempt.

.

.

It feels like you're flying

Well, maybe you are by the way your body feels totally weightless as you desperately create distance from the prison you were once held in. Tears poured from your eyes like rivulets, a strange sense of hope swelling inside your chest. A feeling that you forgot had even existed and you sure as hell didn't want that feeling to go away.

You needed to get to where people were, you needed to blend into the crowd. You needed to get to the police.

The streets were no longer silent; distant laughter, people talking and the sound of motors running as vehicles drove up and down the road. Sounds you thought you'd never miss, but you did. Months of confinment and everything around you feels new. The air was cold and crisp and it seemed like yesterday that it was just the summer, yet it felt so long.

It doesn't take you long to stumble across a police station, the big and bold lettering on the sign catching your attention from a mile away. You waste no time to advance towards the building, bare feet crushing the cold snow beneath them with every accelerating step.

Until you're not.

Slender fingers wrap around your arm and suddenly your heart is in your stomach. The grip on your arm is animalistic and full of control, fingernails digging crescents into your flesh and you find yourself unable to move another step.

"where are you going?"

.

.

You're pulled back into consciousness by the sound of heavy footsteps reverberating against the walls and moving towards the door. Your heartrate immediately skyrockets, your anxiety alleviating your impending hyperventilation and cold sweat bathing over you. Your eyes shoot wide open and you fixate on the light shining through the small crevice beneath the door.

Quietly, you breath in through your nose and out through your mouth.

In through your nose,

out through your mouth.

The breathing exercise doesn't do anything to help soothe you and infact, you feel that your heart is beating so loudly that you think that he might've heard it to.

The footsteps come to a stop infront of the door and the air soon fell omnious and tense, hinges clicking and the door slowly opening with a loud creak. Dazai peered into the room, surveying it and noting every single detail, likely to see if you made another attempt to escape; his gaze lingering on the boarded up window. He looks away from the window and his honey brown eyes fall onto you.

Your blood runs cold and you'd hope that you would just go into cardiac arrest.

There was a slight tug at the corner of his mouth before his lips curl into a full blown smile, his eyes becoming downturned and his face molding into that disgustingly bright expression. He steps into the room, closing the door behind him and flicking on the light as he takes a step in. Why was he here? Why now? Is he planning to simply just watch you this time? Rarely, he would break a few of your limbs, but you didn't trust him. Not this time around. It rarely ever happens, but there's no guarantee where his head space is in, in that moment. He could suddenly burst and let all his anger out on you again.

He walks towards you and you narrow your eyes at him, an involuntary whimper bubbling within your throat. He kneels down infront of you and reaches his hand out to touch you, fingertips barely grazing your skin before you flinched away. The second you flinched, his heart twisted with hurt and rejection. He frowns and his hand falls to his side.

"You're still upset with me?" He says and he's not asking, he's simply making the observation. He finds it amusing how you think you could stay mad at him when he threw you into this room and only fractured your leg for precautionary measures. It'll heal, but it was much better than losing a limb, no?

You don't answer him and he sighs.

"I can't have you running off on me, ___. You understand why I did what I did, right? To...?" He's expecting you answer back, his gaze lingering on you and when you don't answer him, you can hear the finaltility in his voice. "To.. keep you safe. Now, say it back to me."

"Go fuck yourself."

Surprised, he leans back just a bit and raises a brow, his face slowly lighting up with amusement as his sinister laughter fills the room. He tilts his head at you, a toothy grin remaining etched onto his face as he looks down at you with mock curiosity.

"Where did you get the balls to speak like that? You're not exactly in the right position to be insulting me." He feigned arrogance, another huff of laughter escaping from his lips, "You are way too stubborn for your own good, gorgeous. You're gonna get yourself hurt if you keep this up."

Your eyes bore into him like daggers and you don't give him the satisfaction of responding yet again. Hatred pumped through your veins, fueling your rage and you wanted nothing more than to let out all your emotions on him. All the confusion, the hate.

The lack of communication from you made him frown once again, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"What's wrong? You were talking just fine a few moments ago. Cat got your tongue?" He tilts his head again, "You know how this'll turn out for you."

"Why me?" You croak out, managing to bring it upon yourself to finally say something that wasn't just profanities. He raises a brow.

"Why not?" He said, "You gave me a reason to."

"And what was that reason? I was there for you and you turned around and fucking kidnapped me!" Your voice is strained and it hurts to even talk, your voice coming out scratchy. Most likely due to the amount of coughing and screaming you did during the past couple days.

"If you're so insistent." Dazai chuckled, "You were too busy meddling in affairs that shouldn't have concerned you and look where being nosy got you. You were naive to think nothing would happen to you when digging around for information on the port mafia. I did it to keep you safe."

"To keep me safe? From what? The port mafia? Whatever they had planned in store for me would've been much better than the shit you've put me through." You spat angrily, slowly pushing yourself from off the ground and carefully scooting yourself back into the wall. Hissing in pain when you moved your injured leg to accommodate the position you were in.

"You wouldn't have liked what they'd do to you." He states matter-of-factly.

"You're a traitor and a fucking cunt. I trusted you."

"Is that all you know how to say? Profanities?"

"You were my boyfriend! You wouldn't have done this to me if you fucking loved me-" You should've known better than to think that he'd let you finish that sentence. Abruptly, his hand came up to have a tight grip on your jaw, forcefully pulling your face towards him and forcing you to look at him, a dangerous shadow casting over his features.

"I am your boyfriend and I do love you. You do not know the shit I would do for you and you'd certainly hate me more so if you had the slightest of clue of what I've done for you." His tone of voice sends chills down your spine and you find yourself not being able to hold eye contact with him for much longer. You close your eyes and you feel tears starting to form, prompting you to squeeze your eyelids shut. He doesn't take kindly to the action, his grip on your jaw tightening and with a slight shake of your head, you finally open your eyes to meet his gaze once more.

"Does it hurt?" He suddenly asks, causing you look at him with confusion.

"W-what?"

"This." He lets go of your face and stands up, towering over you and you carefully watch him as he takes a single step towards you. Your mouth runs dry and you want nothing but to disappear into the wall and to sink into the floor as his intimidating silhouette stared down at you. You don't even see him raise his boot before his foot came to press down onto your fractured leg, sending a rush of blinding hot pain throughout your entire being. Your mouth fell open, but no screams came out. All you could manage was a painful yell before your vocal cords decided to cease on you.

"Fuck!" You screamed out, tears finally pouring out of your eyes, "P-please, wait!" You gasp.

"What was that?" Dazai asked, putting more pressure down onto your leg. You wheeze and under the blurriness, you swear you can see him looking down at you with a great amount of pride and arrogance, his eyes sparkling with intense excitement. Though, he himself would like to believe he didn't like hurting you, but how else would you learn?

"I'm sorry!"

"Say that again, I didn't hear you." What an asshole, am I right?

"P-please, Dazai..I'm sorry!" Finally, he steps off your leg and you didn't even realize that you were holding your breath until his weight was finally off it. Crying, you reach for your knee on the same leg that was fractured, rubbing it up and down to try and soothe the pain as you rocked back and forth, trying desperately to distract yourself from the agony. Fuck, you missed being at home, missed the life you had before Dazai became a lunatic. But, it made you question, was your boyfriend always like this?

"I did warn you that you'd get hurt if you kept the attitude up." It is Dazai's voice that brings you out of your thoughts, but the agonizing pain was still there and honestly, right now you could care less about him being right there. You just wanted the pain to stop. To beg him to kill you, but you knew if you did that, than he's more likely to lash out. 'Kill you? Why? So you can leave me?' While savagely beating the shit out of you. If you had the strength, you would've attempted to kill him, but despite all the shit he's done to you, you still had those vague feelings for him. Or were they really vague?

He sighed and leaned down on his heels, demanding your attention as his hand reached for yours on your knee. You pull your hand away and he doesn't move or flinch, instead, his hand comes to where you were previously trying to soothe the pain.

"All I ask is that you listen to me, ___. Otherwise you wouldn't be going through all this pain if you would just fucking-" Cutting himself off before he could say something offensive. Which was laughable on his part. He surely had no problem using violence against you as a show of power, but when it came to his words? Oh, he was sure to be 'careful' with what he said when it came to you.

"I really don't like hurting you." He said, gently rubbing your knee. It takes a lot of focus to muster up the words through your fucked up vocal cords, but when you do, you dare ask.

"Then why do you do it?"

"How else are you supposed to learn if you can't obey what I ask?"

Anger just swelled within your heart even more. That was his justification for hurting you? Because you wouldn't obey him? He was never this controlling when you two first started out, but I guess it's true that you never really realize that you're in a bad situation until it becomes too late.

"I love you, ___."

"..."

"I love you too, Dazai.."

It's been 4 years(?) since I've posted lmao. This is a rewrite of a previous 'x reader' I wrote awhile ago. I am open to taking requests and it doesn't have to explicitly be yandere, you're able to request anything.

[leiascully]

Fic: The Altar Is My Hips (M, MSR)

1500 words; M for sexual situations; the POÄNG pals wondered what would happen if Mulder proposed while eating pussy and here is the result (ao3)

Scully’s flat on her back in her bed with Mulder’s face between her legs. It’s her new favorite pastime. She’s got her hands in his silky hair and his tongue flicks at her clit in a steady rhythm. She lets her back arch, pushing her mound against his face. He hums in pleasure and licks a few lazy circles that leave her moaning.

Mulder, as she had always suspected, eats pussy like it’s his calling in life. Mulder eats pussy like other people eat oysters, and with twice as much relish. Maybe it’s that full lower lip or maybe it’s his nimble tongue or maybe it’s that distinguished profile, but Scully can’t resist. His face is a saddle and she’s ready to ride. Yee-haw.

She’s had lovers before who made it feel like a chore, but it’s obvious Mulder enjoys it. He’ll eat her out for hours, given the chance, moving from her on top to him on his knees to him pinning her to the bed to various configurations of 69. He’ll strip her down or tongue her through the nicer underwear she’s started wearing. She has to fuck him between sessions just to redistribute the sensation.

Maybe it’s the seven years of blue balls, but they’ve both been insatiable since they started fucking. She can’t get enough of him. She’s fairly sure Skinner’s noticed the way she’s been staring at Mulder during meetings, partly because she keeps putting the end of her pen in her mouth. It isn’t on purpose. She’s been hungry for so long, and now she’s got a buffet spread out in front of her. Or under her. Or on top of her. She’s flexible. So to speak.

Today she’s a pillow princess and Mulder’s doing all the work. All she has to do is lie back and not think of England. She has no thoughts when Mulder spreads her thighs. Her brain is blissfully empty, filled up with sparklers and fireflies and the heat of a perfect summer evening. Mulder’s made her come so hard she forgot how to speak. She wants him so much it makes her feel stupid. When he’s inside her, she doesn’t care about anything else in the world.

He sucks her clit gently into his mouth, teasing her. Sensation prickles through her. She’s got goosebumps. The tip of his tongue swirls over her clit, and then he rubs at her clit with the flat width of his tongue until it makes her vision go blurry. He moans into her and it’s such a fucking turn-on. If she wasn’t already drenched, she’d be wet just listening to him eat her out.

