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nerdy-novelist017 · 2 months

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Apologies (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader pt 6)

Ahhh don't come at me for the lack of updates lately! 😅 I've been so distracted with watching the Olympics and my job. I'm not meant to work a ful-time job, your honor. I just wanna write silly fanfics all day and read all night pls and thanks ! Anyway, enjoy! 🩷

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 3.4k+

Summary- The last person you expect to be there to dry your tears is that stubbornly persistent biker of yours.

******

Pete never showed up to your fundraiser. You had waited the whole afternoon in the hopes that you’d see him, but he wasn’t there for your event. He wasn’t there for the bake sale, or the picnic. He didn’t even show up for the auction which you were sure he’d be interested in that since one of the items to be sold was an expensive golf club set. He must have had other plans, you tried to tell yourself. He must have been too busy.

You hadn’t seen Benny after that either, but you tried to find that as more of a relief than disappointment, after all, he was the reason you and Pete had a bit of a disagreement anyway. Part of you wondered if he only showed up for your tent since you hadn’t seen him anywhere else at the charity afterwards. Regardless, the hours passed at the picnic and you eventually helped everyone pack up before you left too, riding home on your bicycle. You tried to call Pete when you made it home, but his mother answered and told you he wasn’t home. You asked her to have him call you when he could. You ate dinner with your family and tried to not look too hopeful every time the phone rang because it was never Pete calling you back. You expected to go to bed with a sense of dejection, but instead you were surprised to feel something closer to . . . relief.

So the next two days went by quickly. You were too busy with work and household chores to notice that Pete hadn’t called you back. It was only when you had gotten up early to start on breakfast on the third day that he finally did ring you.

“I’m sorry I haven’t seen you much,” he told you over the phone. “I miss you.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure you were busy,” you mumbled as you stirred the pancake batter, phone receiver balancing precariously between your cheek and shoulder.

“I want to see you this weekend. I can pick you up around noon on Saturday if you’re free.”

You agreed a bit reluctantly, but he didn’t seem to catch it.

******

“Oh, are you going to teach me to golf?” you asked excitedly as Pete pulled into the country club parking lot. He’d been quiet to tell you where it was that he was taking you today, but you wanted to trust the spontaneity of the moment so you let him drive you to the mystery location. Out of all the places he could have surprised you with, this certainly wasn’t what you were expecting. Part of you was confused because you hadn’t expressed a particular fondness for the sport, but another part of you felt warmth that he wanted to share his hobby with you.

“Yeah, I thought you’d like to join me and the boys today.” He smiled at you as you both exited the car. “Sit in the cart and look pretty while you cheer us on.”

Oh. So he wasn’t even teaching you his hobby. You wanted to say something back, to tell him that you were willing to learn if he taught you, but his friends came over then, interrupting your chance to speak. Pete introduced you to them, five in total and you struggled to remember their names. But it didn’t matter much since all chances of you speaking were thrown out the window when they bear hugged each other, and turned to go out onto the field. You followed behind, quietly trying to find a place in their obviously-tight friend group. And that’s how you spent the next three hours: awkwardly existing in their world, sitting on the cart and watching them play. You were the only girl, and it was clear that they didn’t know how to involve you much in their conversations. And when you were able to pull Pete to the side for a moment, you asked if he could let you take a swing once, just to try it out. He nodded but said, “Well, maybe in the next game, this one I’ve got a bet on and every shot counts.” You didn’t ask again.

Even though you were still technically spending time with him, this didn’t feel in any way fun or exciting. You tried not to, but your mind drifted to your night spent at the bar with Benny and how fun that was, despite it being a bar full of bikers – a scenario you would have never thought you’d be in, let alone enjoy. As you sat in the golf cart, having nothing better to do than to watch Pete with his friends, you wondered if this was all he wanted you for. Were you really just a doll to him? A trophy? You didn’t get to play?

After the next game ended, you asked Pete if he could take you somewhere for lunch and he seemed almost reluctant to leave his friends. But in the end, he did agree, and you said goodbye to the band of golfers. You walked back to the parking lot together and when you spotted his car in the distance, you figured this was your chance to actually talk with him, not just listen to him speak.

“What do you want out of life, Pete?” you asked quietly as you slowed to a stop on the sidewalk.

“What?” He paused a few paces ahead of you, glancing back. “What kind of question is that?”

