#And some of us are cyclists

[modern-inheritance]

For a future story

The elf picked at the grass by her knee. If Murtagh knew any better, he’d say she looked almost uncertain. “…They ask about you two, you know. Pretty often.”

“The elves?” Murtagh suppressed a snort. “I’m sure some of them would love to get their hands on us.”

“No.” Arya shook her head. “The Eldunarí.”

[todayisafridaynight]

chairman daigo but he’s still a lil saucy from y2

[bee-wg]

PROLOGUE:

Our family isn’t too big. Ever since my grandparents moved to their cottage by the lake, It's just been the three of us. I don't even bring my teammates or friends home. And all the peacefulness is about to change. 

“Ahh Shit- Sorry!” the fumbling buffoon said. 

“Language, sweetheart. David! Could you help him pick it up? I'm tidying up the kitchen,” My mom replied. 

“Coming!” My dad sprints down the stairs. 

“Oh, Pumpkin, you're all grown up! Are you prepared for the semester?” Dad gestured to the culinary tools scattered across the floor. 

“Yes, of course. Sorry about the mess,” he replied. The “Pumpkin” in question is my cousin, Theo. He's about to attend a college in the city to study culinary arts… or something. And, of course, he’s sharing the room with me. Not for long, though. I have a few buddies who have invited me to share a room with them. They reek, but it's a necessary evil. 

“Jay,” my dad asked, nudging me, “Remember when you guys used to play house together every summer?” 

“Yes, then he bit me and we never talked again,” I deadpanned. 

“Oh come on, he was just a kid,” Dad retorted. 

No, he wasn't. He was a little demon that stole my pretend credit card. My hand still itches thinking about that vicious attack. 

I put down Theo’s luggage and bit back the argument. “I'll go back to the car to see what’s left.” 

“Alright bud, thanks for the help.”

“No problem.” He could probably thank me by asking what happened at football camp, but what do I know? It's not like we haven't talked about football the entire summer. We could be doing that right now, on the deck with some ice-cold beer. But the twinky little “Pumpkin” needs help, and I have the muscle for it. 

God, I wish the summer was over already.

***

“Hahahaha Exactly! I have never seen Chloé like that before.” Dad laughed.

“Right? Who knew mom had sass in her.”

Mom's competitiveness was kicked off by Theo's presence. The kitchen has basically been a war zone for the past two weeks.

Looking down at my watch, the light flashes on.

6 kilometres down, 5 more to go.

It’s been a while since I’ve had a good morning run with Dad like this one. The ocean breeze flowing past my hair and the faint rays of sunrise brought back some old memories. 

Regulating my breathing, we slowed down for a second.

“Damn, son - your stamina has gotten so much better this past year.”

“The football camp really made you put up 20 pounds of pure muscles too, I’m glad I recommended you there.” Dad beamed proudly at me.

“You’re not too bad yourself, for an aging old man.”

I still get the same rush every time he compliments me. It’s like a reassurance that I’m doing something right.

“Hahahaha, you won’t be saying that when you’re one foot in your 40s; it’s basically death by fossilization.”

Dad has always been modest with his body, but everyone who knows him either admires his body, wants him, or is jealous of him and I am the same. Ever since high school I’ve been inspired to be like him. Even with the 15 pounds of muscle I have over him, I’m still lacking in so many ways. He just has the confidence to own it.

“Want some water?”

“Oh, right, of course. Thanks.” I took over the ice-cold bottle.

“About that training camp, I should request the school board to have the team register next summer for the training course. High school kids these days don't care about sports as much no more.” Dad said

“Speaking of which, remember your friend Lancaster who got held back for two years?”

“Yeah, Avery. He used to scold me when I didn’t take the nutrition classes with him. Haven’t hung with him in a while though.”

“Well, he probably won’t scold anymore. The kid got too cocky after getting a full sports scholarship and gained 70 pounds of fat in the summer. The university probably revoked the funds. Hope he didn't take it too hard.”

“Shit, that’s awful. I didn’t expect it to be him out of anyone. He was a damn good receiver.”

We resumed the pace, avoiding some rogue cyclists on the way.

Crazy to think the weight could creep up on Avery Lancaster of all people. I should watch out for myself too. I have good genes from dad so it probably will never happen, but the new influx of delicious food from Theo and my mom’s little competition definitely doesn’t help. At least it keeps the brat out of my room.

“Dad, I think I’m not going to move in with Brad and the guys.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” 

“Well first of all, as much as I love them, the guys stinks. Second of all, Theo is not as much of a blood-sucking gremlin as he was before. And I don’t think I’m ready to say goodbye to you guys.”

“Plus, How can I leave when the thing with mom just got interesting.”

“Staying for the family drama, huh?” He chuckled.

“We’re happy to have you for as long as you want, Jay. Truth be told, your mom has been crying about it for weeks. We’re both not ready to say goodbye too.”

“Tell you what, Chloe and Theo probably have some fancy lasagnas waiting for us back home; let's cut through the forest and head back early to celebrate.” He said, practically drooling.

“Lasagnas for breakfast?”

“Wait, You just want the Lasagnas. Don’t you?”

“Hahaha, Maybe.”

“Well, don’t get too drawn in, or you’ll end up as Hansel in the candy house.” 

He laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

That would be funny to imagine though, cause Dad is anything but a glutton.

Chapter 1 ->

[trappolia]

JACK HOWL ── hot things he does for you

i. tugs you out of harm’s way like it’s his second nature. takes your hand to pull you to his other side when he notices that you’re walking on the side closest to the road; wraps an arm around you to tug you closer to him before you get run over by a bike or a rowdy group of students. he tends to chide you for not being careful enough, but that’s only because he doesn’t want to expose the fact that your clumsiness is one of his guilty pleasures. he likes being able to protect you, even if it’s something as trivial as an oncoming cyclist or a group of rowdy students.

ii. soundlessly takes your bag from you whenever he picks you up from class. similarly to deuce, he’ll be waiting for you outside your class, and when you come out, he’ll casually take your bag from you to sling it over his shoulder, all while asking you about how your day is going. this extends to any other heavy things you might be carrying, whether it is a box of supplies another teacher asked you to move to another classroom or a bag of groceries full of junk food for your weekly sleepover with the other first-years. if the baggage is particularly heavy, jack tends to roll the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows before effortlessly lifting whatever you had trouble carrying. whether he does this knowing its effect on you is still unknown.

iii. always orders an extra serving of food when you eat out together, especially when you insist that you ‘aren’t hungry’. all’s well until his food arrives, and he sees you eyeing it like a predator would to its prey. jack would roll his eyes and split half with you, a silent ‘i told you so’ in the way he raises an unimpressed brow at you. he can’t hide his feelings that well though– you always notice that fond, exasperated smile that tugs on his lips when he sees you smile at him sheepishly, cheeks stuffed with food.

iv. tends to roll his eyes whenever someone even glances at you with a hint of interest. he knows you’re hot, attractive, beautiful– whatever adjective you want to use, but sometimes he just cannot believe the audacity of some people to even think that they have a chance with you. it’s as funny as it is attractive to see someone usually so put together become so annoyed with a complete stranger in an act of pettiness. but give him a kiss right in front of the person who was checking you out and you’ll have him melting in no time, his tail wagging enthusiastically behind him.

v. insanely attractive in the late hours of the night when it’s just you and him in your bedroom. the lack of sleep and the adrenaline coursing through your veins from the caffeine and sugar you consumed to get through your last all-nighter before your exam makes you particularly talkative, rambling about everything and anything, and jack is so out of it that he doesn’t even bother chiding you for the consequences of your consumption in energy drinks. instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and sinks into his chair, listening to you blabber away with half-lidded eyes and a small smile. the room is filled with your delirious rambling and jack’s hums as he lets you know that he’s still listening.