She combs her fingers through his hair, resisting the urge to grab a handful. She doesn’t always resist, but this isn’t that kind of occasion. This is sweet, deliciously leisurely. He’s been taking it very slow, pausing in his ministrations to kiss his way up the ticklish inside of her thigh. She’s sure she’s got a hickey just low enough that the hem of her underwear won’t conceal it. She’s lucky she doesn’t have one just above the back of her knee. Skinner would definitely raise an eyebrow over that one.

Mulder nudges her thighs further apart, pushing her open with the breadth of his shoulders. She splays her legs wide, putting herself on display for him. He makes a happy noise and pulls a little harder at her clit. She gasps and sighs. Her blood feels like hot honey, thick and sweet and slow. Her whole body is hot and loose. Need builds in her belly, but it’s a deliberate coiling, driven by the pace of Mulder’s tongue.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been here. She doesn’t care. She only knows that her body is a pleasure garden that Mulder cultivates. She’s magic. She’s the rocking of the ocean, punctuated by glints of sharper pleasure. Her orgasm feels inevitable, even in its early stages, but she doesn’t want to rush it. She’s enjoying herself, enjoying him enjoying her.

She can feel the moment his hunger shifts. He sucks harder at her, flicks his tongue faster. He knows how to drive her to the edge. He uses the tip of his tongue to tease the exquisitely sensitive bud of nerves under her clitoral hood and she yelps. The pleasure inside her grows. It’s hungrier than before. She needs more, or different, or something.

“Your fingers,” she manages to say, and he’s pushing inside her almost before she can say it. His elegant hands were made to fuck her. She’s convinced of it, despite any evidence to the contrary. Two fingers is usually enough, but not today. She’s starving for him. She wants him everywhere inside her. If he could eat her out and fuck her at the same time, she’d do it. She’d have an orgy of Mulders, one for every orifice and one to grow on.

“More,” she says, and a third finger joins the other two, thrusting deeper into her, seeking the spot he knows will make her come undone. She loves how well he knows her, how he still studies her. His attention is intense; she’s never felt anything like it. He shifts just a little and suddenly it feels like a kiss, somehow even more intimate than before. Fuck, she loves him. She whimpers as his fingers graze the right place and he groans against her clit.

It doesn’t take long after that. Not with his fingers fucking her and his mouth insistent on her most sensitive skin and his other hand reaching up to touch her breasts. She’s tugging at his hair now. Her thighs squeeze around his ears and she isn’t trying to suffocate him, but she can’t relax. Her body is drawn tight, vibrating like a bow string. He strums his tongue across her clit and his fingers work inside her and he’s tweaking one of her nipples and she’s caressing the other and oh God, she’s coming. Her hips buck and he pins her with one arm and licks her through the waves of pleasure. She shivers over and over, as if she’s chaining one orgasm to the next to the next, until finally it’s too much and she gently pushes him away. He raises his face and rests his chin on her thigh.

“God, Mulder, that was amazing.” She can’t catch her breath.

“Marry me,” he says. His face is wet. His lips glisten. He licks at them. She can’t tell if he’s nervous or relishing the moment.

She laughs and pushes up on her elbows to look at him. “What?”

“Marry me,” he says again. There’s something in his eyes that tells her it’s not a joke, but that’s hard to believe after all his previous proposals, variously in jest or inebriated.

“Isn’t that my line, after an orgasm like that?” she asks.

He huffs and his breath tickles her thigh. “If you’re trying to let me down easy, I get it.”

“Marry you,” she says.

He nods, his chin digging into her thigh.

She looks at him for a long moment. His eyes are dark with unsatisfied desire, but he waits as patiently as if they’re at the ticket counter at the airport. She measures his face with her eyes, as if she doesn’t know it by heart. She lets her heart open, a luxury she rarely allows herself. Love suffuses her as thoroughly as pleasure did, rippling through her until she can hardly breathe. Of course it’s Mulder. It’s always been Mulder. If it could be anyone, it’s Mulder. They’ve been pledged to each other since that night in Bellefleur when she stepped into his hotel room and showed him her skin and her naked fear and he showed her his soul in return.

“Okay,” she says.

His eyes light up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says. She can wear a dress, white or otherwise. She can vow in front of God and her family to have and to hold him as long as they both shall live. She can wear his ring, be his wife, honor him, obey him (under very specific circumstances). The more she thinks about the idea, the better she likes it. “Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will,” he says.

“Come here,” she whispers, suddenly shy, and he hauls himself up the length of her body until she can kiss him. Mulder kisses like a fairytale: true love wrapped up in the strangest mysteries. She can taste herself on his mouth and feel the rigid heat of his cock against her hip. She shifts until he’s sliding between her folds, sliding into her, rocking slowly as they kiss. They make love; there’s no other word for it. They haven’t done it like this yet, somehow, though she would have sworn they’d tried it all. He moves in her, watching her, and she feels so new and so precious. Her eyes are glossy with tears, but so are his. She kisses his eyelids and he laughs a little. Her heart flares with heat. The world has been so cruel to him. Now he’s under her protection forever.

“Marry me?” he asks again as she arches under him.

“Yes,” she says as she comes again, “yes, yes, yes,” and she knows she’ll never stop saying it.

[bunchofdoodlesinspace]

Stan and Ford Hcs because I Have More Things To Say

[also post-show, just for reference]

The Stan o' War has had some Serious upgrades done to it to suit their expedition needs. Most of these are courtesy of not just Ford, but also Fiddleford, who agreed to help him and Stan with some bits of the machinery. It's built to handle basically anything and everything they might encounter now.

Where Stan couldn't help with boat-construction, he helped with resources. Having lived on his own on such a low budget for so long, the man has had TONS of experience sorting out essentials, portioning out food, and so forth. Oh, and he also dumped most of his guns into it somewhere. Y'know, just in case.

(I say most because he absolutely left at least one of the guns with Soos with some cryptic messaging about the "Pug Mafia" or something. Definitely had absolutely nothing to do with him being concerned for Soos's safety, not at all, shut the fuck up-)

They decided to completely and properly dismantle and renovate the portal room for other uses. I can't decide if it's still a sort of secret lab type place, or if its been changed to be a storage room for some of the Mystery Shack's weirder and more precious items. Regardless, it's significantly smaller now. You would never be able to guess what it was housing prior.

The two of them also took a day to burn/destroy all of Ford's Bill-related items together. It was extremely cathartic and became a fantastic and much needed bonding moment for the two of them.

[Shuffles a deck of post-it notes with various labels written on them] [Slaps the Autistic one on Ford] [Slaps the ADHD one on Stan] yeah. I'll feel like this one's a given.

They frequently do things at exactly the same time (like adjust their glasses, stretch, sometimes they'll even say the exact same thing too) without thinking. It's a twin thing they've done since they were little.

Unfortunately, the memory gun has had lasting effects on Stan's mind. He recovers the memory of the summer immediately, and everything post-portal fight comes to him pretty quickly as well (I'd say over the course of a few days to a week). But many events prior to that remain unclear. Recounting the details of whatever happened and/or showing him pictures will usually bring at least most of it back, if not at least a strong sense of familiarity. Ford can't help but feel a pit in his stomach every time Stan can't remember something. And he feels it grow every time Stan still can't remember it even after Ford explains it to him.

Much like their great-niece and nephew, Stan and Ford help each other through their flashbacks, their panic attacks, and their nightmares, the last of which Ford undoubtedly has the worst of. If you thought my description of Dipper's sleep paralysis was bad, imagine lucid dreaming your body dragging you around to who-knows-where, unable to will it to change course, while a disembodied voice cackles at your futile resistance. And then not knowing if that was a dream or not when you wake up.

While Ford appears to be the more "put-together" twin, Stan is the one who is much better at things like cooking and keeping places tidy. Ford spent so much of his adult life either living in a dorm or a secret lab, and that on top of the way he hyperfocuses on research, regularly forgetting to eat and sleep- Yeah. Stan is usually the one dragging him away to eat something before he collapses.

(Stan is genuinely a good cook, btw. He took a lot of time learning how to do it better over the course of the summer with Dipper and Mabel)

Much like Mabel, Stan will frequently start making stupid jokes to try and bring Ford out of depressive funks. He's never been great with words, that was always Ford's thing, but he's always been good at making people laugh. Or, at the very least, making his brother laugh.

And much like Dipper, Ford combats Stan's low self-esteem with logical reasoning based on what he's seen since he was rescued. In fact, he nowadays often brings up the fact that Stan rescued him as a means to combat it. He wasn't grateful in the moment, for a lot of reasons, and ofc he still thinks it was extremely dangerous and reckless to reactivate it given the risks, but he understands Stan's position better now. He's glad he was able to return. And he's even more glad his brother still wanted him to.

They always try to plan to give themselves time to make the trip back to Gravity Falls right around the start of summer. Often, they're a few days late to the party, but they're determined to never miss the chance to spend time with the kids.

[badnewswhatsleft]

scanned the little patrick interview from kerrang winter 2023<3

transcript under cut:

Patrick Stump’s mum is a methodical accountant who likes to plan ahead and think things through. She would bestow this organisational wisdom upon her son when he was growing up. When his band Fall Out Boy got signed, however, thereby kick-starting one of the most exciting trajectories of the past 20 years, Mrs Stump quickly realised there were limits to what she could assist him with.

“She said to me, ‘I can’t help you anymore - you’re beyond my area of expertise,’” Patrick recalls with a laugh.

In the years since, there has been no end of through-the-looking-glass moments for Fall Out Boy, a litany of incredible achievements highlighted by the ever-growing shows the Chicago four-piece - completed by bassist Pete Wentz, guitarist Joe Trohman and drummer Andy Hurley - have played. It’s an upscaling Patrick admits he still can’t fully process.

“I’m probably never going to get used to it, and I think I’m at peace with that,” he admits, taking time out backstage at Hamburg’s Barclays Arena on the band’s epic So Much For (Tour) Dust jaunt, which recently visited the UK.

Thankfully, Fall Out Boy will be back on these shores next summer, having been announced as headliners for Download Festival 2024, alongside Queens Of The Stone Age and Avenged Sevenfold. The news has given Patrick cause to reflect upon the pivotal shows and tours that have made FOB the band they are today, with a self-deprecating appraisal of the good times and the bad, the tiny gigs and the Hella Mega ones.

“A lot of my life makes sense to me, where I understand the various points of what happened and why, but there are moments with the shows we’ve played that make no sense at all,” Patrick reflects. “You go to arenas and they have pictures in the hallway of all the big artists that have played there, then they’ll have pictures of us, which sticks out to me!”

THE BAND’S FIRST-EVER SHOW AT DEPAUL UNIVERSITY CAFETERIA, 2001 “We were playing with some pretty cool math-rock and emo bands. When we got out there, we were horrible - I mean really terrible - and there were about three or four people there. I can’t remember what our band name was at the time - it wasn’t Fall Out Boy, and we were tossing some names around. I remember suggesting one of the names we had in mind to the drummer in one of the other bands and him telling me it sucked. We had a guitar player who I’d only met the week before and I’ve never seen since. I hope he’s doing good things. I heard he became a bike messenger. I cannot imagine a humbler beginning for a first show!”