“I mean,” you struggled to gather your jumbled thoughts. “What kind of life do you want?”

His brows pinched together in confusion. “Well, I’m going to school for engineering so I’m going to do that.”

You waited for him to continue, but he just shrugged and motioned for the car. “You coming?”

Not seeing the conversation over quite yet, your feet remained firmly planted in your spot. “But what do you want out of life? What do you want for me in your life?”

“Geez, (Y/N),” he laughed humorlessly. “Where is this coming from?” His expression darkened suddenly. “Is this because of that dirty biker?”

It was your turn to look confused as you opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off. “Have you seen him again, hmm?”

“I . . . he was at the fundraiser–”

“What did I tell you?” He asked rhetorically as he closed the distance between you. “I don’t want you around that deadbeat again.”

“It wasn’t like I sought him out,” you defended, trying to ignore the rush of agitation at his choice of description. “I had no clue he would be there. I thought you were going to be there.”

“Well, I couldn’t be. You can’t just expect me to drop everything for you at such a late notice.”

“What was more important that you needed to be at?” You frowned.

He rolled his eyes, turning back to the car. “I have my own life.”

That’s when you realized that he was so . . . disconnected, uninterested. He may have wanted you but not in the way of getting to know you. His want was selfish, only born out of lust. He didn’t care about your hobbies or interests. You weren’t even listened to when you spoke to him. The realization was painfully obvious and you felt like a fool, like he had played you. And maybe he wasn’t even aware of it himself, but you could see it now: he didn’t care for you, not in the way you longed for.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking your head as you watched him approach the driver’s side door. “I know that, but . . . I was just hoping to spend time with you.”

He turned back and threw his arms out dramatically. “I’m spending time with you now, aren't I? Will you just get in the car?”

You took a deep breath, looking down at your shoes. “I think I’m gonna walk home.”

“Are you serious?” His voice grew colder as he yanked open his door. “Because I didn’t go to your bake sale?”

You shook your head. “No, I like walkin’ and I just want some time to think–”

“You’re going off to find that biker, aren’t you?”

“What?” Your gaze shot back up to his. “No, I–”

“I knew this would happen.” He shook his head, an unamused smile flashing on his face. “He’s filling your head with all these dangerous ideas. He’s poisoning you against me. Me.”

“I’m not–”

“Get in the car.” You didn’t realize that it wasn’t a request anymore.

“Pete, I just don’t–”

“Get in the fucking car, (Y/N)!” He shouted, slamming his hand on the roof, and you jumped at the sound.

You stared at him, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. You’d never seen any man act like this, especially not Pete. Panic turned the blood in your veins to ice and you were suddenly painfully aware of just how fast your heart was beating in your chest. Seconds ticked by, and he finally reacted to your speechlessness by rubbing a hand over his face, sighing loudly.

“Look, just get in the car,” he tried again, his voice barely controlled. “We came here together and I don’t want people to talk about how I’m leaving without you, okay?”

No, it wasn’t okay, you wanted to say, but your throat was suddenly too tight to speak. All you could do was stare at this man who you thought you had a pretty good understanding of, who you never thought would raise his voice at you, who would never command you to do something you very obviously denied. You shook your head, hand holding over your chest in an attempt to even out your heart rate.

He called your name, but you turned and forced your legs to walk, to move away from him. You just wanted to get home to the safety of your bedroom. Behind you, you could hear his car door slam shut and the engine whine as it fired up. He drove over to you, nearly hitting the curb as he weaved.

“Fine, walk home then!” he yelled and revved the engine, tires peeling out on the blacktop as he zoomed away.

That’s when the tears started falling. You sucked in a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and a sob choked into it. The sidewalk blurred from the stream of tears but you trudged on, wanting nothing more than to escape the prying eyes of the neighborhood. The action of Pete slamming his hand against the metal proof of his car replayed in your mind and something unpleasant gripped your heart at the realization that what you saw was his reaction to not getting what he wanted the first time. This was supposed to be the exciting moments of you relationship, the time when you were still discovering who each other were. If he could be so easily angered by you now, what would 5 years of marriage look like? What would 10?

And as you approached the intersection, a thought came to you and you felt sick at the possibility that maybe this is what your mother felt before she married your father. And your grandmother before she married your grandmother. Like a chain, these women with hearts and ambitions and dreams all just got married and became something their husbands wanted, lived a dream their husbands had. And maybe that was their dream, but what if it wasn’t yours?