© trappolia 2024

[rbbrbikerthorp]

A Tribute To Helmets

I grew up during the Apollo space missions, and whilst I didn't show a particular interest in NASA's exploits, I received a kid's space suit and helmet as a present. I vividly recall how different things sounded when I put the helmet over my head. I think that was the point when my kinky fascination for helmets began.

From my childhood, I remember watching an episode of the early Flash Gordon series (in monochrome) where Ming places a helmet on the head of one of his dissenting subordinates. Once the helmet was strapped on, the man became compliant, passive and drone-like.

At that moment I realised that something designed for safety and protection could also have very nefarious uses. Combined with visual and audio stimulation, the helmet could also contain electronic circuitry that can disrupt the natural processes in the brain. Helmets could also contain syringes, which can deliver chemicals and other substances directly into the head to suppress and indivual's throughts.

So here is my AI tribute to the Helmet, and how, when placed on the head it can strip away emotion, knowledge, purpose and individuality.

This man in his early twenties was just starting out in life. He had dreams of being successful, having the perfect suburban life - wife, kids and the kind of home people dream of. He had just agreed to join a multinational conglomerate, and as part of his induction he was required to take a medical. So on the appropriate day at the specifed time he turns up for what he thought would be a routine appointment.

On arrival, he was taken into a private room. He was asked to disrobe and was given a set of leathers and boots to wear, which, despite all his reservations he put on.

Once the leathers were zipped up and boots were on his feet, he was escorted to a room where a lab assistant placed a full-face helmet onto his head. He was then taken into a room filled with tech and video screens. The technician typed some commands into a computer and the helmet activated.

Isolated wearing the helmet, he was subjected to audio and visual stimulation; stripping away his own throughts and identity. Replacing it with a predetermined 'template', which the company would deploy as necessary. Thoughts of family, kids and friends replaced with absolute loyalty to the company.

'Physical' completed, the company has deployed him 'into the field'. Now a biker, his primary objective is to ride around and recruit candidates to join the company.

Meanwhile...

Some scientists are about to record the disruptive effects of their advanced helmets on three 'volunteers'. Once the helmets are fitted the volunteers will follow instructions and head to drone processing.

Elsewhere, two cyclists have been given new 'aerodynamic' helmets for a week to try.

Affixed to their heads, they will have no desire to ever remove their helmets - ever.

Sticking with a sport theme, the new coach has provided the team with revolutionary and technologically advanced helmets. These not only offer superior protection to the head, but also allow the coach a direct interface into the players' minds. It's going to be a successful season for this team.

There are worried faced amongst this army platoon - and they should be worried.

They will follow the General's orders to place the helmet on their heads. When they do their individual thoughts will become suppressed as they turn into droned soldiers. No more briefings, no reliance on old technology like radio transmissions, which can be hacked into by the enemy. The helmet will ensure all orders issued by the commanders are transmitted directly into their brains.

There are changes afoot in civilian life too. A new force for law and order is being created. One by one members of the police force are invited to undergo a routine medical.

Soon they will all be fitted with helmets; permanently connecting them directly to the company network, with orders transmitted directly into their brains.

There is to be a zero tolerance of crime - even minor misdemeanors. So they begin to 'clean up the streets'.

Chavs and scallies are rounded up and each one is fitted with a helmet...

Once the work of the helmet is done, a new 'drone' is sent out onto the streets as a 'recruiter' for the company.

They're also recruiting in colleges and universities...

And back in the boardroom, the executives are monitoring progress of the company's plan.

Each member of the so-called 'C-suite' has been given a helmet to allow speedier decision making and negate the need for laptops, smartphones and video screens. Directly connected to the company's network through their helmet, they follow the instructions fed directly into their brains - following them to the letter. After all each helmet ensures they are exemplary servants of the company.

Hope you enjoyed my AI tribute to the helmet. Depending on the feedback I might do a second helmet blog.

Oh, in case you were wondering which is my favourite helmet, it's my Arai Corser, pictured below.

[phantomrose96]

It is a forum discussion of a community article. A cyclist killed in the street by a car making a right turn. "What a stupidly dangerous mode of transportation. It shouldn't be allowed."

It strikes me. This idea that biking is dangerous. "Stupidly dangerous." The bike is not dangerous. The bike killed no one. It is 20 pounds. Inanimate on its own. Were I driven by some hypothetical bloodlust, with intent to kill hounding my pedals, I could maybe, at best, reach 18 mph. I could maybe, at best, knock someone over. I could skin their knees. Skin my knees.

(You could kill them!) if I knocked them into the street. I could kill them if I knocked them over (into the street). I could die if I knocked myself over (into the street). The bicycle is still 20 pounds. The bicycle still did none of the killing. What stolen glory are we assigning it. Why are we ignoring the 2-ton death machine in the streets which does all the killing in every circumstance here.

The bicycle is not dangerous. We push for bike lanes and they push back over losing parking. (You're the death machine here. You, in the car, not me.) The bicyclist is a brazen and entitled pedestrian to them. And a pedestrian is someone who should already yield mind body and soul to cars (the death machines. the stupidly dangerous mode of transport.) Pedestrians, who have already yielded so much to a society that favors and loves and prioritizes cars (the things doing the killing.) Bikes and pedestrians are so so dangerous at getting themselves killed. They need to act accordingly.

"What a stupidly dangerous mode of transportation" it would take an assassin, clever and creative and with both enough time and incentive, to find any way to kill someone with my bike. Your car kills without missing a beat. What a stupidly dangerous mode of transportation your car is. Stop killing us with them.

[warningsine]

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/09/02/world/europe/france-husband-rape-drug-trial-mazan.html

For years, she had been losing hair and weight. She had started forgetting whole days, and sometimes appeared to be in dreamlike trances. Her children and friends worried she had Alzheimer’s.

But in late 2020, after she was summoned to a police station in southern France, she learned a far more shattering story.

Her husband of 50 years, Dominique Pelicot, had been crushing sleeping pills into her food and drink to put her into a deep sleep, the police said, and then raping her. He had ushered dozens of men into her home to film them raping her, too, they said, in abuse that lasted nearly a decade.

Using the man’s photographs, videos and online messages, the police spent the next two years identifying and charging those other suspects.

On Monday, 51 men, including Mr. Pelicot, went on trial in Avignon, in a case that has shocked France and cast a spotlight on the use of drugs to commit sexual abuse and the broader culture in which such crimes could occur.

The accused men represent a kaleidoscope of working-class and middle-class French society: truck drivers, soldiers, carpenters and trade workers, a prison guard, a nurse, an I.T. expert working for a bank, a local journalist. They range in age from 26 to 74. Many have children and are in relationships.

Most are charged with raping the woman once. A handful are accused of returning as many as six times to rape her.

The victim, Gisèle, who has divorced her husband and changed her surname since his arrest, is now in her 70s.

Since his arrest, Mr. Pelicot, 71, has “always declared himself guilty,” said Béatrice Zavarro, his lawyer. “He is not at all contesting his role.”

Other defendants have denied the rape charges, with some arguing that they had the husband’s permission and thought that was sufficient, while others claimed they believed the victim had agreed to be drugged.

When the police showed Gisèle some of the photographs they say her husband had carefully classified and stored, she expressed deep shock. She and her husband had been together since they were 18. She had described him to the police as caring and considerate.

She had no memory of being raped, by him or the other men, only one of whom she recognized, she told the police, as a neighbor in town.