FALL OUT BOY’S FIRST GIG WITH ANDY HURLEY, 2003 “I think it was with Andy’s other band, The Kill Pill. Andy played in both bands that night. It was a bigger show for us, opening for [Florida melodic hardcore band] As Friends Rust, and we didn’t have a guitar player, so I was playing guitar. It was weird because we were playing some newer songs, which stood out, so it felt like we’d started to actualise the band. I’m a drummer originally, so I was picky about drummers. But when we played with Andy, it was the first time that it felt right. I remember saying to a friend of mine who was there at the time that we were still a bad band then, and she said, ‘You guys couldn’t see it, but even then, it felt like the beginning of something.’”

THE FIRST UK TOUR, 2004 “One thing I remember was going to a Mexican restaurant, ordering tacos, and being unable to describe the things that arrived at the table - and not in a good way. That first UK tour was with Mest, and it was surreal. I think that might have been the first time I’d ever left the States, so going to another country felt like a big deal. When I got there, I realised the UK is similar in a lot of ways - particularly thanks to our shared musical history. One difference was that the venues all felt so much more punk rock than those in the States, with an unhinged basement vibe, which surprised me but was also thrilling.”

HEADLINING DECAYDANCE FEST AT THE HAMMERSMITH APOLLO, 2007 “I look back on some moments and realise they were bigger than I noticed at the time. The other bands on that bill - Panic! At The Disco, Gym Class Heroes, The Academy Is…, Cobra Starship - were all bands we’d played with a lot before that and were friends with, so at the time I thought, ‘Every show we do is Decaydance Fest!’ Then that moment in time was gone and I soon realised that it was crazy that we were able to get all those people together to do that show. You don’t necessarily realise you’re part of a thing when you’re part of a thing, so when I think back now, I’m amazed.”

THE LAST GIG BEFORE GOING ON HIATUS AT MADISON SQUARE GARDEN, 2009 “It was such a strange show. I had checked out at the time, and was busy thinking about solo stuff, but really I just wanted to make lots of music. One of the things that was crippling was making a record and then going on the road for two years to promote the record. For me, making records is what’s important, so the grind of having to make them so slowly was killing me. I was therefore in a bad space with the band. I think we were out with +44, and I remember Mark [Hoppus] shaving Pete’s head onstage. Pete had the famous haircut and that was the end of it. It was kind of a joke to do that, but it ended up proving to be fairly symbolic, as it really was the end to that whole moment.”

FALL OUT BOY’S FIRST GIG BACK AT SUBTERRANEAN, CHICAGO, 2013 “The whole thing happened so fast and so suddenly! We had a meeting in New York. The four of us met at our manager’s apartment and we talked about maybe getting together and seeing what happened. It was tense, actually, as we hadn’t talked to each other in a long time and there were all these old grievances - but there was also this sense that we were older and wiser. We put together some songs, and one of them was My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark (Light Em Up). On the morning of the show, we appeared on a radio show and the whole station felt excited about the song. It felt like the beginning of a rollercoaster. That night, when we played Light Em Up, a song people could only have heard hours ago, the room exploded!”

CO-HEADLINING THE MONUMENTOUR WITH PARAMORE, 2014 “That was one of my favourite tours! Andy and I would do a drum-off, so we got to play together, which was a full-circle thing for me, as I had never got to play drums in front of people with the band before then - so that was fun! I remember thinking on that tour that we were really getting somewhere as a band. Our first show, we were a pretty bad band. For a while in the early days, we wrote better than we played, and we thought better than we wrote. But as time passed things really came together. That tour was a point where we felt that we were really getting somewhere. Plus, the audiences were great on that tour - incredibly excited and giving.”

HEADLINING WRIGLEY FIELD BASEBALL STADIUM IN CHICAGO, 2018 “When I was a kid, the height of my ambition was to play the [1,100-capacity] Metro in Chicago. I never thought in a million years that we’d get to play Wrigley Field - I didn’t even know that bands played there. It’s not a venue, it’s where the Cubs play. I’m still in disbelief that we’ve now played it three times! That doesn’t make any sense to me. The first time we did it was terrifying, but also familiar. We used to have an apartment in Roscoe Village, which is walking distance from Wrigley Field. I remember Pete and I writing [2003 single] Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy together, then we went jogging around Wrigley, and a group of drunk Cubs fans shouted ‘Fucking losers!’ at us. Being inside that structure years later, singing that song, was therefore so surreal.”

HAVING A FREDDIE MERCURY EXPERIENCE HEADLINING READING & LEEDS FESTIVAL, 2018 “I think about that regularly. I’m not a natural performer. I used to act, so I could act as a character, but I couldn’t really be me and sing onstage - that never used to be comfortable for me. I have this very specific memory of This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race. There was this part where I sling my guitar to the stage and I’m just singing and having the crowd sing with me. The way they responded at that point made me suddenly think, ‘Oh, I can do this!’ I remember running towards the audience with the microphone and the life that came back at me just blew me away. When you have an audience like that, you’re Freddie fucking Mercury! I think about that on an almost daily basis when we’re on tour. That song has a whole different life now because of my experiences at Reading & Leeds.”

PLAYING THE HELLA MEGA TOUR WITH GREEN DAY AND WEEZER, 2022 “I couldn’t have been more obsessed with a band than I was with Weezer in 1998-’99, when I was in high school. Then, years later, they’re your buddies and you’re playing with them and they’re playing some of your favourite songs ever. That is so strange. One of my musical origin stories was in fifth grade, when this kid in the middle of class beckoned me over. We snuck under a table, and he puts headphones on me and he plays Dookie. I was like, ‘What is this?!’ On that tour, Billie Joe Armstrong said I was a really good singer. I’m still recovering from that.”

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 777: Sohoku's sprinter

Pag 2

1: Houruaaagh

2: Buooraah

3: It's not.... “he's going to attack one more time”!!

Pag 3

1: He's attacked already!!

Pag 4

2: Fifth stage!!

He used the last curve!!

3: Feelings at full throttle!!

He got his “three seconds” in the curve and then accelerated!?

This guy has been tearing apart-

Pag 5

1: Aventador!!

Orange*!!

-road racing common sense over and over again!!

(*NdT.: Issa's attack's name)

Pag 6

4: One guy has jumped ahead as they were turning the curve

Hakogaku and Sohoku are chasing him!!

The guy who's ahead with two strong guys following him.....

Pag 7

1: I've never seen his jersey before!!

Hyaaa!!

Who's that guy!? An unknown cyclist!?

But he's here at the sprint line

Can something like that really happen!?

Pag 8

1: Words things like “of course”, “I already know that”, are like shackles that bind our thoughts

2: There is discovery in “common sense”, yon!!

4: Even so, in road bikes

5: there are two or three ways to hold the handles, so you can change your posture

Pag 9

1: and use various muscles to accelerate, yon!!

2: Three people passed the 300m point, and now it's just a straight road

Pag 10

1: There's still one person running ahead!! The two people behind him can't catch up!!

2: They can see the sprint gate already!!

3: Tch, really, he forced his way through with an ambush like this

4: But

5: My “number one in Japan” plan hasn't wavered one bit!!

Pag 11

1: Lat year's autumn

Woooah cap!!

2: Gap!!

3: Guaagh.... it's always just me saying “gap”!!

Whatcha talking about, Kabu

4: About Doubashi!! I wanna leave him “gaping”!! Me!! Since I lost to him in the summer Inter High!!

You’ve lost the ability to differentiate between the words ‘gap’ and ‘gaping’, haven’t you?

5: Huh? I was able to say this properly when I talked to Aoyagi-san

… which was it again?

6: By the way, Naruko-san, you're supposed to be a good sprinter

Supposed to be!?

Don't you have some secret weapon? Like an ace up your sleeve

7: I'm a genius, so I think if you teach me I'll get it right away!!

I really don't feel like telling you... honestly

8: No, but.... I also thought of myself as a genius, but surely I wasn't that stupid

Pag 12

1: But it's a favour to a kohai, it can't be helped

I've grown too, after all

2: Listen carefully to this “secret weapon”

When you're sprinting

3: The “cog-wheels” you imagine, try imagine them more accurately!! Until the tiniest details!!

4: The....

5: … cog-wheels!?

6: Ah? What does that mean!?

7: Be more specific, please... you're not very reliable, huh

Ugh!! This guy....

I've been thinking this since before, but me and you really don't think alike, Naruko-san...

I'll kill you....

Pag 13

1: As expected from Naruko-san

2: Aoyagi-san was more reliable (even thought he was taciturn)

What does he mean “imagine”?

Hop

3: Ohhh, amazing, Kaburagi

4: Hahaha, I know, right

6: I can do this too

Ohhhh... a blind catch!!

7: How did you do that!?

Hahaha, I'm a genius, so I can do anything just by imagin....

Kaburagi is so cool!

Pag 14

1: Imagining!!

2: Just now I did a blind catch just by imagining it!!

Do it again!

What's wrong, Kaburagi?

3: Oi oi, wait, wait- is this what he meant?

4: Does that mean it'll work? If I apply this to biking!?

6: Imagine

The cog-wheels

7: accurately

8: until the tiniest details

9: Detailed

10: Times and times again

Pag 15

1: I imagined it over and over again!!

And then my “cog-wheels”evolved into “gears”!!

2: Oi, San-na!! Do you have one more special move?

4: Tch

Pag 16

1: Buah!!

Of course!!

I need one more shot to crush you!!

2: It's “Huracan*”, which is stronger than “Aventador”!!

(*NdT.: written as “raging bull” but read as “huracan”)

3: Use it now!!

5: I, too

Pag 17

1: will pull out “golden yellow” now!!

2: If we use them at the same time, it'll make us catch up!!

3: You understand it, San-na

There's no time for complaining about it

4: This guy..... the “golden yellow” that he absolutely wanted to save until the last minute before the sprint line!!

5: We have to close the gap and line up to him now

At this rate, that guy

Pag 18

1: He'll be the first to arrive!!

2: The lead is passing the 200m sign!!

3: Who's that, Gunma!?

I thought the Gunma team was supposed to be Jousui?!

Did the team debut this year!?

There's a guy that strong in Gunma

4: Waaaa

5: That number 181 is debuting now.... but

His career and profile is crazy!!

Pag 19

1: It's Kiji Kyuui!! He's the MTB Inter High two-times champion!!

Huh!?

2: So, the two chasing him won't be able to catch up, at this rate!?

Pag 20

1: Huh!?

What was that just now

For an instant, behind those two

2: I saw blooming golden yellow flowers, and a raging bull

Pag 21

1: This year's may

2: I see

3: Please

Basically

4: Doubashi, you mean you want to race me in a serious sprint battle... now that I've become an university student!!

[christinesficrecs]

Hi Christine, I know this is a long shot but long story short - lost my saves file a while ago and cannot find many of most favourite fics, I have countless quotes saved from them. I am sharing some with you in hopes people recognise the fics they're from if you post this. I will love you forever.

Derek’s first kiss in four years tastes like fresh-squeezed orange juice and makes his stomach flip like the drop in a rollercoaster. Stiles holds him close like he’s thanking him.

About the summer he spent in Ireland because there were pictures of his mom posed in various tourist sites at Dublin and Dingle and the Giant’s Causeway--places that he wanted to experience personally since he never got to ask her first-hand.

Derek looked at him for a moment, and wow, okay, this was why people wrote songs about love and painted pictures and wrote poetry, because he was pretty sure that he was falling in love with Derek Hale if only because of the guy's beautiful eyes and earnest expressions and his everything. God.