The revving of an engine broke you free from your all-consuming thoughts and fresh fear spiked through you. Was it Pete coming back? But no, you realized. The engine was coming from the gas station you were passing on the corner, and it wasn’t a car, but a motorcycle. The rider pulled up to one of the free parking spots, cutting the engine and kicking out the kickstand. His back was turned to you, but you knew who it was already by the messy blonde hair and signature blue jacket lettered “Vandals” across the shoulder blades. You groaned because he was the last person you wanted to see right now but you needed to walk right by him to continue on your way home. And as ridiculous as it was, you wanted to cry harder at the thought of him seeing you crying.

When he dismounted, you quickened your pace, putting your head down in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice you. But of course, you heard him call out, “Hey, Little Bunny.”

You sniffed hard, quickly swiping your fingers across your cheeks as you heard him approach. Even though you didn’t slow your pace, he caught up to you quickly.

“You walkin’ home again?” His voice was light, teasing but you didn’t dare to look up at him. “You must really like–”

But he must have seen your tear-soaked face because he stopped, his hand gently grasping your upper arm. “What’s wrong?”

You bit your lip, and against your better judgment, you glanced up at him. That was all it took before his shoulders visibly stiffened, and his jaw locked tightly. “Who did this?”

“Nobody,” you muttered softly, voice cracking. “I’m fine.”

“Was it Pete?” his grip remained firm on your arm.

“Please, just leave it alone, Benny,” you whispered desperately, and his eyes softened as he released you. A painfully long beat played out between you as you watched him decide if he wanted to press you further for details. But to your surprise, he dropped it, instead, reaching out, his calloused thumb brushing away a solitary tear from the apple of your cheek. You flinched at the contact, not expecting him to touch you so intimately. As quick as he was to make contact, so was he able to let his hand fall back to his side, leaving you wide-eyed at the act.

“Let me give you a ride home, please,” he asked, his voice so quiet, so compassionate that you were honestly dumbfounded that this was a biker in a notoriously revered club standing before you. “I don’t want you to have to walk back when you’re upset like this.”

You glanced down the sidewalk, knowing you still had a few miles to go before you’d see your house in the distance. You sniffed again, “You won’t try to propose to me again, will you?”

“No strings attached, I promise,” he replied quietly.

You relented, nodding slightly, and you didn’t protest when he slid his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together and gently tugged you back to his bike.

******

Benny drove slowly back to your house, and you just buried your face against his jacket the entire ride, focusing on the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat. It gave you time to settle your breathing, to dry your tears, and when he finally did pull up to your house, a disappointed wave surfaced over you. He put both feet down to balance you both, but he didn’t cut the engine, and you didn’t release your arms from around his torso.

“Can we . . . keep going?” you asked hesitantly, unsure of just how patient he was willing to be with you.

“You wanna keep going?” he questioned over his shoulder, and you responded with a brief nod. “Where?”

“Anywhere, just not here.”

He pushed off the ground, revving the engine slightly and the bike picked up speed as you left your neighborhood. You tightened your grip as he drove you out of the city, down the long country roads, past barns and farms, out by the lake and through the winding back roads which cut the woods. He drove until the sun began to make its descent over the far wheat fields, the last warmth of those golden rays catching the two of you like a spotlight, like you were the only two people on stage. And you realized that’s what riding with Benny felt like: solidarity together. You’ve felt a strange sense of loneliness most of your life, even when you were surrounded by others who loved you, but with Benny . . . it was like you were finally being seen. No, not just seen, it was like you were finally being heard.

But reality came back too quickly when Benny pulled up to a stop light, hand moving to brush across yours as he asked, “You ready to go back now or d’you wanna keep going?”

Keep going, your heart wanted to shout, keep going and let’s drive until we hit the sandy beaches of California. But your head always won the battle in the end, and you only nodded mutely.

When Benny pulled up in front of your house again, he cut the engine, but remained seated. He held his hand out for you as you dismounted, and he wanted to say something – anything– to make sure that you were okay, to help you. But Benny’s not known for his good communication skills so he clenched his jaw tightly, frustration building in his chest. You needed him, you needed to be consoled, and he was so pathetic that he wasn’t even sure how.