The first time she will consciously witness the rapes, her lawyer Antoine Camus says, will be in the courtroom when the video recordings are played as evidence.

The trial comes at a moment of heightened scrutiny of the handling of sexual crimes in the country. Rape is defined in French law as an “act of sexual penetration” committed “by violence, coercion, threat or surprise.” A number of feminist lawmakers want to amend that wording to say explicitly that sex without consent is rape, that consent can be withdrawn at any time, and that consent cannot exist if sexual assault is committed “by abusing a state impairing the judgment of another.”

“There is a kind of naïveté on the topic of predators in France, a kind of denial,” said Sandrine Josso, a lawmaker who led a parliamentary commission into what is known in France as “chemical submission” — drugging someone with malicious intent. She started the commission after she says she became the victim of a drugging last year. A senator is being investigated on accusations that he slipped Ecstasy into her Champagne.

Ms. Josso hopes that the Avignon trial will draw attention to the use of drugs to prey on women, and also shed light on the wide profile of predators. “They could be your neighbors, without falling into paranoia,” she said.

Mr. Pelicot seemed like a classic man next door. He was a trained electrician, an entrepreneur and an avid cyclist. His middle child and only daughter, Caroline Darian, her pen name, described him as a warm and present father in a book published in 2022 about the case, “And I Stopped Calling You Papa.” She tried to turn her family trauma into action, forming a nonprofit association, “Don’t Put Me to Sleep,” to publicize the dangers of drug-facilitated crimes.

Her father, she wrote, was the one who drove her to school, picked her up late from parties, encouraged her and consoled her. Her mother was the stable breadwinner, working as a manager in a Paris-area company for 20 years.

When Gisèle retired, they moved to a house with a big garden and pool in Mazan, a small town northeast of Avignon. The couple regularly hosted their three children and grandchildren for summer vacations peppered with late dinners on the terrace, where the family debated, held dance competitions and played Trivial Pursuit.

“I think of us as happy,” his daughter wrote. “I thought my parents were.”

None of them harbored any suspicions. Then, in 2020, three women reported Mr. Pelicot to the police for trying to use his camera to film up their skirts in a grocery store, and he was arrested.

The police seized his two cellphones, two cameras and his electronic devices, including his laptop, before releasing him on bail.

On the devices, the police say they found 300 photographs and a video of an unconscious woman being sexually assaulted by many people. They said they also found Skype messages in which the man boasted of drugging his wife and invited men to join him in having sex with her while she was unconscious.

Over the course of their investigation, the police found more than 20,000 videos and photographs, many of them dated and labeled, in an electronic folder titled “abuse.” The timeline they built began in 2011. The list of suspects grew to 83.

Two months after his initial arrest, Mr. Pelicot was arrested again and charged with aggravated rape, drugging and a list of sexual abuse charges. He is also accused of violating the privacy of his wife, daughter and two daughters-in-law on suspicion of illegally recording, and at times distributing, intimate photos of them.

If he is found guilty, he faces up to 20 years in prison.

During interviews with the police, the details of which were included in an overview of the case by the investigative judge, Mr. Pelicot said he began drugging his wife so he could do things to her, and dress her in things, that she normally refused. Then he started inviting others to participate. He said he never asked for or accepted money.

He met most of the men, the investigating judge’s report stated, in a chat room on a notorious, unmoderated French website implicated in more than 23,000 police cases in France alone from 2021 to 2024. It was finally shut down, and its owner arrested, in June after an 18-month investigation stretching across Europe.

The chat room where most of the men met Mr. Pelicot was called “a son insu,” which means “without their knowledge.”

Over the years, Mr. Pelicot told the police, he developed rules for the visitors to ensure that his wife did not wake: no smoking or cologne; undress in the kitchen; warm hands under hot water or on a radiator, so their cold touch would not jolt her. At the end of each night, according to the investigating judge’s report, he cleaned his wife’s body.

Of the 83 suspects, the police identified and charged 50.

Only one of the men is not charged with rape, assault or attempted rape of Mr. Pelicot’s wife. Instead, that man is accused of following the same model, and drugging his own wife to rape her. Mr. Pelicot is also charged with raping the man’s wife while she was drugged.

Five of the men also face charges for possessing child sexual abuse imagery.

Mr. Pelicot is also being investigated in the rape and murder of a 23-year-old woman in 1991 and the attempted rape of a 19-year-old in 1999. He admitted to the attempted rape, according to Florence Rault, the lawyer representing the victims in both cases, but denies any involvement in the 1991 homicide.

The story has prompted some soul-searching among doctors, since Gisèle had visited gynecologists and neurologists over a series of mystifying symptoms, but had received no diagnosis, according to her daughter.

“What I found disturbing for us doctors was that no doctor considered this hypothesis,” said Dr. Ghada Hatem-Gantzer, a well known obstetrician-gynecologist and expert in violence against women. She and a pharmacist, Leila Chaouachi, have now developed training for doctors and nurses on the symptoms that victims of drug-facilitated assault can experience.

Contrary to popular belief, most cases occur at home, not at bars, said Ms. Chaouachi, who runs annual surveys on such offenses in France. Most victims are women, the surveys show, and around half of the victims do not remember the attack, because of blackouts, she said.

In the case going to court in Avignon, some of the accused admitted guilt to the police. According to the investigating judge’s report, many claimed that they were tricked into having sex with a drugged woman — lured by a husband for a three-way encounter and told she was pretending to sleep, because she was shy.

Several said they believed that she had consented to being drugged and raped as part of a sex fantasy. Some said they did not believe it was rape, because her husband was there and they believed he could consent for both of them.

“It sends shivers down the spine regarding the state of affairs in French society,” said Mr. Camus, who is also representing Ms. Darian and many other members of the family. “If that’s the conception of consent in sexual matters in 2024, then we have a lot, a lot, a lot of work to do.”

[alpaca-clouds]

Cars vs Accessible Worlds

Alright, let me talk about one thing in terms of accessibility in science fiction settings - and Solarpunk specifically - that also has more than one side to it: Cars and accessibility. Because it is more complicated than you'd thing.

See: The fact that our world is so car centric really, really hinders accessibility. Wide streets are a hindrance for even normal pedastrians, cyclists and so on. If I want to get from A to B, and the route crosses a street, and there is only a traffic light every like 500 meters, it means tat I usually need either to risk my life or take the long way around to get there. And that is a fucking bother even when you are healthy and can easily take that long way around. And the more car centric a society is, the worse the issue becomes. Here in Germany it is a lot easier still to cross a street than in many places in the US.

And of course this gets a lot worse if you are disabled. Be it that you just cannot walk that far. Or if you are blind and cannot even see in what direction you could go for the next traffic light. Or if you are hard of hearing or deaf, you might be more in danger of being surprised by a car. (And that is without going into how electric cars being so fucking quiet makes stuff even more dangerous.) And, you know, neurodivergent people might also just struggle with the fucking noise that is created by roads and is often inescapable in big cities.

And of course even outside of the environmental issues, the constant presence of cars is also a health risk. Not just because of the risk of accidents, but also due to the pollution and how it interacts. Even if we all were driving electric cars, there would still be all those microplastics created by tires and streets and stuff.

So, really. We do need to move away from car centric infrastructure to make our lives healthier and to make the world more accessible for disabled people too.

BUT...

But there is the issue that some disabled people still might be in need to use some sort of personal transportation device that can cover both short and large distances, because for one reason or another public transport just does not work and cannot work for them.

For example someone with severe anxiety issues, or someone who will be easily suffering from sensory overwhelm. There might be other issues, too. Just some folks will always need something like cars.