In some ways Stiles has done a lot of growing up since then, but a part of him thinks he’ll always be that scrawny, ridiculous kid at heart, whose greatest joys in life were Froot Loops, cheesy disco tunes, and masturbation.

Stiles gets back from his year abroad in Hungary with more muscles and the first of his tattoos, a knotted rope that runs the length of his spine.

Hey, Derek, can you do me a solid? Nothing serious, just, you know, screw my brains out, that’s all.

He meets Stiles’ gaze from where he's leaning against the back wall, his eyes catching glints of light amid the shadows. Certain people are just meant to live under the open sky.

Whatever he says afterwards, whatever happens between them, there will always be this, the long late afternoon with the sun skidding red in the west, and he will always know what Stiles looked like the first time someone filled him up to the hilt. There are no acrobatics. Nothing fancy happens. Derek feels like the ocean breaking helplessly on the shore, the tide rising, spilling him over.

there’s something about the shape of him, the way he’s huge and solid and beautiful and always thirty seconds away from admitting total defeat that rubs Stiles raw and tender.

“People are so exhausting,” he murmurs, and Stiles is glad to know it: that he isn’t people, that he counts as a kind of between places, maybe even as home.

Updating with the ones that magv1 found. Thank you!!!

Hot Single Dad Derek Hale by WhoNatural | 13.3K | Explicit

Wherein Derek is a Hot Single Dad, possibly with a little case of martyrdom, and Stiles is the newest client at his publishing house who really just wants to make him happy. Preferably while they're both naked.

^^^^^ #1 & 2

But Then What... by Stoney | 24.3K | Explicit

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him.

Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

^^^^^ #3

My Life is not a Horror Movie, Derek by DiscontentedWinter | 38.9K | Explicit

Stiles keeps dreaming of people in robes with knives. With chanting. In Latin. And he mentioned the knives, right? That can't be good.

^^^^^ #4

i need your sway by thatworldinverted | 11.1K | Explicit

Stiles always figured it would be Scott who saw him through his first heat. They pinky-swore on it, in fact, when they were eleven and newly-presented. There haven’t exactly been an abundance of offers between then and now.

What there is now, though, is the pack, and pack takes care of each other.

^^^^^ #6

Sucker Love by whiskey_in_tea | 17.9K | Explicit

Kate sits up and narrows her eyes at him. “Page 72,” she says. “Why I Plan to Wait, by Stiles Stilinski.”

The spread is hilariously cliched: a full page picture of a pale, pretty boy with a wide-eyed blonde girl walking on the beach, the two of them holding hands and staring into the waves, probably thinking wistfully of the sex they aren’t having. Derek skims the text briefly. “Speaking up about the importance of virginity!” he exclaims. “Reclaiming chastity a a masculine virtue. Our friend Stiles sure is brave.”

“See, I was thinking he might make an interesting challenge,” Kate says lazily. “And he’s surprisingly attractive, don’t you think? Such long fingers. And that mouth.”

^^^^^ #8

[h4arts]

belly conklin x fem! reader. where the reader is conrad’s best friend from school, and at first belly finds herself feeling jealous, but then she realizes she has a HUGE crush on her, and then they kiss!!

jealous, belly conklin -synopsis: since the age of twelve, belly had been jealous of your relationship with conrad. turns out, she was jealous of him the whole time. -warnings: underage drinking, kissing, angst with happy ending, very vague mention of a man not taking no for an answer, fem reader -notes: i got way carried away on this one, it's really long, i hope it's what you wanted!

Belly loved the summer house and the people in it. It was an extension of herself, the one constant she always counted down to, looked forward to, hated to leave, and always wanted to go back to. It had always been the Fisher and Conklin families, before Belly was born and long after she realized how joyous the place was. The summer she turned twelve, it became different though. That was the first summer she met you.

Conrad had spent the better half of a year begging his parents to let you go with them, that you were his best friend and he'd hate to leave you behind where all you'd have of this magical place were the stories he'd have when he got back. That's what Susannah had told Laurel when she questioned who you were. Belly just happened to overhear.

Belly hadn't cared much at the time. She'd thought that maybe another girl would mean less teasing, less jokes made at her expense. But as the summer progressed, she also felt jealous that you had just as much if not more attention from the boys as she did. They became your friends as much as they were hers. She decided then that she wished Conrad would've kept his school friends at school.

You had left a couple weeks early that summer, and Belly was glad things had gone back to normal for her last days at the beach house. It was just like it had been last summer, except it wasn't. You still lingered in the air, Conrad still talked about you and even Jeremiah and Steven did too. Belly found herself hoping as she got in the car that you wouldn't be back next year. That next summer would be the Fishers and the Conklins, no one else.

───☆───

The next summer had come, and Belly would be thirteen. It would be like any other birthday, just the parents, the boys, and her. But nearing closer to the beach house from the drive way, she knew by the laughter in the living room that you were back. Steven ran inside with Jeremiah who was previously helping with bags. Laurel gave a gentle squeeze to Belly's shoulder with a reassuring smile before following her son inside.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Belly promised herself she wouldn't let you bother her this summer. The beach house was supposed to be for happy memories and a fun summer. She wouldn't ruin that, even if she didn't like the changes it came with.

Inside, Belly was surprised when you stood to greet her with a hug, the smell of your perfume lingering even after you pulled away to help Laurel carry bags. It wasn't so strong it burned Belly's nose, but it was present enough to leave a mark that said 'I was here'.

That summer, she got sick and had to stay inside for a few days until she was better. The boys left every day without her but you stayed back and ate popsicles with her. You watched her favorite films with her and played various games with her. Then when the boys came back at night, you'd leave her with Susannah and Laurel to go hang out with them.

Even when she got better and the boys left to go camp at the beach like they had in a previous summer, there you were, trying to roast marshmallows over the living room fireplace so she could have smores too. When she asked where you'd gotten the supplies, you'd responded that Jeremiah was easy to bribe out of food with the right trade.

Belly had to admit to herself that maybe your presence wasn't so bad, that if you came back next summer, she wouldn't be so upset by it. She finally liked not being left alone or stuck with the moms watching old films, though she did enjoy it.

She was starting to think that maybe you weren't the worst thing to happen, but all those thoughts came crashing down one day at the boardwalk. Conrad asked her to go after they'd both been left alone in the house. He bought her a caramel apple, he walked down the pier with her, and when he asked to go play ring toss, Belly understood why he'd brought her. She remembered a conversation between you and Conrad earlier in the week when you and Steven had gone to the boardwalk by yourselves. You came back talking about a giraffe they had on the prize wall at the ring toss game.

When Belly approached the stand with Conrad, she saw him look right at it. She realized then that there was probably more behind the title 'best friend' when he spoke about you or when you laughed at something he'd whisper in your ear as everyone left dinner. She dragged him over to the ring toss game and said to win a prize. She walked away from him, leaving him to the pretty girl working the game.

Conrad found her later, confused as to why she didn't come back. In his hands were two prizes, which surprised Belly. He held out a polar bear with sunglasses to her. "They said it was the best prize they had." Belly took it, her other hand pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

"I like the giraffe better. Thanks though." Belly walked away, leaving Conrad standing in the middle of the food court with the stuffed giraffe he'd won for you.

Belly cried that night. She was jealous, Conrad had dragged her all the way out to the boardwalk to win you the stuffed animal you'd seen with Steven. It wasn't fair, that's what she told Taylor when she got back home before school. Belly hadn't said goodbye back to you that summer, too sick with dislike to say it with any meaning.

Belly hoped more than anything you wouldn't come back next summer, but she knew you would, so she would bring Taylor. She thought maybe with her best friend there, the thought of you and Conrad would be distracted from her mind.

───☆───

It was mid-June, and Belly absolutely regretted bringing Taylor. She was only concerned with seeking Jeremiah's attention, leaving barely any of her own for Belly. Meanwhile, Belly had to sit on the sidelines and watch you and Conrad. Racing to the ocean, sharing huge bowls of ice cream, sitting next to each other at dinner, talking in hushed whispers and laughing so loud it rattled her heart.

Belly had brought Taylor hoping it would distract her from you, but she was constantly with Taylor, which meant you had all of your time to spend with Conrad. It shouldn't have mattered to Belly as much as it did, you were here for him anyways. He was the only reason you were there.

Later in the summer, Jeremiah wanted Belly and Taylor to be the judges of a surfing competition. Belly thought it would be just him and Steven, she hadn't seen you or Conrad all day, but then you both showed up, surfboards tucked under your arms as he laughed and you just watched with a smile.

Belly stood up to leave, everyone else was too busy to notice. Taylor was transfixed on Jeremiah who was already running out to the water with Steven, you and Conrad still stood in the sand laughing, hiding in the shade behind your surfboards.

Laurel watched her daughter walk in the back door, shoulders hunched and a frown etched deep into her face. "What's wrong? Are you not having fun out there?"

"I don't want her here." Belly mumbled, sitting on the couch between her mother and Susannah who held a glass of iced tea in her hands. The ice was making the cup sweat, so when Susannah reached out to Belly, her hand was cool and wet. She would've hated anyone else doing that, but it wasn't anyone else, it was comforting because it was Susannah.

"You don't have to bring her next year." Belly's frown deepened. They thought she meant Taylor. And it was true, she didn't want Taylor there anymore, but she meant it about you. She was tired of looking at you having so much fun with Conrad. She was sick of watching you do everything with him. She hated that you were with him all year round and she was only there in the summer.

Usually when summer came to an end, Belly hated having to leave the beach house. All she wanted was to stay there forever. But this year, she was ready to go. She was ready to escape the jealousy she felt every time she looked at you and Conrad. She was upset with Taylor and Steven who she caught kissing at the beach after Taylor promised not to hurt Jeremiah. It felt like that whole summer was just them falling apart. Before Belly got in the car, she tried to avoid the painful goodbyes. Not because she was sad, but because she couldn't stand to leave this place with her last memory being of you. You always said goodbye last and you would hug her and she wouldn't say anything, leaving you standing there in the driveway like she had the last two years. She couldn't handle it, not after this summer's chaos.

She wasn't fast enough though, or maybe you had come outside earlier. Belly watched you walk down the porch steps, Steven's hand wrapped around your elbow as he said something stupid, judging by the way your eyes squinted in confusion before Steven shook his head, signaling to dismiss what he had said. He walked around to the other side of the car, and Belly turned to get in before you said anything. To her misfortune, you were faster, wrapping your arms around her shoulders in the same hug you gave her every time you said goodbye.

"Goodbye, Belly. Have a good year. I'm sorry we didn't see each other much." You spoke in a whisper, just like always. It annoyed her. She didn't hug you back, she didn't say anything. She pulled away, turned towards the car, and got in. Not once did she look back, she never did. Belly had done this every summer since you arrived, she couldn't stand you any longer than she had to.

As Laurel drove away, Steven turned up the music he had on aux. Taylor was staring down at her phone, tapping away furiously. Belly could still feel the cool press of your rings on her sun warmed skin, she could still hear the softness of your voice, she could still smell the faintness of your perfume that was carried in the wind.

Next summer, Belly wouldn't pay you any attention. She wouldn't watch one more summer of you and Conrad when all she could do was sit and watch.

───☆───

As soon as the car stopped, Belly swung open the car door and stepped out into the gleaming sunlight. The cool breeze felt good on her skin, it was the feeling she'd been waiting for all year. She was so glad to finally be back in Cousins for the summer, forgetting all about what happened the last time she was here.