Sure, he knew how to have someone’s back, especially in a fight. He knew how to throw punches and get back to his feet after getting knocked down. He could do that all day. But you staring at him with your Bambi eyes and heartbroken expression, he couldn’t take it. He just wanted to pull your tiny frame to him and kiss away the tears, to tell you that everything would be okay because he’s got your back. Then a horrible thought clouded his mind because what if he was the reason you were crying? A bitter taste filled his mouth at the possibility. And my god, how stupid could he be because of course he had to dig himself deeper into that hole when he had told you that he wouldn’t apologize for his conversation with your date. At the time he said it, he had no guilt or shame for his actions because he saw nothing wrong with it. He wanted you more than Pete did, he was sure of that. But now as he glanced at your sweet face, he realized that his actions could have hurt you. And all for what – his pride? That seemed so insignificant now.

“Thank you for the ride,” you said ever-so-politely.

Before you could turn to walk to your front porch, Benny’s hand reached out to lightly touch your own, and he blurted out, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did to Pete. That was wrong, and I see that now. I’m sorry if what I did has hurt you in any way, that was never my intention.”

Your frown deepened, and Benny’s heart sank. But then you said, “I’m not upset with you, Benny, but thank you. That . . . that means a lot to me.”

He was at a loss for words, struck by your angelic voice and unwavering benevolence. He could only watch as you slipped from his grasp and turned away. You were walking away from him, but Benny couldn’t help but feel it meant something more than just putting physical distance between you. His mind raced with thoughts, trying to find something he could say to get you to stop, to be able to see your face again.

However, it seemed that fate had other plans because you halted in your tracks, hesitating a moment before spinning back around and approaching him again. He opened his mouth to ask if you were okay, but you cut him off as you leaned up and planted a quick kiss to his cheek. His heart skipped a beat at the gentle touch of your soft lips, and he widened his eyes as you pulled back, a shy smile on your face. He grinned because every time he thought he had you figured out, you continued to pull stunts on him. You were the most entertaining thing he knew.

You took a few steps backwards, but maintained his eye contact as you spoke, “Maybe . . . next time we could go a little faster?”

He knew you were referring to the bike, but God help him because heat burned in his lower belly, and he wanted to pick you up over his shoulder and carry you into your house where he’d show you just what speed he was capable of. He wasn’t sure you even knew what effect your words had on him, or if you even knew the sexual implications, but he felt himself losing a battle of will. “You want there to be a next time?”

You nodded and that adorable rosy color tinted your cheeks. “Yeah, if-if you do.”

He shook his head in disbelief that you were finally giving him a chance. Though looking at your sweet smile now, he didn’t seem to mind the extra effort he had to put in. “You wanna go fast? Look who’s the trouble now.”

You fought to control your smile. “Goodnight, Benny.”

“Night,” he replied as he watched you walk back up the steps to your house, his fingers ghosting over the spot on his cheek that you kissed, wondering if apologies were really that easy.

-Tag List-

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#i'm not super happy with this but yolo #i need to stop being a perfectionist #austin butler #benny cross #benny x bunny #the bikeriders #benny cross x reader #austin butler x reader #benny x reader #imagine #austin butler fandom

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blubberquark · 7 months

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Auto-Generated Junk Web Sites

I don't know if you heard the complaints about Google getting worse since 2018, or about Amazon getting worse. Some people think Google got worse at search. I think Google got worse because the web got worse. Amazon got worse because the supply side on Amazon got worse, but ultimately Amazon is to blame for incentivising the sale of more and cheaper products on its platform.

In any case, if you search something on Google, you get a lot of junk, and if you search for a specific product on Amazon, you get a lot of junk, even though the process that led to the junk is very different.

I don't subscribe to the "Dead Internet Theory", the idea that most online content is social media and that most social media is bots. I think Google search has gotten worse because a lot of content from as recently as 2018 got deleted, and a lot of web 1.0 and the blogosphere got deleted, comment sections got deleted, and content in the style of web 1.0 and the blogosphere is no longer produced. Furthermore, many links are now broken because they don't directly link to web pages, but to social media accounts and tweets that used to aggregate links.

I don't think going back to web 1.0 will help discoverability, and it probably won't be as profitable or even monetiseable to maintain a useful web 1.0 page compared to an entertaining but ephemeral YouTube channel. Going back to Web 1.0 means more long-term after-hours labour of love site maintenance, and less social media posting as a career.