And of course there is also the fact that stuff like emergency services will still need streets accessible to cars. Because the emergency services will just not get around using something like cars to get to all the places they might be needed.

And this... makes things complicated. Because infrastructure should not be car centric, no. But it needs to be accessible by cars - and be it just for emergency services.

This is just something that I would love to see more talked about especially within the Solarpunk sphere.

[filmbyjy]

MINESTREAM

SYPNOSIS > Wanting to start a new stream series with his best friends, Jay had a bright idea of playing some simple Minecraft with them. Everything was normal, until he realises there is another person in the call with them. He quickly learns that it was ni-ki’s older sister, (name). Watch how streaming a simple game of Minecraft can dig up some interesting feelings between the main leads.

FIFTEEN – that man is a f*cking simp

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

a/n: i used papago for like the translation so please correct me if I’m wrong😭

with the night wind blowing at your hair as you walked around with jay, you can’t help but closed your eyes. it was a nice walk at night. you had spent the afternoon with him at the cafe and talked a lot about a bunch of things.

you found out he liked a bunch of older songs, especially rock songs. he played the guitar and was trying to play more often. you also learnt he was decently fluent in Japanese, which surprised you.

“you know Japanese?” you say a little in shock and awe.

“yeah, I learnt it so that I didn’t have to keep staring at the subtitle and just actually concentrate on the anime I was watching. took a long time though but it was worth it at the end. i’m still learning more phrases.”

“that’s so cool!”

“ありがとうございます (thank you).” jay replies.

“you sound like a local. i’m impressed. did riki ever accidentally speak to you in Japanese?”

“he did. maybe once or twice. i understood what he said so it was fine.”

“well, you sound natural. maybe even better than me in Japanese.” you say.

jay laughs. his laughter was truly adorable. you couldn’t help but melt at it. it made you realise that being alone with jay made you feel super comfortable. due to your past experiences with disgusting guys in japan. you couldn’t stay alone with any guy without feeling unsafe. that of course did not include ni-ki, he was your brother after all, and heeseung.

and now, currently after having a heartfelt conversation at the cafe for a long time, the sun had set. you and jay were walking around the park and towards the campus grounds. there was a cyclist coming closer to the both of you so jay grabs your hand and pulls you to the side so you wouldn’t crash into the cyclist.

“oh. thank you, I didn’t realise there was someone.” you say. jay snorts.

“maybe, you shouldn’t aimlessly walk with your eyes closed.” he squeezes your hand since he was still holding it.

“I was enjoying my peace. the night feels cool and nice so why not, you know? besides, it’s the weekends tomorrow. I just need a small breather before I have to go back to sitting in my bedroom and painting.”

jay hums. the both of you continued to walk with your hands intertwined. neither of you minded and really remembered that jay’s hand was still interlocked with yours. in fact, it actually felt comfortable like it was meant to be.

was this fate?

right as those 3 words popped into your thoughts, jay’s phone rings. he answered it with his other hand still walking with you hand in hand. you had kept quiet, just listening in to his conversation with whoever it was.

“I’m doing fine. mmm, I’ll try to visit you guys during summer break. no. I don’t have a girlfriend.” it caught your attention. you knew jay was a good looking guy, tons of girls would’ve loved to talk to him so why doesn’t he have a girlfriend.

“mom, I know you’re worried about me. I can handle it. I’m only 22 this year. yes, I’m doing well in college as per usual.” he chuckles slightly. “I don’t want to go on a blind date, mom. I want to find my own girlfriend. someone that understands me and likes what I do.”

his eyes met with yours as he finishes his words. your heart stops. you nearly had a heart attack because why would jay just stare at you as he finishes his sentence. what did that mean? there is no way he likes you…right? it was too early! he can’t like you that way.

jay finishes up his call with his mom. he places his phone back in his pocket and turns to face you. “so what are you thinking of doing during our summer break?”

“mmm, I’m not sure. I haven’t thought about it. probably more streaming.”

“do you wanna stream with me? I probably wouldn’t go out much during the break.”

“I thought you were going to visit your parents?”

“I am but we could stream together after I visit them.”

“you aren’t staying for a week?”

“my parents are usually busy, they travel around a lot so they’ll probably fly out a day or two after I visit them.” jay explains. you hummed.

“me and riki would would definitely be free.”

“perfect. I could ask the others if they’d like to play too.”

finally, you had arrived in front of your dorm’s apartment building. unfortunately, jay lets go of your hand. the warmth was all gone and you already missed it.

“rest well and don’t overdo yourself. I know it’s tempting for you to just continue doing your artwork but you need to rest.”

“yes, jay. I know. I won’t overdo myself.”

“that’s my good girl.” he ruffles your hair. “well, I have to go. the boys probably would expect me to come back soon. they can’t survive without me. the dorm would’ve burnt down by now.” jay jokes.

you laughed, “alright. before you go, can I ask you something?”

“sure.”

“can we stream tomorrow?”

“of course.”

you had stepped forward and quickly left a peck on jay’s cheek before bolting in to your apartment building. jay holds the cheek that you had left a kiss on as he watches your figure growing smaller. a stupid smile adorning his face, he was smitten.

you had opened your front door after taking an elevator up to the floor. it slams shut as you entered it and laid your back against it. your heart racing quickly, the heat flaming against your cheeks.

“oneechan, what are you doing?” ni-ki appears at the hallway, his eyebrow raised as he looks at you in question.

“oh my god, I- riki, why are you walking so softly. when did you stand there?” you say as you were flustered.

“I was about to walk to the kitchen but I heard the front door slam. what happened?”

“nothing. just went out.”

“was there another stalker?” his voice sounding a little serious.

“oh, no no. no stalker, just umm i saw a flying cockroach outside.” you lied. the worry in ni-ki’s eyes dissipated, it was quickly replaced with fear.

“we really have to move. oneechan, I’m going to find us an apartment that’s better than here and is equally as near to school.”

“umm, we don’t have to.”

“I don’t care, I’m paying for the rent. you don’t need to worry.”

“riki!”

“consider this as a big early birthday present.” ni-ki skips over to you and pecks your cheek. “only the best for you big sis!”

you had to tiptoe to pat his head, “you have to stop spending money on me, riki. I can buy things on my own.”

“not until you get that streamer money.”

“well, can you really blame me for joining an art course because it’s my passion?”

“not at all, oneechan! you just have to not feel bad every time me and yvette noona want to pay something for you.”

“but I’ll owe you guys.” you pout.

“shhhh.” ni-ki grabs you and pushes you towards your bedroom door. “you don’t have to feel bad, I’ll do anything for you and any one of my friends! trust me, I’ll even ask sunoo hyung for house hunting advice.”

“is he even a reliable source-” ni-ki stops pushing you to your bedroom when you reach the middle of your room.

“he is a very reliable source. now, get some rest! I’ll find a house by the morning and then confirm stuff by next week. we’ll be in a new apartment in two weeks time.” ni-ki blows a kiss to you and shuts the door.

you sighed. ni-ki was an amazing younger brother and you love him to the moon and back. he’s a one of a kind brother, anyone would want him. however, you felt so burdened by the fact that you felt like you owe something to him. you knew he didn’t care if you paid back or not and he always treats you. it’s just the guilt creeping up on you.

you looked down at your phone and glanced at the lockscreen, it was a baby photo of ni-ki. everything you did was for him. your parents could always trust you with ni-ki and vice versa. with them running a company back in Japan, it was hard for them to come home. hence, you had to grow up for ni-ki. of course, your parents were grateful. they always brought both you and ni-ki out as a little treat. it wasn’t a surprise when ni-ki wanted to fly out to Seoul with you to go college. he’s a constant in your life and your parents knew that. hence, they didn’t say no to ni-ki and allowed him to take the same flight as you.

you had taken a shower quickly and changed into your pyjamas before deciding that you had to sleep. you had to continue up painting before streaming again tomorrow. just as you dried your hair and then threw yourself on the bed, you can’t help but remember what you did when you came home. you hid your face behind the pillows.

as for jay…

he was busy giggling and kicking his feet in his bedroom. jake and sunghoon were confused as to why jay was just mindlessly walking to his bedroom and then they heard a ‘girlish’ giggle from jay’s room. both jake and sunghoon looked at each other in shock.