The front door to the beach house flew open, and Jeremiah ran outside, followed by Conrad and Susannah who lingered back a bit. They all shared hugs and greetings, until Steven finally asked where you were. It was the question Belly had purposefully tried to ignore.

"She's not gonna be here for a while, her cousin's getting married." Conrad answers, and Steven seems upset with the answer but drops it. Belly wished it would take longer than just a while for you to get to the house. But, it made easing into summer that much better. She hadn't been the only girl in the beach house since she was eleven. It was just like old times, Belly, Steven, Conrad, and Jeremiah. They went swimming in the ocean, had lunch by the pool, Belly watched movies with the moms while they boys went to a party. Belly had gone to sleep every day for a week with a smile.

One morning when she woke up though, that peace was gone. Belly had gone downstairs for breakfast, only to find you standing in the kitchen with Jeremiah, flipping pancakes and dodging the strawberries Steven was throwing at you. Belly frowned, you were there early. It had only been one week. Conrad mentioned exactly that, moving down the stairs around Belly to greet you. Even he hadn't known you'd arrive early.

"My cousin and her partner are going a few hours south of here to meet other family that can't make the wedding. This is just a pit stop so I thought I'd say hi." While you spoke, Steven threw two more strawberries at you, neither of which you were able to dodge. Belly watched from the stairs as Conrad tried to wipe the stains off the white shirt you wore. They were noticeable, right in the center of your torso. "It's not a big deal." You told him, taking the towel from Conrad's hand. Belly's stomach twisted, he smiled at you so easily, and your hand was on top of his before taking the towel. Jeremiah and Steven didn't even notice, taste testing the pancakes. Belly turned around and went back upstairs.

She didn't come back until the afternoon, preparing herself to see you standing with Conrad again. Against everything in her, she'd put on the smallest bit if mascara and lip gloss, hoping she'd be noticed better. Maybe the attention wouldn't be on you then, and she wouldn't have to see Conrad staring at you. You were gone by the time she stepped of the last stair. Jeremiah told her you'd left an hour ago when she asked.

Belly went back upstairs to take off the mascara and lip gloss. She changed into her swimsuit and rushed back down stairs, diving straight into the pool. She hoped Jeremiah hadn't noticed the makeup when she asked where you were, she didn't need it if you weren't there. She wouldn't see you with Conrad, that was all she put it on for to begin with.

On the day of her birthday, Belly still hadn't seen you since the surprise visit. She opened her gifts from everyone, they all had pancakes for breakfast, per her request. Conrad had asked if she wanted to go to the boardwalk, Belly agreed. Steven and Jeremiah ended up going too, but they went straight to the arcade as soon as they arrived. Conrad followed Belly to all the things she wanted to do, until it led them to a picnic table for a snack.

Belly didn't think it was a good idea to ask, but she had to know. She asked Conrad why he was friends with you. Belly wanted to know what was so important about you that he couldn't even leave you back for two months to be at the beach house.

"She's been my best friend for years. I've known her almost as long as I've known you. I just never really talked to her until the year before I first brought her here." Conrad shrugged, he didn't understand the importance of the question. But now that Belly had asked it and received the wrong answer, she didn't understand why it was important for her to know either. But she'd already asked, she wanted a real answer.

"That isn't what I asked you." Conrad sighed at that. He took a long sip of his drink and paused, almost as if he really had to think about the answer. Maybe he was just trying to avoid it.

"She was there for me when I needed someone." He answered shortly.

"And no one else was?"

"That's not what I meant." She knew. But she wanted a real answer, not a vague one, not one that could be misinterpreted. And she'd already asked twice. There clearly wasn't anything special about you, or Conrad wanted to keep something about your relationship secret. Either of those explanations would've confirmed Belly's suspicions.

"She just, she makes people feel safe with her even if they don't know her. She's just got that about her, y'know?" Belly had never heard Conrad say that about anyone. But, it made sense to her now though, why he would drag you miles from your own home and family every summer just to spend that extra time with you. It also made sense to her that you were more than his best friend, and she had a feeling she knew just how much more.

"Hey guys, guess who I just saw outside!" Jeremiah ran up to their table, Steven trailing a safe distance behind. Belly and Conrad stood up, following Jeremiah and Steven to the exit. The sun was setting, Belly hadn't realized how long they'd been there.

Just as Jeremiah said, you stood in the parking lot alone, a jacket draped over your folded arms. Belly guessed you'd come straight from the reception, judging by your slightly smudged makeup and the dress you wore that rippled softly around your legs in the breeze. Once you saw them, you reached into the bag hanging from your shoulder and handed each of them a pressed flower.

"My cousin saved me the leftover ones for my room. I don't need all the ones she gave me." The boys clutched onto them like it was all they'd ever have of you, observing every inch of their flower like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Belly put hers in her pocket. She didn't look back at you after she did, not wanting to know if you'd seen her do it.

Back at the house that night, Belly sat in her room, looking at the clock every so often. It was late for her to still be up, even for it being summer. Everyone was asleep, so she got ready to go for a night swim. This was the latest she had ever gone, so there was no chance Susannah would come down tonight. She'd have the pool all to herself, but she was wrong.

On a chair across the deck from the door, you sat looking out to the stars above the ocean. Hearing the creak of the door, you look back to see Belly standing there, a towel tightly clutched in her hand. Belly was surprised when you didn't smile at her before you looked away. You always did, and it felt odd to Belly that you didn't. She wondered if something happened, if you were upset with her about the flower or if you finally gave up on trying to be nice to her.

Belly considered going to sit next to you, but as she walked farther out from the deck, she saw the look on your face, illuminated by the moonlight. You weren't mad, or sad, or upset. You were just there. There was nothing wrong, so Belly dropped the towel on the closest chair to the pool and dove in. She swam her laps, took short breaks to just float, and every time she looked back at you, you were still there, eyes never once leaving the sky.

Finally feeling tired, Belly got out of the pool and wrapped herself in the towel. She headed towards the door to go back inside, but something made her stop. Something made her want to go sit with you and watch the stars, just for a bit. You still didn't look away from the sky as Belly sat next to you, and she didn't say anything. She tucked her knees up to her chin to fully wrap the towel around herself and she watched the stars with you.

She had no idea what you were thinking, or if you were even thinking about anything at all, so she quietly kept an eye out for any shooting stars until you suddenly moved your hand to your pocket. Belly jumped slightly, not expecting you to move. You pulled out a small box and handed it to Belly.

"Happy birthday, Belly." Then you turned back to the stars. She carefully removed the lid from the box, revealing a small starfish charm glinting delicately in the light from the moon. "For the charm bracelet you've got. It's to remind you of this place even when you aren't here. I know how much you love it here." That was all you said, and Belly assumed it's all you would say.

She stared down at the charm, and thought back to what Conrad had said earlier at the boardwalk. She makes people feel safe with her even if they don't know her. She's just got that about her, y'know? Belly now knew how true that really was. Even back when she first met you, you had been the one to make sure she never felt left out, you'd sit with her when she was sick or when the boys would leave without her. You'd always tell her to have a good year when she left and you meant it every time, even when she left you standing in the driveway without saying anything back. You'd gotten her something to remember this place and all the amazing memories it held.

Belly realized there was nothing about you that she could hate. Not the way your voice lingered in her head all the way home at the end of the summer, not your perfume that she could smell long after you'd vanished from sight, not the cooling metal of your rings that came with every touch or hug you gave her, not the welcoming smile you always wore. Even tonight, when she first walked out the door and saw you. She realized if it had been anyone else besides Susannah, she would have turned around and gone back inside. For some reason, it didn't bother her that you were out there with her. She felt safe.

"Good night, Belly." Belly looked up from the charm to see you already halfway back inside. "Don't stay up too late, you'll hate yourself for it in the morning." You were gone before Belly could say anything back. She wished she would've said something, she didn't even say thank you. It made her think about every summer she never said anything back, never hugged you back, never looked back.

Summer was over fast after you got there. Belly didn't try to avoid your goodbyes this time, but she was confused now. Why was she now realizing that all the things she thought she hated about you, she didn't and never had? She still didn't hug you back. She still didn't say goodbye. But halfway down the street, she looked back. It was the first time she ever did, and she wished she hadn't. Your arms were crossed over yourself, the same way she did when she felt bad. You were frowning, and then Conrad was at your side, wrapping an arm wound your shoulder and leading you back inside, a gentle smile on his face. Had it always been that way?

───☆───

It was spring break now, and Belly was still confused about last summer. She tried talking to Taylor about it, but she couldn't form the right words. All those times she saw you with Conrad, was it really you she was jealous of? Or was it just wishing that she was doing those things with you instead. Did she hate your goodbye hugs because if she hugged back she wouldn't let go? She missed the nights the boys left and it was just you and her, making your own jokes to laugh at. She finally recognized that she wanted to be the one you turned to, not Conrad.

Her whole life, she was so sure she wanted Conrad, for him to want her and to be with him. Now she wasn't sure that's what she'd wanted. Maybe deep down, she'd wanted the giraffe at the boardwalk because you wanted it, and it was subconsciously as close to you as she could get at the time.

Belly had stared at her phone for hours over the course of spring break, debating whether or not to call. She had no idea what she would say if she did, but she didn't like being confused over it. Time kept passing and Belly never called. And before she even knew it, school was out, exams were done, and she was packing her bags to go back to Cousins.

The ride there was the same as always, but when the car pulled in to the drive, only Jeremiah was on the porch waiting. He hugged Steven first before Laurel made her way over to ask about Susannah, to which Jeremiah responded that she was inside sleeping. Conrad came around the house a few moments later, pausing at the sight of them like he'd forgotten they were coming. He quickly greeted them before Steven announced it time for a 'Belly flop'. Conrad and Jeremiah were quick to follow. Belly looked around for you, but you weren't there. She guessed you were inside somewhere, waiting for them.

When Belly hit the water, she heard a new tone of voice added over the laughter of the boys. Swimming back to the surface, she saw you over Conrad's shoulder. You were smiling, hitting Steven's shoulder playfully. Belly swam over to the edge of the pool where you met her and kneeled down to help her out of the water. Once you were both sitting on the ground, you pulled Belly in for a hug, getting the front of your shirt wet. You both laughed and for the first time, Belly hugged you back. Things were going to be different that summer, she'd make sure of it.

Something was already different, though. Jeremiah and Conrad had never really paid her much attention before, but their stares had lingered a little longer than they ever had. Even Susannah had said Belly looked prettier, and she wondered if maybe your stare would linger as long as the boys' had. She hoped so.

The bonfire party came later in the week, and to Belly's disappointment, you'd spent most of that time with Conrad more than anyone else. Steven had told her not to go, and that he wouldn't be responsible for her. Belly didn't really want to go, but if was the only time she'd get to see you, she would go.

She called Taylor that night, asking her friend's opinion on what to wear. The call consisted of less help than meaningless bickering about what she should say to you. After the call had ended, Belly stared at her reflection in the mirror. She wondered if the dress she'd put on would even be noticeable to you, or if you would even care.

A thud echoed from across the hall, breaking Belly's thoughts. She went to see where the noise had come from, which led her to your room. Before she could say anything, the door flew open, revealing you in a shorter dress than you'd worn before and your makeup that hadn't been redone since the morning. You were shocked to see Belly standing there, waiting for you to say something.