Anyway, Google has gotten noticeably worse since GPT-3 and ChatGPT were made available to the general public, and many people blame content farms with language models and image synthesis for this. I am not sure. If Google had started to show users meaningless AI generated content from large content farms, that means Google has finally lost the SEO war, and Google is worse at AI/language models than fly-by-night operations whose whole business model is skimming clicks off Google.

I just don't think that's true. I think the reality is worse.

Real web sites run by real people are getting overrun by AI-generated junk, and human editors can't stop it. Real people whose job it is to generate content are increasingly turning in AI junk at their jobs.

Furthermore, even people who are setting up a web site for a local business or an online presence for their personal brand/CV are using auto-generated text.

I have seen at least two different TV commercials by web hosting and web design companies that promoted this. Are you starting your own business? Do you run a small business? A business needs a web site. With our AI-powered tools, you don't have to worry about the content of your web site. We generate it for you.

There are companies out there today, selling something that's probably a re-labelled ChatGPT or LLaMA plus Stable Diffusion to somebody who is just setting up a bicycle repair shop. All the pictures and written copy on the web presence for that repair shop will be automatically generated.

We would be living in a much better world if there was a small number of large content farms and bot operators poisoning our search results. Instead, we are living in a world where many real people are individually doing their part.

#dead internet theory #small web #large language models #search engine optimisation

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xinfinityl0ve17 · 28 days

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MANA-SAMA.NET

Twelve hours during a part-time job feels so long, especially at night; it’s almost terrifyingly long.

Mana chan kept shouting, “This theme is difficult!” and Kami kun kept asking, “Mana chan, don’t you have anything?” (laughs). It seems these two aren’t very bound by numbers...

Anyway, Mana chan’s part time job era... It’s full of valuable stories!! Hehe ♥

MALICE MIZER

--So, the theme is "The Fear of Numbers."

Mana: Hmm... That's difficult.

Kami: Haven't you ever noticed when the numbers on a clock are all the same? Like when you look at the time and it's 11:11?

--Does that give you an eerie feeling?

Kami: No, I'm actually happy (laughs). Also, when I'm talking on the phone at night and I look at the clock, it's always 2:14 AM (laughs). It's the witching hour (laughs). And it happens almost every day.

--Do you have any thoughts, Mana?

Mana: Hmm... (laughs) This theme is tough... Hmm...

Kami: Also, I have an obsession with lining up the number 7. I used to go to pachinko parlors a lot, so getting 7s was a thrill (laughs). Ah, that's not scary at all (laughs).

Mana, do you have anything?

Mana: Hmm... When I was a boy, I was a bicycle enthusiast. I even had a speedometer, and it only went up to about 60 kilometers, I think. I was obsessed with maxing it out.

Kami: That's the fear of speed.

Mana: Yeah, I was pushing the limits of speed. The bike I had wasn't a Roadman, but it was a sports-type with gears and semi-drop handlebars... You don't see them much nowadays.

Kami: They were popular back then. The ones with the light on the side.

Mana: The more gear shifts, the better. Five-speed was common, but with six-speed, it was like, "One more gear!" (laughs).

Kami: Speaking of numbers, I save 500 yen coins (laughs). Last year, a friend gave me a piggy bank that can hold up to 300,000 yen, and I'm close to reaching the goal. How long did it take you to save?

Kami: One year! When I talked about it, a fan once sent me a 500 yen coin in a letter (laughs).

Mana: Really? Well, I’m saving 10,000 yen bills (laughs).

Kami: So I make sure not to spend any 500 yen coins. Even when I shop, I make sure to get change in 500 yen coins, or I exchange five 100 yen coins for a 500 yen coin at the convenience store (laughs). Mana, do you have anything else?

Mana: Hmm...

--Like the fear of having to wake up in the morning?

Mana: Oh, even if I have work early the next morning, I stay up until around 5 AM, so I do get that "Oh no, it's already this late" feeling, but that’s why I always sleep in the car during travel.

Kami: Because we’re so busy, sleeping in the car becomes something to look forward to.

Mana: Yeah, it's really enjoyable (laughs).

Kami: It's almost like that's what keeps me going (laughs).

Mana: Yeah, but during our indie days, I was the one who drove.