“he’s gone insane.” sunghoon says. jake nods.

“didn’t he go out with (name) just now?” jake asks.

slowly the put the pieces together, sunghoon’s eyes widened. “we’ve truly lost him.”

“that man is a fucking simp.” both sunghoon and jake say at the same time.

taglist[open]: @bldelaine @velvtcherie @shalkeren @kgneptun @yenqa @dammit-jjk @sionshiii @enhaz1 @mrchweeee @ncityzenz @autumn583 @okokok4 @ariadores @n1k1mura @kwiwin @drunkdazeded @justkatey @thatsroug @auesoooo @bunchofroses07 @j4ysluv @heeseungwifeyyy @smouches @bubblytaetae @dimplewonie @brachioanton @blackhairandbangs @heestrawberries @amesification @rizzshimura @y4wnjunz @rainyjy @pkjay @simjyunnie @imtoanonymousforyou @jungwoneez @jeongingf1 @astrae4 @heartswonn @pinkishyngs @heeseungsbabyy @in-somnias-world @ramenoil @wantmatthew @leehanascent @kayyssw @allisonleannn @kim2005bomi @saurxcream @urmomssneakylink @zyvlxqht @honeyboobear @ddazed-lhs @bee-the-loser @sunkislove @glassesyunjin @eleanorheartschishiya @jayjongie @woninluv @artstaeh @jwnghyuns @junissy @svmjaeyun @clairecottenheart @onigirik1 @woniejjang

(want to be added into the taglist? just send an ask or fill up this short form here!)

[leveloneandup]

Tobin Heath & Demi Vollering Talk Women's Sports

An interview with two-time Olympic gold medalist, two-time FIFA World Cup Champion, and U.S. Women's National Soccer Team member Tobin Heath and 2023 Tour de France Femmes Winner Demi Vollering.

Tobin Heath sits down with Demi Vollering ahead of this year's Tour de France Femmes avec Zwift to discuss the upcoming race and what it means to be a professional female athlete today. The two talk about the power of language when it comes to women's sports (Should we call the men's race the Tour de France Hommes?) and the challenges of closing the gender pay gap. Demi gives us a breakdown of this year's race and offers some training advice to motivate all the cyclists out there. We also find out how Demi comes up with titles for her Strava activities and what counts as a "slow" pace for her climbs (hint: it's actually really fast).

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Putting Iron in Irony (Eldest Short)

(A/N: I was writing a few ideas out for the next part of the Escape series and remembered something, realized yeah Brom would probably know that about Arya, and promptly had to stop writing that so I could write this. Another small additional note at the bottom.

Oh, also. This is my first time writing Rhunön. She'll probably change a bit when I get around to writing more of her, but despite everyone blaming Brom for teaching Arya to swear and being all un-elf-like, they really forgot about the 'I kinda hate what our culture has become' grouch living in Ellesmera 24/7 as opposed to Brom's popping in and out, huh? I bashed this out in an hour and didn't check it over be gentle plz)

~~~~~~

“Hey.” Rhunön’s shoulders rose and fell in only a way Arya could pick up after so long, a little sigh the smith always did when the woman appeared at her forge. It was force of habit now, not actual exasperation, and it always brought that wild child grin to the younger elf’s face. “Up for some commission work?”

Rhunön banked the coals she was coaxing into white heat and turned, that ever present lift of her lip in false annoyance on her face. “I’m not making you another sword. No weapons. ”

Arya waved her off. “I’m more in the market for a tool. Something useful for daily tasks. And…” She reached into the bag slung at her hip, fishing out the wrapped bundle. “I have the steel for you to use. If they’re of quality, that is. I sort of doubt they are, but it’s good metal and I’d just hate to see it go to waste.”

The smith rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t tell good metal from slag if you were hit in the face with it.” But she still gestured to the workbench that separated the courtyard from the fires, joining the woman there as she set the bundle down with a soft clank. 

Arya unwrapped it with little flourish and braced her elbows on the worn planks, grinning like a cat who had just chomped down on the Queen’s favorite raven. Rhunön stared at the presented materials for a long moment before she looked up at the cheshire smile, entirely deadpan in response. “Really, Arya?”

“Really.” There was a hint of a giggle buried there, sharp teeth glinting in the fire’s light. “Can you do it?” 

Rhunön picked one up and examined the metal closely. Arya was right. For a set of shackles made by Broddrings, it was good metal. She tested them in her hands, flexed the steel and let out an appreciative hum. Somewhat springy, even at this thickness. Specially made, surely, after seeing that scrappy thing’s strength. Or even made to contain that nasty Shade if he were to go rogue. 

“Of course I can do it.” Rhunön sniffed. She set the piece down with its twin, noticing from the corner of her eye how the elfling shifted just slightly away when she brought the offending object closer to her side of the table. “What do you want? A bracelet is out of the question.”

The barred teeth took on a more pained clench before flickering back to amused. “Very funny. Like I said, I was thinking something utilitarian. Daily use, good in all situations. More than one thing if there’s enough, but otherwise…” Arya shrugged, that light never leaving her dark eyes. “Surprise me.”

It was a long moment of quiet but for the occasional pop from the still heated forge. Rhunön stared hard at the two shackles, her mind already awhirl with shapes and movement and fire and steel. 

When she looked up, the ancient elf had her razor sharp teeth barred in a similarly wild smile. “Come back tomorrow night, little hatchling, and I’ll surprise you.” 

~

True to her word, Rhunön did surprise her. Arya wasn’t sure what she had in mind, really. Maybe a new magazine for her rifle, or some container for the gems she and Glen kept for storing energy and spells. 

When the ancient smith presented her with a sheathed knife the next evening, Arya paused. 

“I thought you swore to never make weapons again, Rhunön.” She couldn’t help the troubled confusion in her voice. There was no point in trying to hide it anyway, the old elf was too good at picking up on what she felt. 

The polished brass of the knife’s pommel promptly bonked the younger elf on the head. Arya yelped but didn’t move to defend herself, knowing it was the only blow and barely one at that. “This is not a weapon, you nincompoop.” Rhunön chided, holding it out on upturned palms yet again. “This is a tool. Take it. Before I hit you with it again.”

The grain of the handle was cool against Arya’s fingertips when she seized it. The wood was beautiful, polished and glowing from within to highlight the interwoven scales yet still holding to her grip without slipping. The sheath was leather, not oiled to a gleam but wellworked and firm. She could feel magic in it, a tingling warmth, protection, something to hide, something to keep it safe. 

“Handle’s some Gidgee I had laying around.” Rhunön waved a hand vaguely, gesturing towards the stacks of wood blanks in the back of the shop. “I know how much you just love that damn leather backing on your little jacket, so I scraped some up from some old project.” 

That Rhunön was acting so dismissive of something she had crafted was…unusual. It wasn’t until Arya saw one of the old leather aprons in pieces on a far bench that she realized why, and she buried the upwelling of emotion deep down in her chest. 

“It took a bit of work to get it to hold an edge properly.” Arya didn’t look up, unsheathing the small blade to examine the true marvel of craftsmanship. The blade itself was simple. Flat spined, a hidden tang. Rhunön had left some of the hammer marks along the sides, the only bright and burnished steel being that along the edge of the single, sloped cutting side. More of the blade was flat than curved, a gentle slope a good bit more than halfway down curving up to the point. “It’s an old style of work knife. Pokaio. From back when we weren’t dragon bonded.” 

Arya beamed. She finally looked up at her old friend, unable to wipe the expression away. “Rhunön…it’s beautiful.” 

“Of course it is. I made it.” The smith sniffed. “I’ve enchanted it so that it’s not easily found if someone is searching you while it’s sheathed. Keep it in your boot or something for the next time you go running into a stupid situation. Don’t lose it.” The warning was the capstone to a confession in different words. Stay safe and don’t get yourself captured again. Dumbass. 

Of course, dumbass was a term of endearment for Rhunön, one she only used with her favorite dumbasses. Always said with the utmost buried affection. 

Arya’s smile grew wider. “I’d sooner lose Glen’s arm!”

Rhunön ignored the comment and picked up another item from the table. “There was enough left for one more thing. For your twisted sense of humor and for the irony of it.” 

“Oh?” 

The ancient smith held up a flat piece of metal no longer than her thumb and no thicker than a pocket knife. At Arya’s raised eyebrow the cheshire grin returned to Rhunön’s wire-etched face and she thumbed the side. An array of oddly shaped pins fanned out, an L shaped bracket popping from the top. 

“Lockpick set. To wear with your dogtags.” 

Arya’s sharp teeth mirrored her friend’s, eyes glimmering with dark mirth. “Oh, Rhunön, you are such a treat.”