"I heard something fall." Belly watched the crease between your brows even out, the confusion leaving your face.

"I just knocked my phone over. No big deal." You shrugged, stepping out of your room and closing the door behind you. "Are you going to the party?" You ask, eyes tracing over the dress Belly wore.

"Oh, um, yeah. Don't tell Steven though." Belly looked down, realizing that Steven would see her once she got there, so you telling him wouldn't even matter.

"Don't worry about him, go and have fun. He can be mad later, you look great." You put an arm around Belly's shoulders, leading her to the stairs so you could go.

Steven, Conrad, and Jeremiah had already left, the party was undoubtedly already in full swing. Belly would have questioned why you didn't go with them, but she knew from Conrad and Jeremiah's stories that you were always late to parties anyways.

Belly went around to the passenger side of your car, waiting for you to get your keys. She glanced in the window of the backseat and saw in the small amount of moonlight a stuffed giraffe in the middle seat. The one Conrad won at the boardwalk. A frown pulled at her lips as you walked outside, unlocking the car. Belly immediately got in, looking out the window. Getting in the car yourself, Belly felt your eyes on her, and when she looked at your reflection in the window, she saw the worry in them.

"We don't have to go. We can stay back and watch movies." You say, pausing to put the key in the ignition.

"No. I want to go." Belly still didn't look back, but she truly did want to go now. She couldn't go back inside and go to bed. It felt like every time she thought maybe she had a chance, Conrad came right back. The giraffe in your backseat was proof enough that she was right. She was going to the party, either with you or someone else to distract her from that thought.

"Okay." The car started, and the whole drive, Belly didn't look anywhere but out the window. You'd glance at her once in a while, making sure she was still okay. Belly tried to ignore it, just focusing on the music softly playing from the radio.

Barely waiting for the car to park along the crowded street, Belly tried to open the door. You locked it before she could, causing her to groan in annoyance. "Promise you'll tell me if you want to leave."

"Fine." Belly still didn't look at you, and she tried the door again. "Just unlock the door so we can go."

"Look at me, Belly." Finally, she turned to look at you, one hand still on the door and frowning. "Promise, or I'll turn around."

"I promise." Her shoulders deflated into a more relaxed posture, and you unlocked the door. Belly split from you as soon as you got to the crowd of people drinking and laughing. She needed a minute alone before she could go back to you or she got caught by Steven.

"Hey, Belly!" Jeremiah was walking over to her, a full solo cup in his hand. He held it out to her, and laughed at the grimace on her face as she looked down at it. "Don't worry, it's just water. I'm driving tonight."

She took the cup, from him and downed about half of the water before handing it back. Her nervousness had dried her throat. Jeremiah just shook his head with a smile. "Wait, how'd you get here? Some creep didn't drag you here, right?" It was Belly's turn to laugh, and she shook her head, explaining she'd come with you.

"Actually, did you see where she went?" Jeremiah squinted, trying to remember if he'd seen you.

"I don't think I've seen her yet, I mean you just got here, right? Maybe Steven knows, he was hanging around by the fire." He responds, turning to go in the direction Steven was.

"No, I don't want him to know I'm here yet." Belly stops him, and Jeremiah frowns but doesn't argue.

"I can ask Conrad." Belly nods, and Jeremiah leaves the cup of water with her as he goes racing off to find his brother.

A few minutes later, Jeremiah comes back, reaching for the water cup back from Belly. He took a long drink before answering Belly's previous question about your whereabouts. "She's actually with him right now. They're over by the water." Jeremiah points towards the ocean in a vague pattern, but Belly thanks him anyway and makes her way down the beach.

However, as Belly got closer, she stopped, trying to register what was happening in front of her. You were kissing Conrad, and clearly so distracted you didn't even notice the tide getting the side of your shoe wet. Your hands were in his hair and his arms were around your waist and Belly felt so upset that she almost didn't notice the man standing a few feet from you drop his cup and walk away.

Steven suddenly appeared with Jeremiah and a girl she hadn't seen before, and she was too frozen to even consider trying to run away before Steven saw her. "Belly, what are you doing here?" Her eyes turned to Steven who was quickly approaching her, she hadn't seen you when you appeared next to her, gently taking her arm and leading her away before Steven got to her.

"Let me go!" Belly tried to pull her arm away from you. You didn't let her go until you were both a safe distance from the crowd on the beach.

"Belly, just breathe." You stood in front of her, and she tried to move around you. "Belly." You blocked her again.

"Just let me go."

"Go where? And who with?" Belly didn't know, she just wanted away from you, and Conrad, and Steven. She didn't know when her tears started falling, or when you hugged her and she fought against your hold until she finally gave up. She let you run your hand up and down her arm to soothe her, you let her cry into your shoulder. "I'm sorry." You whispered.

Belly realized she'd been right, that it had always been you and Conrad. No matter how badly she hoped, it would never be you and her. Maybe she could've changed that if she'd been nicer all those past summers, maybe if she would've matched your efforts to be there, that could've been her you kissed on the beach.

"Let's go home, okay?" Belly nodded, she let you lead her back to your car. Even when you'd gotten home, she let you lead her up to her room, wash the light makeup she had on off her face and laid out a change of clothes. After you'd left her with a 'goodnight', Belly lay awake staring at her ceiling. The summer had just started, she couldn't handle watching you and Conrad all summer. She had barely tolerated it in previous summers. It would hurt worse to see it knowing for certain that you loved him.

She wasn't sure how long she had laid there when she heard stumbling on the stairs followed by a string of quiet curses. She heard you and Jeremiah say goodnight before Jeremiah's door closed and Conrad's swung open, hitting the wall before there was a long pause of silence.

Belly quietly got out of her bed and went to her door, cracking it open just enough to see what was happening. You were backing out of Conrad's room, whispering something she couldn't hear before shutting his door. Belly closed her own door, it wasn't loud, but it was audible. She stood behind her now closed door, listening as you stopped on the other side of it.

"Belly," She didn't respond, she didn't move. She just stood and stared right at the door where your face you be if she opened it. You sighed. "Good night." Belly listened until the sound of your footsteps quieted and your door squeaked shut across the hall.

Belly couldn't fall asleep, even after she had been back in her bed for an hour. She couldn't stop thinking about what she'd seen at the party, what you might've told Conrad before you shut his door, what you probably did the rest of the year when you weren't at the beach house. She wondered if you slept more peacefully than her, not knowing how badly Belly's heart was breaking.

The next morning, Belly didn't want to leave her bed. She didn't want to see you and Conrad, it would just make last night more real. Unfortunately for her, her mother walked in at the exact second she turned away from the door to go back to sleep.

"Belly, you need to get up. It's already late." Laurel sat on the edge of her daughter's bed, pulling the sheets off Belly's head.

"No. Can't I just sleep today?"

"It's summer Belly, go out in the sun, you can sleep tonight." Laurel sighed, standing up and going back to the door. She told Belly that you, Conrad, and Steven had gone to get drinks and muffins. Belly got up then. She thought she could go downstairs, eat something, and escape the house before you got back. Jeremiah was the only one at the time Belly could stand to see without being lectured or heartbroken.

"Finally! I thought I was gonna have to sit out on the surfing competition today." Jeremiah smiled up at Belly as she entered the kitchen, grabbing a box of cereal and a bowl, taking the milk from the counter before Jeremiah could refill his glass.

"I'm not going." Belly said, stuffing a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. Jeremiah rolled his eyes.

"Of course you are, Steven's an unfair judge."

"No I am not!" Steven appeared in the doorway, a box balanced on one arm and a coffee cup in the other. Belly froze, she hadn't made it out in time.

"Yes you are, you give us all twos at best." Conrad followed after Steven with another box.

"That's not true." Steven argues, sliding Jeremiah's cup over to set down the box he carried.

"It so is. Just because we're better than you." Belly didn't look anywhere but her bowl of cereal, your voice was the last one she wanted to hear right now.

"Shut up, just because you went to a fancy camp-"

"No I did not!" You and Steven continued the banter as you set down the drink carriers balanced in your hands. Conrad opened the muffin boxes, mindlessly reaching for one as his eyes full of amusement never once left you and Steven you were now pushing each other.

"Hey! Watch the food, some people are actually hungry." Childishly, Steven stuck his tongue out at Jeremiah, who in turn rolled his eyes.

"Didn't your mom tell you we were bringing muffins?" Belly looked up for the first time since you got back. The boys had left the kitchen with their plates of muffins and drinks.

"Yeah, I didn't want to wait. I thought you'd be longer." Belly lied, putting her bowl in the sink and muttering that she'd come back later to clean it. She quickly left to go back to her room, getting right back into her bed.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at her door before it was gently pushed open. You walked in with a plate of muffins and two drinks balanced in your hands. Walking over to Belly, you held out one of the drinks, sitting next to her. Once Belly had taken the drink, you set the plate down in front of her on the bed.

"I know you're upset with me Belly." She looked at you, pretending not to know what you meant. "I would've talked to you about it last night, but I think it was best we both slept off a bit of emotion before talking." Belly looked away, she wasn't ready to have this conversation yet. Not last night, not now, probably not ever. Her heart couldn't take it. "Talk to me, and if you still hate me after we talk, I'll leave you be."

"Do you love him?" Belly's voice was hardly above a whisper, but you heard, and with a small sigh, you answered, knowing exactly who she was talking about.

"He's my best friend, Belly. He has been for years. There's a thing about a friend like that, that just becomes a part of you and your life. I do love him, very much. But I'm not in love with him and he's not in love with me." You explain gently, eyes never leaving the side of her face.

"So why'd you kiss him?" Belly looked at you, there was a certain sadness in them that broke your heart.

"Because some people don't listen to words like they do actions." That's when Belly remembered the man that had stormed away from you before Steven and Jeremiah showed up. She hadn't thought anything of it when it happened, too focused on her own heart breaking.

"Oh." Belly took a sip of her drink. Maybe she had misread the whole thing.

"You can talk to me Bells." You hadn't called her that before, she wished you would've. She wished you'd keep doing it.

"I like you." Belly blurted before she could talk herself out of it. You smiled at her.

"I know. I like you too." Belly's eyes scrunched in confusion. "I was just waiting for you to figure it out yourself."

"I hate you." Belly smiled then, her face relaxing as you both laughed.

"That's not what you just said."

"No." Belly thought back to all the summers she'd spent with you that led up to now, you laughing in her room. You liked her, not Conrad. "What was that thing you were saying about actions..." She laughed again as you rolled your eyes in fake annoyance.

"What do you want? My muffin? My drink?" This time Belly rolled her eyes and you'd laughed, but she still took the drink, setting both on the night stand beside her.

"I want you to kiss me."

"Okay." You took her face in your hands and kissed her. Belly hadn't realized before, but she lived for this moment. She could've done this all along, had your lips on hers, your hands in her hair, rings pressing lightly against her cheeks, your perfume drowning her in a scent that made everything but you disappear.

When you pulled away, she found herself wishing you hadn't. She didn't want you to stop, and then it hit her that she'd only ever have you in the summer. You lived hours from her, she couldn't go to you whenever she wanted. She had just finally gotten you, and not even three months later, she'd have to let you go.

"I'll come find you." Your voice broke her thoughts.

"What?"