Mana: I was the designated driver (laughs). Back then, mornings were terrifying. I had to wake everyone up by phone.

--Did you wake up all the members?

Mana: Yes, I’d call them to wake them up and then go around picking them up in the car. That was really something. It was like hell; I did it while crying (laughs). There were members who wouldn’t wake up no matter how many times I called (I wonder who?). And there were people whose phones wouldn’t even connect (laughs).

Kami: By the way, I’m never late. Unless I’m stuck in traffic or something, I always arrive on time when we have a meeting. Mana, do you have anything else? (laughs)

Mana: Ah! The fear of numbers! I used to work part-time at a rental video store, but when the sales weren’t great, I’d rent out videos myself.

-- Really? Were you in a position of responsibility?

Mana: There were morning and night shifts, and I was the manager for the morning shift, so if the morning sales were bad, it was my responsibility. When no customers came, I would wander around the front of the store, getting anxious (laughs).

-- Well, you can’t exactly solicit customers at a rental video store (laughs).

Mana: Exactly. You can’t just say, "We’ve got good videos here!" So all I could do was wander around (laughs).

Kami: I just thought of something! The fear of numbers! In the band I was in before Malice Mizer, the current drummer and I were born in the same year and on the same day. It was terrifying (laughs).

Mana: I just thought of something else too (laughs). I used to work a part-time job inspecting cups at a factory. That factory had cups endlessly going around 24/7 (laughs). I worked 12-hour shifts there, but since the cups were constantly moving on the conveyor belt, there was no end to it. It was terrifying. Plus, it had a roof but no doors, so in the winter, the cold north wind would blow in while I just watched the cups… (laughs).

--That sounds like a tough job.

Mana: It was tough. It was torture (laughs). Nowadays, even if your hair is dyed, it’s socially accepted, but back then, if you had a part-time job, it was limited to handing out tissues or working in a factory (laughs).

Kami: Yeah, or working for a delivery service.

Mana: "Yeah, like at those places where the packages come down on conveyor belts (laughs). I was once in charge of handling packages going to Tokyo, and while other people only had a few packages coming their way and were taking it easy, I was getting a constant stream of packages (laughs)."

Kami: "Even now, when I see the baggage counter at the airport, it reminds me of those days (laughs). Those 12-hour shifts felt so long, especially the night shifts—they were terrifyingly long."

Mana: "Yeah, yeah, and for 12 hours, the cups kept coming endlessly. By the end, I was even seeing hallucinations (laughs)."

The end // From Vicious Magazine

#mana sama #kami malice mizer #malice mizer #vicious #magazine #vkei #vkeistyle #vkei fashion

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mikerickson · 19 days

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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.

#life #travel #Netherlands #Belgium #GPOYW

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seat-safety-switch · 2 years

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Imagine how boring civilization was before we invented the angle grinder. Whenever someone wanted to separate metal in a hurry, they’d have to work at it all day. Maybe take a break to have a lunch beer in between. Doesn’t do much for the economy. Now, with the angle grinder, they can rip through a ton of material in just the morning alone.

All kinds of art and commerce has occurred from this glorious invention: chopped-up tinwork, rapidly-removed quarter panels at the junkyard, that one sculpture on the other end of town that looks like the leftovers from an apartment fire. And it’s all thanks to a little motor, that makes a little wheel full of abrasive materials spin at a rate fast enough to terrify our un-evolved ancestors. They never could have comprehended the power that we now wield for just sixty bucks at Princess Auto, sixty-seven bucks if you want the one that doesn’t chuck white-hot ball bearings out of the plastic motor housing whenever you rev it a little too hard.

Things have only improved with the discovery of the battery-powered angle grinder. They’re portable and powerful, and easily concealable in a backpack or particularly goofy-looking overcoats. Now, you can take this wonder tool anywhere and use it on things like bicycle locks, catalytic converter flanges, and particularly pesky door hinges on Little League storage sheds. Never before has scumbag efficiency received such a boost.

What will the future hold for us? Maybe portable angle grinders that never need recharging. Perhaps bigger angle grinders. Ones that run in outer space. I know for a fact that I’m not going to be the one who discovers them, but I’ll be first in line to pick them up twenty years after release when they’re cheap enough to be on sale at Princess Auto and made mostly of inexpensive thermo-set plastic in a non-trademark-infringing colour.