~~~~~~~~~

(Post A/N: Yeah it's a Finnish Puukko knife. I've always wanted one.)

[mikerickson]

8/29/2024 - 9/6/2024

If I had a nickel for every time I took a vacation in a small European naval power that historically punched above its weight in global affairs I'd have two nickels, which... ah, you know the rest.

Just got back from a trip to the Netherlands and Belgium that was basically: Amsterdam -> Apeldoorn -> Utrecht -> Den Haag -> Brussels -> Ghent -> Amsterdam. I will now proceed to talk to myself about the highlights below the cut.

Still can't sleep on planes. I even took a sleeping pill and bought a fancy new neck pillow thing to help, but instead I was just exhausted and strangling myself. My dinner also didn't sit well with me, so every time I was about to fall asleep, my gag reflex would trigger and I felt like I was gonna throw up. Seven hours of this was not very relaxing.

Landed at ass o'clock in the morning local time and had 6 hours to kill before hotel check in. I've always read that spending time outdoors in natural sunlight helps regulate your circadian rhythm and can fight jet lag, so I took us to look at some windmills. This was kind of a blur and I'm not certain it made much of a difference because I did end up crashing and taking a nap in the afternoon anyway.

Acknowledging that I am biased about this because I am 1) American and 2) literally a traffic engineer by trade, I simply cannot describe the Netherlands as anything other than "car-hostile". I felt actively unsafe driving around each city we visited because there are so many people on bicycles everywhere, who have right of way. Hell, even as a pedestrian I didn't feel safe because they come at you from every direction and you gotta keep your head on a swivel at all times. In The Hague I watched a woman get knocked into by a cyclist who just shouted over her shoulder "Let op voor fietsen!" ("Watch out for bikes!") and carried on.

Amsterdam ended up being more interesting than I was expecting and now I kinda wish I had dedicated one more day for it in the itinerary. Convenient and easy mass-transit system, some of the best bookstores I've ever been in, and beautiful canals everywhere you look.

Were I forced to describe the geography of the Netherlands, I would have to call it "suspiciously flat." I also got to continue my tradition of traveling to foreign countries, seeing literal hundreds of spinning wind turbines all over the place, and seething with jealousy.

Utrecht was a neat, smaller city with a central canal that I wish I had set aside more time for. Felt like a place where you'd actually want to live more than a touristy city.

The Mauritshuis in The Hague is where Vermeer's Girl with a Pearl Earring is located, and you know that before you even get to that room because she's plastered on 99% of everything for sale in the gift shop right at the entrance.

When we drove over the Netherlands-Belgium border, it started getting overcast. These gray skies hung around for four days, and dissipated as soon as we traveled back north on the final day. All of my memories of this country will now have a gray/de-saturated filter on them.

I know Brussels has a reputation of being a run-down or dangerous city among Europeans, but it just felt like a regular American city to me (specifically like the architecture/street layout of Boston with the political importance of Washington DC). Like, I don't know what to tell you, sometimes cities have visible homeless people, unsightly graffiti, and ethnic minority neighborhoods? It's gonna be okay, I promise. Amsterdam felt like Weenie Hut Jr. by comparison.

Going through the European Parliament building was very cool and very well laid-out and informative. Definitely a personal highlight of the trip for me.

The Belgian War Museum kinda just felt like some rich guy's personal collection of artifacts the public shouldn't have had access to? Not a lot of labels explaining what you're looking at in any language.

Belgian chocolate is fine. Not bad, but I mean it's chocolate, that's hard to screw up, you know?

During my research before this trip I kept seeing a general consensus that Bruges is super touristy and sanitized and feels fake and that Ghent was better for a more "authentically" preserved medieval center. I'm glad I opted to go there instead because it exceeded my expectations. Awesome architecture everywhere you turn, way fewer crowds than I expected, and it still felt lived in by modern people rather than a giant open-air museum.

Literally did not see a single physical Euro at all on this trip. Both of these countries are entirely cashless societies, and everyone (both tourists and locals) used chip readers and contactless payment for damn near every interaction. If anything, I saw tons of "Card Only/No Cash" signs and none of the opposite.

[lovingmayday]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

warnings : fluff, cursing, innacurate-ish depictions of hobie's speech

notes : hobie is about 16-17 here (and so is the pov). halfway writing this, im overwhelmed by how much of an extrovert hobie actually is 😭 btw, i know nothing of classical music concerts so beware! all of this just because i wanted to write hobie sneaking in your window but i didnt even get to fit it in 😭😭

Two words that you've used as an excuse and an apology when you couldn't join your friends at house parties, when a classmate asks you out, or when your phone notifications go crazy because you still weren't home at 5 PM — it was a tiring cycle.

You know they were simply looking out for you but you can't help but feel overwhelmed and exhausted for always being monitored and left out. You couldn't possibly ask your peers to adjust to your parents' standards, you thought it shameless because they already had a hard time with your folks reaching out and interrogating them about your school and social life.

With so much of your life being tracked by them, you deserve at least one thing in your control, right?

Hobie Brown, the school troublemaker. Skips class, vandalizes school property, and actively participates in movements against authority. Frankly, he just does whatever he wants. And he had your respect (+ jealousy). It must've been nice to be so free.

You and Hobie were never given the chance to befriend each other before — you had some classes together but he rarely ever showed up to any of them. You had no reason to approach him and vice versa.

Until, Wednesday — your cello performance. God, you don't know why you insisted to your parents you could handle commuting to the concert venue on your own with the heavy as fuck cello slung around your torso. You had your book bag with you as well because you had just finished school. The bus stop was a few more blocks away but you were tired.

You weren't paying much attention to your surroundings, busy focusing on your aching shoulder. So once you saw the pedestrian lane green signal, you didn't think twice before walking, failing to notice the bicycle riding full speed to your direction. Your eyes widen when a strong force pulled you back, making you stumble a bit and see the bike dart just in front of you.