"When summer's over." Belly thought you'd read her mind, you knew the look she had in her eyes. "I'll be there when you need me." She didn't say anything, she didn't want to think about it. Summer had just started anyway, and now she had you. She kissed you again, ignoring your complaint about the muffins that still hadn't been touched. How could she care about those muffins right now when she'd been waiting long enough to finally kiss you?

[rainbowsky]

Hi Rbs, thanks for being such an active member of the Fandom and educating fellow turtles. I remember falling into the Fandom largely due to yours and Vic's blogs.

Anyway, I'm hoping you could shed some light on this matter. I know that DD was a motorcycle racer and had an accident many years back that looked very much like a sabotage. I can't be sure, but did he race on a bike anymore after that? Somehow, my galaxy brain wants me to believe that GG and DD understood the dangers of bike racing and that's why he pivoted to car racing now. TIA!

Hi forayintoc-ent! Hope you're well! Thanks so much for your kind words, I'm glad you're enjoying my blog. 😊

It's true that DD was a motorcycle racer for a while, and he seems to be transitioning into auto racing lately. It's unknown whether that's a complete and permanent shift, or whether he will ever race motorcycles again at some future point.

I personally view it as, "Yibo is into racing" and not "Yibo has given up motorcycles in favor of cars." He's an adventurous adrenaline seeker, and I think he will likely never completely give up things he enjoys - he just finds new interests.

He did have an accident back in 2020. That was a scary moment for all of us at the time. Here are a few posts I made back then:

Pre-race hype

Seconds after the accident

After the investigation/ruling about the incident was announced

He hasn't raced in any motorcycle competitions since then, but it's not really known exactly why that is. Everyone's theories are just that - theories and opinions based on various factors. I have my own take on this, which is just my own opinion.

Here are some of the factors that I suspect have gone into this decision for DD:

Personal interest - DD loves racing. He's also quite good at it. It's only natural he's going to want to explore ways to expand on and continue to enjoy this passion. Remember, he didn't even have his automobile license when he started racing motorcycles. He only got his full driver's license back in the summer of 2020. I suspect the experience of driving cars more frequently has probably made him more interested in racing them, at least in part.

Evisu Racing - This connection is likely a huge factor. He's been working with Evisu as an endorsement brand for years, and they happen to be working with a racing team. The fact that he has a professional relationship with a team that wants to work with him in auto racing... it's just a natural fit, a great opportunity and something he was probably quite happy to work his way into.

Endorsements and backers - I've said this many times, but career-wise GG and DD are - first and foremost - business endeavors. Big money, big business endeavors. Their careers represent the work product of dozens and dozens of people, backers, investors, managers, handlers, producers and brands. These financial and business interests are extremely risk averse. They're probably fine tolerating DD racing as long as it's going well, but they will not have been happy to see their golden goose rolling around on the pavement of a racetrack. It's possible that DD has had to shift some of his interests to appease those stakeholders.

Loved ones - Yes, obviously GG as his partner as well as his family and friends will have been extremely worried and horrified when DD had his accident. There were rumors that GG and their families rallied together to be there for DD after the accident, plus his DDU family, and undoubtedly many others would have rallied around him at the time. It's inevitable that he would have heard a lot of stern words from those around him about the dangers of motorcycle racing.

DD's own feelings - Let's face it, all of us - including his loved ones - watched the accident. DD LIVED it. If there's fear involved in this decision, it's likely as much DD's fear as anyone else's.

HAVING SAID ALL THAT.

There are no definitive stats that show auto racing to be safer than motorcycle racing. It's largely a perception thing. Motorcycles in general are much more dangerous, so I think people assume motorcycle racing is much more dangerous. However, both sports are dangerous, and both involve serious accidents including fatalities.

I don't know anything about the series/groups he's racing in or what their rules are, but it's possible that the infrastructure he'll be racing within - the rules, safety standards, sport culture, etc. - creates a safer environment for him in auto racing vs. motorcycle. We just don't know. No matter what standards are in place, you can't - with a straight face - call auto racing 'safe'.

In fact, there is a lot of debate about this topic and not a lot of hard data. It appears that auto racing has many more fatalities than motorcycle racing, but that could be partially due to the fact that auto racing is much more popular and involves many more racers. Regardless of which is technically scarier than the other, the reality is - they're both dangerous sports.

Any perception that DD is 'much safer' in a car - in my view - is wishful thinking. Speed is dangerous.

I'm not saying this to scare fans, I'm saying this to hopefully put a rest to the rumor/idea that DD's taking the safe route with this new auto racing thing. He's not. He's a racer.

As for the idea that GG put a stop to DD's motorcycle racing career, I really doubt it. If you enjoy CPNing it that way, please continue. But I personally don't think that's likely the whole story, or even a significantly large part of it. There are a lot of factors at play here, and a lot of people whose input DD would have received on this, not to mention his own personal feelings and shifting interests.

I will say this: if GG was as terrified as some fans make it seem, I doubt DD would be doing any racing at all. The fact that he's got this new thing going, it's impossible for me to imagine that GG doesn't support him wholeheartedly in this endeavor. GG's a young man too. No doubt he thinks racing is cool as well. He got involved with DD because he was DD. I'm sure he appreciates all that entails.

Edit: A couple of older posts have surfaced that established that this auto racing endeavor was planned from as far back as 2021, and there are interview clips of DD from back in 2019 saying that he wanted to try auto racing.

[tavina-writes]

MDZS Society! aka: there's a lot less killing than you'd expect

This follows from this post and also the recent translations of MXTX’s most recent interview (which I can now no longer bother to find bc this has been sitting in drafts for like, siiiix months? More? Oh god anyway.) which reminded me about my feelings regarding MDZS society and how different it is from the martial societies we see depicted in typical modern wuxia. (Small disclaimer, I am a wuxia genre fiend and I love like, thinking about fictional societies so this is like, “AHA! You’ve unlocked my trap card!”) 

For the purposes of this, I’m going to be looking at MDZS/CQL’s depiction of the jianghu (which I think is fairly similar! I don’t actually think the show writers made CQL’s jianghu/martial society more genre typical than it was in the book) and comparing that with modern classic wuxia (mostly Jin Yong and Gu Long works.) For this comparison, I’ll be looking at a Jin Yong book — Legend of the Condor Heroes (which is widely considered the starting point of modern wuxia as a genre) — and one Gu Long book — Dagger Li/Sentimental Swordsman, Ruthless Sword (widely considered his most popular work) — and seeing how their societies differ from MDZS society. 

This will likely come in two parts because this one was already getting long, and I don’t think we can fit “how often does nobility exist in a typical jianghu and what do bloodline sects look like normally versus what they look like in MDZS” in this post along with the main topic of “is MDZS society a particularly physically violent place?” 

This post discusses how often cultivators are socially expected to kill people. Like, actual living human beings instead of, say, monsters or ghosts which have been categorized differently than like, human beings. 

EDIT: I forgot to talk about Dagger Li but this was already much too long sorry. Feel free to hmu for more thoughts though.

Now, it might be easy to think that cultivators killing actual people is a really common thing in MDZS/CQL universe! After all, they do have martial arts training and one of the prominent things about the first life is just how many people die both in the Sunshot Campaign and the fallout afterwards. However, I would argue that a lot of the traumas and related issues and reactions that happen in MDZS happen because cultivators are, by training and education, not actually prepared for killing actual living breathing human beings! (And also that the morality of this world prevents it for the most part) 

Now, we do actually get a pretty good window into what the typical training is like for young cultivators in MDZS, because we get a fairly well defined schoolhouse scene where LQR is asking them questions about "how do you tell the difference between various different problems we have to solve?" and "how do you go about fixing this problem?" and none of those include the moral quandary of "if I, a young cultivator out in the Jianghu, see a guy who is doing something I morally disagree with, under what circumstances do I beat him up and/or kill him." This does not appear to enter the curriculum at any point, leading me to believe that the morally correct number of people not like, ghosts or ghouls or fierce corpses, a regular average MDZS cultivator is supposed to have killed is approximately 0.

Which. Is a thing you get in a normal martial arts wuxia jianghu. There is generally the threat of "oh yeah this that or the other faction will be doing shitty things and thereby try to murder you." Instead, in MDZS/CQL most of the heirs of sects are...attending school together. Doing teenage things like partying and gossiping and attending classes.

And sure yes, there was a case of WWX and JZX trying to beat each other up. But the sects did sure let their kids stay at Lan summer camp for months on end (sometimes repeatedly, see NHS) without fearing for their lives or that anyone would steal another sect's techniques or otherwise causing real havoc or intersect warfare etc.

Which is infeasible in any other sort of Jianghu situation. For example, contrast this scenario with this scene from LOCH where Guo Jing's shifus are giving him advice since he is newly 17 and about to set out by himself into the great big world:

Guo Jing therefore bid farewell to his teachers. They had witnessed his battle against the Four Demons of the Yellow River, and were not too greatly worried. The young man had proved that he knew how to use the skills that they taught him. Therefore they let him leave alone. On one hand, the meeting of outlaws in Yanjing worried them greatly, so that they could not ignore it; and on the other hand, a youngster always had to travel the jianghu alone, in order to learn lessons that no teacher could pass on. At the moment of parting, each made their last recommendations. As usual when the Six spoke after one another, Nan Xiren was the last one to express himself. "If you cannot defeat the enemy," he said. "Flee!" He knew that given Guo Jing's dogged character, he would prefer to die rather than to surrender, if he met a master, he would certainly fight to the bitter end, even at the risk of death. That was the reason Nan Xiren gave him this common sense warning. " Martial arts have no limits," added Zhu Cong. " As the proverb says, 'For every peak there is one yet higher', so for every man there is one stronger. Whatever your power, you will always one day meet a foe stronger than you. A true man knows to retreat when necessary, when facing grave danger, it is necessary to contain one's impatience and anger. This what is meant by the adage, « If one preserves the earth and its forests, one does not fear to lack firewood ». It is not therefore not cowardly to take good advice! When the enemy is too numerous and that you cannot face them there, it is especially necessary to avoid being too reckless. Keep in mind Fourth Shifu's advice!"

Does this seem like the sort of advice that any Young MDZS Cultivator would get? "You're a good kid, but when you go out into the world, there will be people who straight up want you dead even though they met you 15 minutes ago, you cannot persist in fighting with these people because they will want you dead and you are a baby cultivator who needs to learn to run away when shit gets rough or you will be dead."

And again I come back to how MDZS cultivators are more like occupational ghostbusters because this really does inform how their society functions and runs and how everyone reacts so badly to the Sunshot Campaign beginning and its aftermaths and possibly explains how JGS could get his way after Sunshot.

Because what happens when you get a society that does train heavily in martial arts and have Able To Kill Real People Weapons who spends most of their time solving very black and white situations of "okay is this ghost whose eating people's livers good or bad? y/n?" and a clear hierarchy of "how do we get rid of the ghost eating people's livers in town x" instead of say "is it morally correct to kill this group of bandits who's been threatening the town" or "is it morally correct to kill this shitty businessman who's been holding people hostage and threatening to hack off their limbs" you have a reduced level of philosophical musing on like, "what is the purpose of martial arts, which is designed to kill people and what do I use martial arts for?" and "under what circumstances and situations would I personally find it morally correct to kill a man?" Which are all questions that Wuxia coming of age stories typically have, and I think MDZS does have, but expressed differently.