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letapollojusticesayfuck · 11 months

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@buried-stars oops

Crossing That Bridge When We Come To It (or, there must have been worse dates)

Apollo Justice doesn't go on dates, not really. For one, he hasn't really had the time. Pushing yourself through law school and working various minimum-wage jobs on the side so you have the money to push yourself through law school doesn't exactly lead to much time for leisure. He also just can't imagine what you're supposed to do on a date. Sure, there's all the movie staples of going to a restaurant, going to the movies, getting coffee...but Apollo can't quite piece together how any of that is supposed to lead to a definitive decision to be in a relationship.

This is why, when Klavier Gavin had asked, quite offhandedly, if he'd like to go on a stroll around People Park and get some food afterwards, "as a date, ja?", Apollo had been startled enough to automatically agree. It was only around ten minutes later, once he'd finished packing up his briefcase and organizing his post-trial paperwork, that he'd realized exactly what he'd agreed to.

Trucy had, of course, utilized her impeccable sense of comedic timing to get a photo of his oh shit I said I'd do what? face.

Now, five minutes before he's supposed to head out the door, Apollo steels his nerve and takes several deep breaths and prepares to reassure himself in the customary way---

Knock, knock

Thrown off-balance, Apollo lets out a startled yelp and grasps at whatever's closest that he might theoretically be able to use as a weapon against whoever's decided to show up on his doorstep. He's gotten a little more paranoid since law school--especially with everything his first few real cases entailed.

He cautiously opens the door, cursing once again the lack of any sort of peephole. Apollo's prepared for a sales pitch, for a pair of missionaries, for anything, almost.

He's not prepared for the person outside his door to be Klavier Gavin, looking cool and casual but dressed just noticeably nicer than usual.

Apollo curses under his breath. He'd thought he would have more time before he'd have to contend with a date-ready celebrity prosecutor!

"Hallo, Apollo! I know we agreed to meet at the park, but as I was driving over I remembered that your apartment is right on the way, and thought I would offer a ride!" Klavier grins, all perfect teeth and camera-ready enthusiasm. Apollo bets he's been on plenty of dates.

"Uhhh..." he manages. Come on, get it together! "Sure. That would be...cool."

Wow, great job, idiot.

"Fantastich! Then let's be off, into the sunset!" Klavier wraps his hand around Apollo's wrist and pulls him out of his apartment. He's just about able to grab his wallet and keys from his side table, but leaves his phone behind completely.

"So, you said you drove here?" he asks, to make conversation. Klavier busies himself with extracting a set of keys from his pocket as they descend Apollo's apartment building steps.

"I did--I live slightly too far from the center of town to be able to walk. Fortunately, that means you'll be able to experience the wind in your hair the way I do every day!"

Apollo's still processing that statement when his eyes land on the motorcycle.

"Oh--your bike? I'm not sure...maybe I'd better walk." Backpedaling this quickly into a date probably wasn't the done thing, but Apollo's trying hard to ignore the fear bubbling in his stomach at the idea of something that goes at highway speeds but offers about as much protection as his own bicycle.

"We all have to face our fears eventually, Herr Forehead. And I was exaggerating about the wind in your hair. It'll all be under my spare helmet." Klavier's reached the bike now, rummaging around in a storage compartment Apollo hadn't even noticed. He tosses a sturdy helmet to Apollo, who catches it on instinct.

"If I thought you would be in any way unsafe, I would not offer," Klavier says gently, meeting Apollo's eyes. "But if you're truly uncomfortable, we can walk from here."

Apollo bites at the inside of his cheeks, then takes a deep breath. He looks at the bike. He looks at Klavier.

"No, I'll...I want to try it. I know the bike's important to you."

Klavier's true smile lights up his face in the way that his rehearsed, stage-face smile doesn't.

"Then climb on, and we'll be away!"

---

The ride isn't as bad as Apollo had expected it to be. Klavier sticks studiously to the speed limit all the way to People Park, and he's an almost frustratingly careful driver. By the time they're climbing off the bike at the familiar gateway to the park, Apollo's almost complaining about the ride not being exciting enough.

Furthermore, he's discovered that Klavier's opinions on pizza toppings are just entirely wrong, and that's given them something to talk about, falling back into familiar patterns as they wander through the location of their first crime scene together.

"You can't seriously be advocating for pineapple on pizza. That's more of a crime than anything we've seen in court."