"Aye, watch it!" you hear the cyclist exclaim.

You back was leaning against the tall figure, looking up to see a familiar face. You regain your balance and face him — Hobie Brown, the boy that just saved your life. "I-It was green– green meant it was safe to walk... I should've looked first, 'm sorry," you say quietly.

"Nah yeah, it's straight. He was the arse," he replies, hands in his pockets. "Dunno where he got the audacity to tell you off when he was in the wrong. Don't worry abou' it." He gives you a reassuring smile, noticing your still dazed expression.

"Thank you, Hobie," you say, a small polite smile on your lips.

He smiles back and nods, "'Twas nothin'." His eyes hover on the unignorable instrument case you were carrying. "Ya headed somewhere?"

"Uhh, yeah," you say, watching the pedestrian stop light turn red again and pouting a bit. You probably won't be late to the performance but you'd miss most of final rehearsal. "Nueva Hall. I have a cello performance in a bit."

"Nueva Hall.. That fuckin' massive, fancy lookin' museum along 5th Ave?" he asks, his eyebrows rising a bit from amazement. "Didn't know you were a big shot musician. Let me get for ya, then." He swings the case from your torso and starts walking across the street before you could protest.

"Hey!" you exclaim, running after him, dodging the other pedestrians walking past you.

"It's a bit distant from here, innit? Let me take you there, I got time. Wouldn't want you to croak before the big show," he jests, turning around and walking backwards. "If it's fine with you, [Name], of course."

You weren't too keen on traveling alone; you only did so so that your parents would think you were independent enough. You consider it for a few moments. "Are you sure I wouldn't be bothering you with this?"

"'Course not. 'Was the one who suggested, wasn't I?" He smirks before turning back around to walk properly and you catch up to his side. "What're you playin'?"

"Tchaikovsky, Rococo Variation. It's a cello and orchestra performance and I got to play cello," you say excitedly. "You're in a band, right? It's like a lead singer but cello!"

He smiles softly at your energy, feeling his cheeks warm up a bit. "How'd you know I was in a band?" he asks almost teasingly.

"I walked by one of your public concerts with my family. I would've stayed if my parents let me," you answer with a small laugh. "You were amazing, by the way."

"Thanks, mate. You're probably not too bad yourself," he says, chuckling as you playfully hit his shoulder.

It was safe to say you hit it off well, which was surprising since you didn't think you would. You thought your personalities would clash, you being at the quieter side while Hobie, you could hear his ruckus from another dimension (and there was a tiny part of you that was intimidated at him, at first).

You arrived at the venue earlier than expected — still late to rehearsals but not by much. "Hey, thanks again. I really appreciate it," you say to him just outside the concert hall doors.

He handed you your cello and waved off your thank you. "It was a pleasure," he teases and you roll your eyes. "Break a leg, [Name]." You thank him once again before he turns around to leave.

Seeing him walk away gave you an unfamiliar ache in your chest. After a much needed self-courage-boost, you let out a soft but loud enough "Wait." for him to hear. He turns around with a small smile and raises an eyebrow, silently asking you to go on. You wet your lips before taking a deep breathe. "Do you want to stay for the show?"

His smile widens, a handsome grin reaching ear to ear. "Finally. 've been waitin' the entire trip for that offer." He laughs and jogs back to you.

He sits at the back row. When he entered the room, he got a few stares and hushed whispers from the other audiences but he couldn't care less, his attention was unwaveringly stuck on you. It was just rehearsals but it overwhelmed Hobie to think about how you'd do in the real thing. He was entranced by you the entire time. The movement of your bow and the emotions you protrayed. It was magnetic.

Once practice was over, the musicians left the stage for a bit as audiences started to pour in. With guests on the older side with more formal attires, it was so obvious that he was out of place.

Meanwhile, you were panicking a bit because after you got changed out of your school uniform, you neared the stage's curtains to check up on Hobie. Your mouth gapes when you see him sat at the back row, almost directly behind your parents. Your parents! You forgot about your parents!! How did you forget about your parents??! They'd go crazy once they knew that you had invited this boy to your performance — you never invite your friends, let alone anybody, to watch your performances.

The second it was time for the musicians to come on stage, Hobie's head rises from his phone and looks for your figure immediately, smiling once he notices your wardrobe change. It was a simple long-sleeve black dress but it was pretty on you. Hobie thought so.

Your take deep breathes to calm your nerves before situating the cello between your thighs. You wait for the violins, the flutes, and the organ to start playing the intro before propping up the cello's bow. With your head held high, you play the first few notes — the position of your hands finding its own way around the fingerboard like muscle memory.

The music closes to an end, claps and praises erupt the venue. You smile and stand to find Hobie. He was already making his way to you. You leave the cello leaning safely on your chair as you scurry to the stairs of the sides of the stage.

"Hobie!" you greet as you reached him. "How did I do? Was I rushing? What'd you think of it?" you ask, rambling almost. If Spiderpunk gets his adrenaline from his fights, you get it from instances that make your heart feel like its about to burst into a million burnt pieces of flesh in your chest.

He smiles back at you, amused. He's never seen this side of you before. He's never seen anything of you other than your surface-level calmness and pliance. "'ts not usually my thing but I know to appreciate talent. Credit when credit is due and all tha' and, luv, you absolutely smashed it!" he exclaims as quietly as exclaiming can allow, placing both hands on you shoulders and shaking them.

"Thanks," you giggle out, placing your hands on his arm. From the corner of your peripheral vision, you notice your parents on their way to you, confused looks on their faces. Your smile falters as you gently loosen Hobie's hold on you, the adrenaline slowly dying down.

"[Name], amazing as always," your mother says, holding your hand in hers' and caressing your cheek with the other. "Who's your friend?" she quickly asks. Her judgmental eyes scan his appearance from head to toe, attempting to hide her expression with a faux smile.

Hobie was about to introduce himself when you cut him off. "–He's a classmate, Hobie Brown." You look into his eyes apologizing and almost pleading to him to go along with whatever you were about to say. "He came here by pure coincidence, could you believe that?!"

"Yeah, a friend gave me an invitation," he follows up seamlessly, a polite smile on his lips. "'Didn't know your daugh'er was performin'."

"Well, it's a nice surprise, isn't it?" you mother says, pulling you to her side.

Your father had yet to contribute to the conversation so you checked up on hi.. He was glaring at Hobie so harshly you could see burn marks starting to appear on his forehead. "Did you enjoy the show?" he finally asks, tone almost threatening.

Your cheeks start to flush in embarrassment. It wasn't uncommon for your parents to ask about the boys you talk to but it never felt any less humiliating every time it happens. You see each and every one of them get uncomfortable and you couldn't do anything to stop them because they'd think you were hiding something.

"Yeah, I enjoyed [Name]'s performance a lot. You must be very proud of her, Mr. [Last Name]," Hobie answers. You've talked to him long enough to notice the slight teasing in his voice. He smirks at you which makes your father's hands turn into fists.

"Honey," you mother calls, "We'll be late for our dinner reservation. It was really nice to meet you, Hobie, but we have to go." Her smile was still plastered across her face, you wonder why her cheeks hasn't hurt yet. She tells you to collect your stuff and you do so quickly. You bid Hobie an apologetic goodbye before you leave.

On the car to the restaurant, you were given the 'no boyfriends' talk again. You tried to respond with 'mhmm's and 'uh-huh's here and there but you weren't listening to a thing — having heard them repeat the same points many times before. You wondered how to approach Hobie the next day, thinking of stuff to say, how to bring it up, and how to act once he says he doesn't want to get involved with you anymore. It was a shame since you really enjoyed his company.