Again, it appears that the number of Real Live Human Beings that it is morally acceptable to have stabbed in your life is approximately 0 in this universe, and the expectation that you, personally, might have to fend off people trying to stab you over brunch is also approximately 0.

This also leads to a situation where like, questions of vengeance have very difficult escape hatches! If your parents are murdered on the job by an evil rampaging ghost, this is very sad and tragic and now you're an orphan and of course that's not good, but this is a occupational job hazard, not like, "Yeah Joe Bob from the sect down the street murdered my dad because #Reasons~, and now it's my legacy to grow up to murder Job Bob from the sect down the street to avenge my dad."

(I have a whole essay about how this pertains to both of the Nie Brothers, and how it pertains to JGY and also Jin Ling, and how this seems to routinely fuck people up in MDZS in a very specific way we don't typically see in other wuxias, but this is getting SO long as it is).

But yeah "the socially acceptable number of real living people (instead of ghosts or demons or fierce corpses or whatever) to have killed in your lifetime as a cultivator is approximately 0" means that the Sunshot Generation gets really really fucked up by all of this "killing real people" they did.

Which! might be why JFM was so slow to move on "yeah the Wen are threatening to kill your heirs." <- socially inconceivable behavior. Why society in general is so shocked by Xue Yang and the murder of the Chang <- which would be bad normally but not quite like this. And why no one did anything specific about JGS even if they felt he wasn't entirely correct. What are they going to threaten him with? Death???? A trial of his peers? Social Shunning??? Public shame???

"But Tav how does this relate to CQL!Su She's morality?" I hear you ask. Well you see, the question of "he should've been ready to die for his sect!" is utterly baffling in a society where nobody is expected to be ready to die for their sect on a regular basis because the idea that you should be ready for someone trying to stab you before brunch is utterly nonsensical in a world where most people expect that the baseline number of murders a cultivator does in their lifetimes is 0. That's the world he lives in.

On this regard CQL!Su She is utterly blameless. Nobody handed him a rulebook or expectations sheet for "the sect down the street will try to kill you" nor SHOULD they expect he'd be ready to die at a drop of a hat when no part of the education or social expectations include "ready to die for your sect because it's routine for people to try to kill you."

If you don't even expect to be stabbed and possibly die at a discussion conference where there are lots of cultivators from many sects why on EARTH would you expect to be facing down death in your own home when there's. cultivators here to kill you, this situation is so out of left field?

[iskratempestmadness]

A few facts about the characters of "Baki the grappler"

Characters: Baki, Hanayama, Katsumi, Jack, Retsu.

Baki

Food

- it may seem that he prefers something simple, but he doesn't mind trying unusual food combinations. According to the type of ice cream with French fries.

- traditional Japanese cuisine on weekdays and fast food on weekends. He likes to treat himself to a big burger on Saturday night. Although he will have to work hard afterwards to get himself back in shape.

- has a neutral relationship with alcohol. He can drink during the holiday, but usually tries to abstain.

Leisure

- you can't tell from him, but he reads quite a lot, although he can't be called a bookworm. He definitely likes manga and comics, as well as something light from Japanese classics. He reads to relax, so he doesn't want to strain his brain.

- he likes to play board games. He is quite experienced in them, but in some cases, fortune does not favor him.

- walking in the fresh air. As I said, he just wants to relax, so contemplating nature is perfect for that. He likes the prospect of going somewhere to the countryside and staying there to live.

Moment:

It was early in the morning, when the city had not yet had time to wake up. The young man was sitting on a bench in the park, which was close to his house. Despite the fact that summer had already arrived, it was quite cool outside, but the young man did not seem to notice this. Hanma has been visiting this place quite often lately. Perhaps it was here that he could fully relax. His thoughts were confused, like the thoughts of a man who had just woken up, he was thinking about everything and at the same time about nothing. However, he noticed all the peculiarities of his environment. For example, he noticed that the birds were calling to each other today more briskly than usual, and also that this morning was warmer than yesterday, but it was still a little cool for summer... He liked it... And he also liked to have such a carefree time... This is the kind of environment he wants to spend his life in...

Hanayama:

Food

is mmmm... He loves Japanese fast food. You know, quick fried meat in batter with vegetables and various sauces. Or udon in a small but cozy eatery. But he needs really big portions.

- he also likes traditional Japanese dishes, but he prefers not to eat them too often.

- Alcohol? He is an expert in this. It may seem that he drinks only strong drinks, but he is also very well versed in the lungs. Hana also belongs to the type of people who drink and do not get drunk.

Leisure

- naturally, he spends a lot of time in bars. He knows all the bars in Tokyo. And he wrote a review for each, all the pros and cons of the institution were taken into account. He finds this way of spending time very entertaining.

- he likes to play billiards when he has free time. And he's pretty good at it. Despite his size, he is adept at this.

- fishing. Ohhh, he's a pro at this. And how else can you call a man who went to a shark with his bare hands? But even in less extreme conditions, he finds pleasure in fishing.

Moment:

A hard day. This is perhaps the most plausible description of what happened today. There are so many issues that need to be resolved "urgently", so many people who do not understand what they want from him... It exhausted him. His head was throbbing violently, preventing him from concentrating...What was he thinking about? Yes, there's nothing to talk about.Hana was in the very state when a person's mind is filled with various short memories that have no connection with each other...And he didn't have a single sensible thought in his head. He lit a cigarette as usual. And he himself did not understand how he ended up where he is now. It was one of the idzkai he frequented...Heh, perhaps this really was the best option to relax. The young man sat down at the counter and waited for his order... and for some reason, he was already feeling better now. My head didn't hurt so much anymore, and there was no annoying carousel of memories. Hana waited for his order and to his delight, the food really helped him. In some cases, even such small things can make you feel better.

Katsumi:

Food

- HOMEMADE FOOD. To give Natsue her due, she cooks beautifully, so Katsumi's favorite food is homemade food. He doesn't even have a preference, he just loves it and he'll eat whatever they give him.

- he also likes strange food combinations. He is always ready to try something new, but he already has his favorite combinations. I can assume that this is watermelon and feta cheese or popcorn with hot sauce

- relationship with alcohol... Well, he only drinks on holidays, but Katsumi doesn't know the measure. If he drinks, he gets completely drunk. He doesn't know the measure at all.

Leisure

- bowling. He just likes this kind of leisure activity. And he became almost a master at it.

- he likes to sing and not only in the shower. Therefore, one of his favorite ways to spend time is karaoke. He might not be a brilliant singer himself, but he puts his whole soul into it.

- cooking. In this, perhaps, it cannot be said that he is a great master, but he really likes to learn this. He was already delighting himself with a couple of simple dishes. However, it should be noted that his dishes are a little overcooked.

Moment:

He decided to put himself under stress again. There was no other way he could have called it. Of course he liked cooking, but what was happening was terrible. The heated oil splashed in all directions, he spilled something on the floor, broke a couple of plates, and a mountain of dishes in the sink was waiting for him. Is it not a horror? Nevertheless, Katsumi was determined that he would cook this dish. Why didn't he go the easier way? Why didn't you just order what you wanted? After all, he could have asked Natsueh to cook this dish, why didn't he? There were several reasons. First, he liked it. Yes, despite what was happening, he still enjoyed cooking. And he didn't expect a good result at all, he just enjoyed the process. The second is his stubbornness. Is something wrong with him? So what, he will do it as many times as it takes for a decent result. It's a challenge for him. It's a tough call. He had to sweat a lot, but... God, he was really glad... The food was good. But as usual, it is slightly peppered.

Jack:

Food

really has no preferences. All that can be eaten is food for him.

- however, he highlights the Canadian cuisine. After all, this is his native kitchen. One of his favorite dishes is cream cake and "nanaimo"

- attitude to alcohol? Mmmm... Given his lifestyle, we can say that he does not drink at all. But sometimes when he can't sleep, Jack will drink a glass of tincture, but no more. Most likely, he will be able to put tinctures.

Leisure

- He likes to swim. This is an ideal way for him to practice and relax. Besides, he is fond of diving. (So it's ideal for him if he lives somewhere near the sea or a deep lake. This is one of his dreams.)

- he can play the guitar. Despite the fact that he trains almost all the time, he also finds time to practice it. His game is at the amateur level, but it's also not bad.

- What is it? Just like Bucky, he can't be called a bookish character, but he has a couple of bookshelves. Jack prefers little-known works by popular authors. And his favorite genres of books can be called detective and fiction.

Moment:

Quiet. It's late in the evening, it's about one or two in the morning. The noise of the city is no longer audible, only the quiet rustle of leaves and the occasional rumble of water. The atmosphere is wonderful... However... The young man had not been able to sleep for about two hours and it began to bother him. Instead of lying on the bed, he could have done something more useful with a light... well, or at least interesting. Reading was perfect. Jack sat up in bed, turned on the lamp, picked up a book lying on one of the bedside tables and plunged into one of those most amazing worlds that are considered fiction or a fairy tale, and call it fiction. Hanma was quite picky about literature, although he didn't read much. But this book was really interesting to him. Why? Perhaps it was an interesting plot, or curious descriptions of the area, or dialogues of the characters, or... Why guess? Jack liked this book because he could use it to distract himself. There was no hint of the real world in it. Not once in the entire book has there been a hint of problems that were in the real world. And the young man didn't think it was a bad thing. On the contrary, he liked it. It brought lightness, calmness and calmness to his life... Perhaps... A little bit of happiness...

Retsu:

Food

is Chinese cuisine. To say that he loves her will not be enough... He RESPECTS her. He respects her all. From dishes in street eateries to home cooking.

- Japanese cuisine is in second place after Chinese cuisine for him. However, he is extremely critical of her. Retsu tries to eat right, so he carefully monitors what he eats.

- does Retsu drink? Exclusively on holidays. But if there is an opportunity, he will refrain from doing so. He really doesn't like alcohol.

Leisure

- cooking. And he's a pro at it. He has been cooking since childhood, he has a wealth of experience and his knowledge in cooking is still being replenished. He read a lot of books on cooking and watched a huge number of programs on this topic. He is completely enlightened, as it might seem. However, he claims that he still has a lot to grow.

- reading. But he can be called a bookworm. He read everything from classics to manga. And this made him extremely selective in the collection of works. For Retsu, the book is needed not only to relax or distract himself, but also to rethink life. The book is a source of wisdom for him.

- he is fond of photography. And in this he is at the beginner stage. But he learns fast. He likes to photograph animals and plants. He also likes to shoot landscapes.

Moment:

"Yes, this is what we need... This kind of view definitely needs to be captured." This was the first thought that came to Retsu's mind. And the scenery was really spectacular. Mount Fuji. The height is 3776. And it's amazing. The young man was really happy despite the cold and the long journey. Taking out his camera, Retsu started taking pictures... huh... Amazingly... But the camera did not transmit even a tenth of the landscape... However, the footage was amazing. Retsu didn't have much experience in photography, he was still a beginner. How did he come to this? Why photos? Everything is simple. There have been changes in it. Let's just say his mindset has changed. The young man seemed to rethink his life... And I made a conclusion. He needs to slow down. Pay a little more attention to his environment. Watch the world more. That's why he chose photography. With his help, Retsu had the opportunity to forever contemplate what he had captured.

I don't think I'll pull part 2, heh.