"Ach, and here I thought you were a man of taste! It's senseless to rehash this debate, it's been had for as long as people have had access to pineapples and pizza at the same time."

"Okay, but consider: you're wrong about that and about sweetcorn as a pizza topping."

"It's a classic!"

Apollo scowls. "Where?"

"Germany, of course." Klavier's boots scuff the gravel path, and he turns towards the small stream that divides the park in two. There's an ornamental bridge linking the sides, and they step onto the red-painted wood together.

"I don't believe you. As a matter of fact, I don't believe you're even German! I think it's all just a publicity stunt!" Apollo knows he's being inflammatory, but he can't help it. Something about being with Klavier brings out a need to debate everything he says.

"Objection!" Klavier shouts, on instinct, flinging his arm out--and everything goes downhill from there.

Specifically, everything goes down--Klavier's arm collides with Apollo, who's mid-step, halfway across the bridge. Already off-balance, Klavier's accidental shove is all that Apollo needs to go tumbling over the low bridge railing and to land, ass-first, in the water.

There's a few seconds where they just look at each other, frozen in various states of shock. Klavier's mouth is hanging open in comical surprise, and Apollo's hair drips into his vision. He's not hurt, the drop was far too small for that--but he's soaking up the decorative river and attracting attention from the koi who call the water home.

Then, as though a switch has been flipped, they spring into motion. Klavier jumps down into the water, too, his boots causing a secondary splash that just soaks Apollo more. Apollo starts to laugh, incredulously, unable to believe that this is actually happening. Even as Klavier helps him up and steers him back to dry land, Apollo feels like he's in a dream.

It takes a little while before he notices that Klavier's spewing a stream of apologies and asking after his wellbeing. Apollo's been preoccupied with wringing out his hoodie and lamenting the state of his second-best pair of jeans, but he grabs Klavier's arm as he tries to fuss over him, and tries to reassure him the best he can.

"Klavier! It's fine. Yeah, I'm kind of annoyed, but honestly, seeing how guilty you looked right after I fell in pretty much made up for it."

Klavier frowns deeply. "So you're saying that you're glad I feel bad about pushing you in?"

"No!" Apollo sighs. "I've just...never seen you not be completely put together and composed. It was kind of reassuring that you can be caught off-guard by something too."

"Oh," says Klavier. "But, Apollo...surely you knew I was worried that I'd do something to screw this up spectacularly from the start?"

"You were what?" Apollo thinks back on the past couple hours. Yeah, maybe he'd noticed that Klavier's smiles were a little strained, that he'd had a spare second helmet ready to take Apollo on his bike despite supposedly being 'on the way' to the park...but Apollo himself had been too preoccupied with trying to anticipate what the date would be like to notice.

"I was nervous! Practically trembling! Ja, I've been on a few dates before, but I didn't want to do something to scare you, specifically, away."

"...huh," Apollo remarks. Then he takes the scene in again: him, soaking wet up past his waist; Klavier, his custom black boots mud-splattered and his ripped black jeans sodden, the audience of koifish and bemused park patrons wandering by.

"Guess that ship's sailed, then. I don't know of anything worse that could happen besides being accidentally pushed off of a bridge."

Klavier winces. "I didn't mean it! I was simply a little too caught up in our debate."

"Let's cut our losses and skip the 'going out for food' part of this date, if you don't mind? I can't imagine anyone would let us in their restaurant looking like this."

"Ja..." Klavier says, wincing. He sounds as dejected as he'll let himself be. "Let me at least drive you home, schatz. To make up for the...pushing."

Apollo's mind is still whirring, though, because this isn't how he'd wanted this to end either. He'd been having a good time up until this point--surely there must be something he could do to fix this.

Unless...

"Sure, I'll let you drive me home. But...do you want to stay and have dinner with me? I can't promise anything fancy, but there's a good handful of takeout places around."

The difference in Klavier's expression is staggering--and for the second time today, Apollo sees his genuine smile come through, and realizes why so many people want to kiss this man.

He just hopes that Klavier will let him get the opportunity to do so before he pushes him in any more rivers.

#lucy's thoughts #OOPS #my writing #klapollo #ace attorney #klapollo fanfic #how long is this. i didn't check. i wrote it all in tumblr #guess this'll be coming to ao3 at some point #this was supposed to be short #shorter than this

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