You wished that Hobie went to school the next day and he did, surprisingly. After classes, you catch up to him leaving the building to speak to him.

You were supposed to explain to him the situation but it seemed he was already up to pace and accepting. "The things is," you pause for a bit, "I really liked hanging out with you.." you confess.

"Hey, wait up!" you yell, running to reach him before he got too far. He paused in his tracks, hands in his vest pockets as he watches you catch your breath. "About yesterday..–"

"Nah, I get it," he interrupts you. "Strict parents and shit. It's cool if your folks don't want you hanging out with me anymore. It sucks but I get it." He was disappointed but chill about the entire thing which made your heart sink. You really didn't want to stop seeing him again. You wondered if he felt the same.

A small gentle smile stretches his lips. "I really liked hanging out with you, too. A lot. Best time I've had in a while, honestly."

You contemplate on what to say next — whether to let them out or not. You mouth gapes open, waiting on your next words. You were about to give him an apology but seeing his eyes, hearing that he liked your company maybe as much as you did, it made the decision so much more difficult. ..Fuck it. "I'd like to continue spending time with you.. even if it meant disobeying my parents. If it's alright with you, of course." You feel your ears heat up as you look down, scared of what the other's reaction might be.

It was rather obvious that Hobie didn't expect it, his eyes widening by a fraction. A big smirk appears on his face as he leans down to catch your eyes. "'Must've left quite the impression on you, huh?" he teases. He watches your eyes roll as you playfully shove his shoulder. "Well, I do love a good rebellion."

"It's not a rebellion."

"It's painfully close then, isn't it?"

[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!!

[kiriska]

I originally made this zine back in October. There was no particular impetus for it except I think I’ve just been low key constantly thinking about ghost bikes since I learned about them some years ago.

I rewrote some parts of this a few times and I’m still not happy with it, but it feels kind of pointless to keep fiddling with it. There’s too much I want to say and 8 pages isn’t enough.

Saying that drivers “choose” vehicular manslaughter sounds aggressive. I know (most) drivers don’t intend to do harm, but it doesn’t actually matter what their intentions are if someone gets hurt or is killed. Maybe drivers aren’t “choosing” to kill, but they are choosing to get gigantic vehicles and to go fast enough to kill.

Most recent cyclist deaths in the Seattle area have been on common biking routes, though none of them have bike lanes (Seward Park Ave, Spokane St, Marine View Dr). I’ve biked on all of these, some of them very frequently. It sucks passing by each time and knowing someone died there, and that it could’ve been avoided.

Basically everyone I know who bikes has been hit by a car at some point. A friend was hit while in a crosswalk a few months ago. (In a similar incident, a 13-year old kid was killed in a crosswalk last year.) Thankfully, no one I know has died yet. It does sort of feel inevitable though.

Recently, a car ran a red light and hit a bus. The bus was forced onto the sidewalk, where it killed a pedestrian. I walked by on my way home with groceries 5 minutes after this happened. Couldda been me. Everyone is a pedestrian at some point, but so many people avoid living life as a pedestrian. They drive everywhere and are only ever on foot within a building. My high school was one (1) mile from my house, but I had to drive to get there because of the 6-lane highway between us.

The problem is complicated. I mostly blame infrastructure, but that’s not easy to fix. We designed and built whole cities around cars and left no space for people, and that can’t be corrected without a lot of money and political will. We need roads that are “inconvenient” for cars and drivers. Ones that are narrower and have speed bumps and “traffic calming” devices slow drivers down by design, without relying on speed limit compliance or enforcement.

Seattle is cramped as hell and there aren’t sidewalks in a lot of places. But in order to build sidewalks and bike lanes, we need to take away space from cars, and hell gets raised every time anyone even suggests taking away parking, much less an entire travel lane. Lots of people depend on cars, but that’s never going to change without cities investing in the alternatives.

Buses and transit can become reliable. Bikes offer a lot of the same freedom and personal autonomy as cars. “No one wants to bike in the rain/cold/hills/etc” and yet Seattle has such a robust cycling community, both in commuters and recreational cyclists. “You can’t haul groceries/supplies/kids/dogs/etc by bike,” and yet so many people do.

And if people don’t feel safe on bikes, it’s just because of all the cars.

RIP Steve Hulsman, who was killed at the intersection of Marine View Dr and 46th Ave, the intersection in the photos, on December 21st.

[bright-and-burning]

who wants 577 words of landoscar first date cuteness. don't care here u go

The train jolts forwards. Oscar stumbles back, already bracing to apologize to the loud family of tourists huddled behind him, when his motion is halted.

Lando’s hooked his fingers in his belt loops, counterbalancing him.

“Not a regular, then?” Lando wiggles his eyebrows, tucked close to Oscar’s body, half serious, half playful. “If you’re waiting for the third date to tell me you drive some big SUV ‘round London, all you’re getting is the bill.”

Oscar can feel the grin spreading uncontrollably across his face at the knowledge that Lando’s just as invested as he is.

“Skipping straight over the second date? Bold move, Norris.” He forces his smile into something more manageable, more sheepish, and shrugs. “More of a cyclist, if I’m honest. Less of a crowd.”

“Big introvert, are you? Tracks.” Lando says it with a smile, no sting in his words.

“And you just love people, do you?”

Lando tilts his head, considering.

“I dunno…” His face scrunches up. Oscar resists the urge to press a kiss to the wrinkles on his nose. Barely. “You can disappear in a crowd. Feels like I’m not really a person, when it’s me and a hundred other people trying to get to work. Like, I am still, and I know everyone else is, but also none of us are?”

Oscar hums.

“Makes sense, I guess.” He pauses, mostly for dramatic effect, though he’d never admit it. “If I squint.”

Lando giggles.

Silence falls on them, as silent as the tube ever gets. It’s comfortable though, sharing space and air in their own bubble, just smiling softly at each other.

Lando’s clearly staring at his lips. Oscar’s probably just as obvious, really. He doesn’t care.

The train grinds to a halt, jerky stutter-stop sending Lando into Oscar. The doors open, stop announcement breaking through their bubble.

“Not a regular, huh?” Oscar teases.

“Got a little distracted,” Lando bites his lip a little when he says it. “Next stop’s mine, if you wanna— come over, or something.”

“Or something?”

Lando nods.

“Not usually a, uh,” he stops to deliberate over his next words, clearly eyeing the family behind Oscar, “‘Come over after the first date’ kind of guy,” he admits, and Oscar is only a little surprised, “But if you promise you aren’t hiding a Land Rover in a garage somewhere, we can call it the third.”

Lando’s fingers are still in his belt loops, tightening and loosening in a rhythm Oscar can’t help but try to follow.

He’s striking, was pretty in the warm light of the Italian place, prettier still under the streetlights as they’d wandered the area in unspoken agreement to keep going, to stretch the night into infinity, talking without pause.

Sharper now, under the harsh light of the train, green eyes practically lit from within.

The stop announcement comes over the speaker, far louder than it needs to be.

“Let’s call it three,” Oscar says, leaning in close enough to count Lando’s eyelashes as they flash up and down, “Because I refuse to kiss you on the tube.”

Lando’s fingers go tight again.

Oscar can feel the flush high on his cheeks. Can see it mirrored on Lando.

The doors slide open and Lando lets go of his jeans completely. Oscar only has a second to register the unexpected pang of absence before Lando’s grabbing his hand instead, dragging him out of the carriage as the omnipresent voice reminds them to mind the gap.